Big Fat Manifesto by Susan Vaught Read Free Book Online Page B

can't concentrate. The radio's pissing me off so badly I want to hurl it against
     the concrete block wall. Stupid thing probably wouldn't break.
    "So he's really gonna do it?" Heath's voice flows underneath a Beatles song. "Burke, I mean. A couple of weeks ago when we
     talked on the phone, you were really upset, and then I heard he's not playing football. And there's this rumor—he might be
     having bariatric surgery?"
    "Yeah." I squeeze my eyes shut, then make myself open them. I wish the radio would die. I wish I had never heard the word bariatric. I wish Heath would shut up.
    "I feel like I should say something," he says, ruining all my wishes at once.
    My teeth don't come apart when I growl, "Like what?"
    Heath smacks his X-Acto and highlighter down on the drafting table. He braces himself with both arms and looks straight ahead,
     away from me. "You don't have to be such a bitch all the time, Jamie. I'm trying to be nice."
    "All right, all right." I make a point of putting my X-Acto down gently. "This is me not being a bitch. What do you think you should say about Burke's surgery?"
    Seconds pass.
    They feel like long, miserable days, but I'm not being a bitch, so I keep my mouth shut.
    "I don't know." Heath turns toward me a little. "I mean, I guess—I'm sorry. I know you've got to be worried about him. Like
     you need all that angst and freaking out on top of everything else we've got going this semester."
    My bottom lip trembles.
    I really hate Heath now, because he just said more than Freddie (I don't want to talk about it but you need to), NoNo (It's his decision), and my family (That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard) all put together.
    Heath made the tears come.
    All of a sudden I'm blubbering like when I was a freshman and got stung on the nose by a bee, and I really do want to faint
     or fall down or just... quit. Completely quit.
    Instead, I sit down on the linoleum tile floor and lean against the wall, with the drafting tables and the newspaper layout
     above my head like a big, woody, gluey print umbrella.
    Heath sits under the tables beside me, so close his leg touches mine. A few seconds later, he actually offers me a handkerchief.
     A real one. White. The damned thing's monogrammed with a curly HM in the corner.
    This makes me stop crying and roll my eyes.
    "It's my dad's," Heath says. Then he laughs. "It looks stupid, but it holds the snot. That's what matters, right?"
    "Are you really rich?" I blurt.
    Heath leans back and rests his head against the concrete block wall. His shoulder presses against mine as I actually use his
     stupid monogrammed hanky to wipe my eyes and nose.
    "No," he says. "Not anymore. But my parents haven't accepted that yet. My dad's company is downsizing and he's losing his
     job. Mom's gone through her trust fund. Our house is up for sale, but they're trying to keep it quiet."
    Oh great. And here I was, trying not to be a bitch. "I'm sorry."
    "I'm not." Heath launches into an explanation about dwelling size and SUVs and wasting energy that reminds me so much of NoNo
     I actually wonder if I should get the two of them better acquainted.
    Before I can even wrap my brain around that little plan, he asks, "Will you deal with the whole Burke's-bariatric-surgery
     thing in Fat Girl before some asshole writes in and asks about it?"
    Good point.
    Very good point.
    I use the hanky again. "Probably. Yeah. Definitely. I should."
    "You are so getting that scholarship, Jamie. I know it. I feel it."
    "Thanks."
    "You should have been editor-in-chief this year, just so you know." Heath's tone is matter-of-fact and relieved, like he's
     been waiting weeks to say this.
    "Yeah, well, that was never going to happen."
    "Dax didn't do it because you're fat or anything. She just likes guys better."
    "Duh."
    He laughs.
    And that makes me laugh again. Then cry a little more.
    I've definitely entered an alternate universe.
    We keep talking about college at first, then scholarships and the clock