Butter by Erin Jade Lange Read Free Book Online

knew me. Like his friend was really there. If his friend
had
been there, I bet he wouldn’t be telling anybody about it, because that’s the kind of thing people don’t like to admit they saw—don’t like to confess they stood by and watched and didn’t help.I guess I wasn’t surprised that someone had turned the story around—whatever they had to tell themselves in order to look in the mirror every day.
    I closed my computer without saying good-bye to Anna. I hoped she’d believe me later when I pretended I’d lost the Internet connection. Or maybe I didn’t care what she thought. Right then, all I cared about was what people would think when they read that comment. Would they believe it? Would anyone remember what really happened? Would they even care?
    â€¢ • •
    It was the summer before my freshman year. I had just gotten back from FitFab and was really motivated. I’d lost sixteen pounds that summer and wanted to keep the momentum going with diet and exercise. So I remember clearly deciding to walk down to the Salad Stop instead of having my mom drive me.
    I loaded up a Styrofoam takeout box with everything green, plus a few carrots and beets for color. The FitFab counselors said natural colors were good for a balanced meal. I skipped the cheeses, creamy dressings, and croutons and was actually looking forward to my salad until I got to the checkout counter. The kid at the register reminded me why I was glad my parents didn’t make me get a job. The poor guy was decked out in a red-and-white-striped apron over an electric-orange shirt with hot-pink buttons. He looked like one of those acid flashbacks my uncle Luis was always describing. I recognized the kid from school—Brian something-or-other.
    â€œYou want bread with your salad?” Brian asked automatically.
    Mmm. Bread. Yes, please
.
    â€œNo, thanks.”
    â€œYou sure? It’s real soft and warm, and we bake it fresh daily in our kit—”
    â€œI said
no
, thanks.”
    Interrupting Brian’s robotic speech caused him to look up at me for the first time. I knew I had been rude, but surely now that he saw me, he would realize I was on a diet and maybe a little sensitive about bread.
    Nope. I’d pissed him off.
    â€œYou
sure
you don’t want just one roll? C’mon, one little roll won’t kill you.” Brian leaned over the counter, a fresh-baked roll suddenly in his hand. “A little warm, toasty, soft, salty—”
    â€œYou sound like a phone-sex operator.”
    He snapped upright. “What did you just say to me?”
    â€œYou heard me. Now just tell me what I owe you for the salad.”
    â€œWhat you owe me is an apology!”
    â€œ
I
owe
you
?” I spluttered. “You treat all your customers this way, or do you just get off on torturing fat kids?” I was getting loud, and people were starting to stare.
    Brian dropped the roll and held up his hands. “Hey man, you snapped at me first. I was just messing with you.”
    â€œWell, now I’m going to mess with you. Get your manager.”
    It was so not like me. Honest. I cringed when adults made scenes like this, but it was just so unfair. Here I’d lost somepounds and done the work and changed my attitude, and my reward was taunting? Where was the payoff for a summer of suffering small portions and long workouts? FitFab counselors always made you believe it would be better on the other side, but it never was. Going home was always just a colossal letdown.
    â€œOur manager is on break. Look, I’m sorry—”
    â€œNo, you’re not, but you’re gonna be.”
    â€œHey, Bri! Everything all right?” Jeremy Strong appeared next to Brian behind the counter, a plastic tub of lettuce under one arm.
    If Brian’s face had been fuzzily familiar, Jeremy’s was instantly recognizable. We’d gone to the same junior high, him a year ahead of