He looks surprised. “Fine with me. Tomorrow it is.”
Coach Sharp reminds me that I have to dress out today. I follow the other girls to the locker room and strip down to change in a shower stall. I’ve pulled the curtain but there’s still this gap, and I can hear snarky little comments about someone letting a cow into the locker room.
I face the back wall, finish dressing, and when I turn around to pull aside the shower curtain, I see a skinny figure standing in the gap so that no one can see me anymore. She’s wearing a plaid western shirt with her gym shorts. It can’t be anyone else: Becca.
I pull the curtain aside and step out. “Thanks. Um, I appreciate that.”
Becca looks away and mumbles, “I was just doing the right thing.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “I know. Thank you. Want to walk one, jog one, together?”
She looks surprised. “Sure.”
Drew and I get off the bus at Sugar’s in the afternoon, but after I told Leah what Dr. Matt said about me working in the bakery being like an alcoholic tending bar, she said that I can’t work there anymore.
I was so relieved.
When Dr. Matt believes that I’m completely out of the woods, suicide-wise, I may even get to go straight home to do my homework instead of sitting in Sugar’s dining room, breathing in those icing fumes and being tempted to get into that box of broken cookies. But for right now, I can’t be alone.
I do my best to ignore the cake ball lollipops calling to me from the display case, and I try to write my Resolution. A group of cheerleaders stop in. I overhear them talking about ordering cupcakes for Homecoming, and I take my work outside and sit on the bench next to the big window. I stare at Ryan’s memorial and think about what I want to say to my classmates, but I’m stumped for words. I read again what I’ve got on my page:
“Resolved, to think much on all occasions of my own dying, and of the common circumstances which attend death.”
I turn my paper over and sketch the cross with Ryan’s name on it.
A car lurches to a stop right in front of me. Anna gets out. The car pulls away.
She seats herself next to me on the bench and glances at my paper. I cover the cross with my hand. She looks away and says, “Hey. Nice cross.”
I sigh. “Hey.” I uncover the cross and darken the R in Ryan’s name. “The bakery’s doing a special rate for students on Homecoming orders, if that’s why you’re here.”
“Oh, please. Like I’m going to order a possum cake or something?” She kicks a big piece of gravel and it skitters across the parking lot. “Nah; my mom’s got to go to the drug store, and I saw you sitting outside. I asked her to drop me off so that I can talk to you.”
I trace the cross over and over again. “Oh.”
Anna leans forward with her elbows on her knees. “Ryan was one of my best friends. We knew each other since we both moved here in second grade. He was one of the only people who would talk to the weird girl.”
I nod.
She sits up, kicks another chunky rock. “I mean me. I’m the weird girl.”
“I know.”
Anna’s voice cracks. “And I—I really miss him. A lot. And…I hate it that he’s dead, and I hate it that you lied about how it happened.”
“I’m sorry.” I tuck my Resolution into the back of my notebook. “You don’t know how much I wish that it hadn’t happened at all. I wish I could take it back; I—”
“I know.” Anna stares across the street at Ryan’s memorial, silent. Then, “I’m the one who put the cross there.”
“Really? So you’re not a devil worshipper?”
She sits back against the bench, crosses her arms. “I never said I was a devil worshipper. People just assumed that because I never said I wasn’t.” She shrugs. “Why would I bother telling Abercrombie and Bitch anything? They’re going to make up their minds about me whether they know me or not. Know what I mean?” She swats at a mosquito, then re-crosses her arms.
“Yeah. I get what you’re saying.” I watch her a moment. “…You know…I wish we could still be friends, Anna. But I understand if you can’t forgive me for what I did.” The invisible giant hands are around my throat again. A tear escapes my eye and hangs on the tip of my nose. I close my eyes and whisper, “You reached out to me when I really needed a friend.”
Anna puts her arm around me, and I can tell that she’s crying, too. “The weird girl needed a friend, too, and Ryan was there for her.” She puts her head on my shoulder. “You can be my weird girl. I’ll be your Ryan.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
The next day in English, Mr. Van Horn announces, “Our last presenter is Colby Denton.” He imitates the guy on The Price Is Right: “Come on down, Colby!”
I hear my heartbeat thumping in my ears when I walk to the front of the room. It feels like my fat is multiplying times a thousand, and for a fleeting second I think about just placing my paper on Mr. Van Horn’s desk and bolting for the door.
But I don’t.
Mr. Van Horn prompts me just as he has the other presenters: “And, pray tell, which of Jonathan Edwards’s Resolutions did you adopt?”
I gesture to the list displayed on the screen and read aloud, “Resolved, to think much on all occasions of my own dying, and of the common circumstances which attend death.”
The only sound in the room is the air conditioner clicking on.
I close my eyes and envision the plastic star on my ceiling. After Anna left Sugar’s, I finally figured out what to say. Then I stayed up late, reading this paper to that star until I fell asleep. I open my eyes and remind myself that I’ve got at least three pairs of friendly eyes in the room: Tina, Anna, and Mr. Van Horn. I swallow hard, shakily raise my paper, and lean against Mr. Van Horn’s desk so that I don’t fall over.
I lower my paper and stare at a spot of ground-in chewing gum on the carpet. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right. I chose the Resolution about dying, but I had a really hard time writing about it, I guess because…”—I search for the right words—“…I’ve been thinking about dying for so long, that I just…”—I shrug—“…don’t want it to be all I think about anymore.”
I force myself to look at Mr. Van Horn. “I hope that’s okay, that you won’t count off points or anything. But if you do…I guess I could rewrite it later when I’m…better.”
He says gently, “I’m sure it’ll be fine, Colby. No worries.”
I nod and swallow hard. “Okay. Here goes.” I glance at my audience, but immediately look back down at my paper and lock my eyes on my words:
“I was trying to figure out what Jonathan Edwards was talking about when he wrote this Resolution. I mean…was he talking about what happens to people’s bodies when they die? Or…like, the way that people die when they’re really old and they just don’t wake up? Or…tragic deaths, like an accident or…suicide?”
This isn’t sounding as put together as it did when I read it to the star on my ceiling last night. Crap. I scan the page, flip it over, and read the back…
Mr. Van Horn prompts, “Colby, do you need a second to collect yourself?”
“Huh? Oh, no, no. It’s okay, I was just…This isn’t coming off like I mean it to…I’m sorry.”
“You’re doing fine. Keep going. If you want to, that is.” He moves from his podium to his desk and sits on the edge, leans over, and pats me on the back. Then his classroom phone rings and he turns to get it.
I glance up at my audience. Kara’s smirking, and her back row buds are giving me the evil eye. Tina clears her throat and gives me a thumbs-up. Anna clears her throat, too, but she’s making sure that Kara sees her flipping the bird.
Mr. Van Horn wraps up his phone call. “Yes, Mr. McDaniel, please wait until later this class period to do that. I understand that it’s important, but this is, too. Thanks.” He returns to his spot on the edge of his desk. “Sorry about that, Colby. Please continue.”
I take a deep breath and blow it out. “Okay. Here’s what I thi
nk Jonathan Edwards was talking about: What do people who know they are going to die think about? What do they say to other people, if they have the chance before they go? What do people hope they’ll be remembered for?
“You all know how my cousin Ryan…died. His death was an accident. He died saving my life, and”—I choke up—“…he didn’t know he was going to die that day…The same day that y’all saw a video of me on Facebook.”
A few of Kara’s friends on the back row giggle at the mention of the video. Mr. Van Horn points at them. “You, you, and you: out! Now.” He waits until they leave, shoots a warning glare at Kara and the remaining students, then nods at me. “Continue, Colby. You’re doing fine.”
“I didn’t know Ryan like a lot of you did. We were friends when we were little, but then family stuff got in the way, and by the time I moved to Piney Creek, he was a different person, and so was I.”
I swallow hard, will my hands to stop shaking. But I can’t steady my voice when I continue. “I think that…if Ryan had known he was going to die, he would have wanted to be known as someone who did something honorable…something brave…even though none of his friends supported him in doing it.” I look across the classroom at the football players, but all of them are looking at their desktops.
My throat feels like it’s closing up because I know what’s coming in the next part and I don’t want to read it out loud, but I do.
“I don’t think that Ryan would want to be remembered as the guy who videoed his Fat Ass cousin trying to put on jeans that were too small, then his video somehow ended up on Facebook, you know? Because that’s such an awful thing for somebody to do to another person. And…if I had died that day, I know that I would not want to be remembered only as The Fat Girl in the video.
“I’d rather think about what I want to try to leave behind when I’m gone, instead of how and why I go. I’d want to be remembered as a person who was kind, and funny, and loyal, and that when I was alive, people saw me for who I am as a person, not what I look like, or what my dad did, or mistakes I made like lying when I couldn’t face the truth about myself.”
Kara—or somebody on the back row—coughs, “Fat Ass!” Mr. Van Horn moves from his desk to stand by the wall next to their row. His arms are crossed and he looks pissed.
My face feels like it’s on fire, and my Kermit the Frog voice is back when I start speaking again. “I—I hope that someday, you will be able to remember Ryan as the guy who did the right thing when a girl was raped, and that because of him, she’s still alive. And—and I hope that someday, people will look at me and see Colby. Not The Fat Girl.” I shrug. “So…that’s my Resolution.”
I place my paper in Mr. Van Horn’s inbox and even though my legs feel like they’re going to give out any second, I force myself off the edge of the desk, straighten up to my full height, and head back to my seat.
Tina and Anna stand, Mr. Van Horn joins them in clapping for me, and eventually, a few other people join them in a standing ovation. I don’t even realize that the classroom door is standing open, and that Mr. McDaniel and the School Resource Officer are just inside the room. Both of them look very serious.
Mr. McDaniel says, “Mr. Van Horn, we need to speak with one of your students about items found in her locker.” He holds up a bottle of blood-red nail polish and a neon orange marker. The officer walks over to Kara, grips her arm, and walks her out of the classroom.
Tina gives me double-thumbs-up and smiles so big that I think her face will crack.
Dr. Matt closes the door behind us and takes his seat. “How was your week? I didn’t hear from you, so I hoped that you were hanging in there.”
“It was okay. I brought my journal so we can talk about some stuff I wrote. My sister really pissed me off.”
He smiles and leans back in his chair. “She’s only seven, right?”
“That’s my little sister, Drew. My older sister, Rachel, is eighteen. She’s living with us again because she got kicked out of college for selling essays.”
Dr. Matt grimaces. “Ouch! How’s Mom taking that?”
I shake my head. “My mom is a wreck. She’s not used to being disappointed in anyone but me. The good thing is, since Rachel moved back, she needed a room in our trailer and I volunteered to move in with my Aunt Leah.”
“You find your aunt to be a supportive person, then?”
I nod. “Definitely. We get along really well, and she loves me the way I am. She doesn’t think I’m a big fat disaster. Sometimes, I even forget that I’m The Fat Girl.”
Dr. Matt makes a face. “You’re much more than your body. You know that, don’t you?”
“I’m getting there. Every day, I get closer to who I want to be.”
He leans forward in his chair. “And who’s that?”
I look down, notice that I don’t have a pillow in my lap, and smile. “I just want to be me: Colby. A person who wants to live.”
Note to the Reader
Big Fat Disaster is a very personal book for me. I struggle with binge eating disorder and have done so since my mid-teens. I have also struggled with suicidal thoughts. I wanted to write a book that would let others dealing with these same challenges know that they are not alone in their pain and shame—and that there is hope for recovery.
Suicide is never the answer. There is always another choice, and I promise, there are people who care about you!
There is help available: The National Suicide Hotline is 1-800-273-TALK (8255). You can also check them out online:
www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/GetHelp
If you are suffering with an eating disorder, there is help available. You do not have to continue the vicious cycle! The National Eating Disorders Association website is a great resource for people who suspect they have an eating disorder and those who love them:
www.nationaleatingdisorders.org/learn
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Gina Panettieri, my tigress of an agent and blessing of a friend. Thanks for encouraging me to see where else this story could go and for always having my back. Love you, G.!
Thank you to Kim Storey and Dawn Lowe for reading Big Fat Disaster throughout its stages of development and giving me feedback on it. I am blessed to call you my friends! Love you both!
Thank you to my school family for your love, support, and lending your names to my stories.
Thank you to Christine Kohler for her ninja copyeditor skills and willingness to give Big Fat Disaster a once-over before I returned the final draft for publication.
Thank you to Merit Press and Jacquelyn Mitchard for believing in Big Fat Disaster. Thank you, Jackie, for pushing me to explore the characters more deeply.
Thank you to my brother, Sergeant Brett Beene, for advising me on the legal aspects of Reese Denton’s crimes. I love you, Brett!
Thank you to Matt Jaremko for advising me on how a therapist would help a kid like Colby begin to attain a sense of power, and for the myriad other ways that Matt has been an incredible blessing in my life and that of my family. I owe the life I have today to you. I love you, Matt!
Most of all, thank you Daniel, Mandy, Alissa, and Kristen, who are, for me, the reasons the sun comes up in the morning. I am here because of you. I love you.
Zeekie-man, I love you and will miss you always. Good boy.
Copyright © 2014 by Beth Fehlbaum.
All rights reserved.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher; exceptions are made for brief excerpts used in published reviews.
Published by Merit Press
an imprint of F+W Media, Inc.
10151 Carver Road, Suite 200
Blue Ash, OH 45242. U.S.A.
www.meritpressbooks.com
ISBN 10: 1-4405-7048-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7048-3
eISBN 10: 1-4405-7049-3
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-7049-0
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, corpo
rations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
Many of the designations used by manufacturers and sellers to distinguish their product are claimed as trademarks. Where those designations appear in this book and F+W Media was aware of a trademark claim, the designations have been printed with initial capital letters.
Interior image © 123RF/Len Neighbors.
Cover design by Frank Rivera.
Cover photo by Elizabeth Lariviere.
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