“And what about you, Peter? I know something about you, too.”
Then, dark terror spreads across my face. I can’t let him know anything about me. It’s too dangerous.
“I have to go,” I say and pick up my knapsack.
“No!” Mr. Nunzio says and grabs my arm tightly. I can see the muscles moving beneath his hairy arms. “I know why you fainted the other day.”
“Al, please.” I must get away, away from him, away from everything. “Let me go.”
“Why are you doing this?” Mr. Nunzio asks. “Let me see them.”
“No,” I say. “I can’t.”
“If I take off my shirt, will you take off yours?”
I stop to think for a bit. “Maybe,” I say. “But no promises.”
Mr. Nunzio lets go of my arm and pulls off his white T-shirt. His chest is hairy and muscular and I see his nipples peeking through like two raisins.
“Now it’s your turn.”
I shake my head. “I’ve changed my mind,” I say.
“Don’t play games with me, people!” Mr. Nunzio yells. I see the look in his eyes — the look that speaks of his man-hunger. Terrified, I break free and run out into the hallway, screaming for help, but everyone has gone home. I try the doors, but they’re locked. Mr. Nunzio is close behind. I run into the staff room. It’s a bad move on my part. I’m cornered.
“Please don’t,” I plead, but he’s too fast. With one loud “RIP!” my T-shirt is torn in half. I’ve never been this naked in front of anyone before. The next thing I know, he’s unpeeling the elastic bandage from around my chest.
“Stop,” I say and this time I really mean it. But it’s too late. I’m spinning and spinning and I can’t slow down. “Stop,” I say again, but no one’s listening. And I know the trick to stop from getting dizzy and that’s to keep your eyes focused on one spot. So I’m looking at the basement window each time and suddenly, I’m not wearing any bandages at all. Uncle Ed winks at me from behind the glass.
Then I fall asleep.
twelve
If I was going to get skinny in time for grade 9, I had to act fast. There was no time to lose. I knew enough about dieting from watching Nancy and Christine, so I just copied whatever they ate, which usually was salads, grapefruits, cottage cheese, melba toast, chicken broth, and sometimes, a piece of fish. It was awful at first because I was always hungry and grapefruit is terrible without any sugar on it. But every time my mother asked, “Are you sure that’s all you’re going to eat?” or “Anyone for a King Dong?” it only made me stronger. If Nancy and Christine could do it, so could I.
But exercising is something I’ll never get used to.
I knew I needed to do it, but it had been so long since I last exercised that I wasn’t sure how to start. I thought about taking walks in the evening, but that sounded boring. Besides, I already walk enough for my paper route. Then I thought jogging might be good, because it’s fashionable. I asked Christine if she had an extra headband I could borrow. She goes jogging three times a week.
“For what?” she asked.
“For when I go jogging,” I said.
“Are you serious?” She looked at me as if I’d just stepped off a space ship.
“Forget I asked,” I said. “I’ll buy my own.”
“Don’t do that,” Christine sighed. “I’ve probably got something you can have. But who are you going jogging with?”
“Myself.”
“You shouldn’t do that. At least not in the beginning. I’ll go with you.”
“Are you sure I’m not going to embarrass you? Someone from Peoples might see us together.”
Christine bit her bottom lip and stared at me for a few seconds. “You don’t embarrass me,” she said. “So don’t think that. And be ready for seven sharp.”
When the time came, Christine came bouncing out of her room, wearing her “When God made man, she was only joking” T-shirt and a pair of black tights. Her hair was tied up in a bun and she was wearing lipstick and eye shadow. I was wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of rugby pants.
“You’ll die in that,” Christine said and tossed me a white headband.
“Isn’t your make-up going to run?” I asked.
“Look, don’t feel you have to compete with me. This isn’t a race. So just start off at your own pace and if you start feeling dizzy or not able to breathe, then stop.”
I knew Christine was just saying that because she was afraid that I’d pass her and take the lead.
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “But I don’t think I’ll need it.”
Christine and I started by walking to the corner and then we picked up the pace. I was doing pretty good, but my stomach and boobs were jiggling. I swore the neigh-bours were watching me from their living room windows.
“Remember to keep breathing,” Christine said.
That was easy for Christine to say, considering she didn’t have masking tape wrapped around her chest. Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my left side.
“My appendix burst,” I thought. “Someone, call a doctor!”
I told Christine to go on. “Something’s gone wrong,” I panted. “I need to sit down for a bit.”
Christine went ahead and I walked the rest of the way to our house, trying to catch my breath. My nipples were sore from all that shaking. Jogging was stupid, I thought. Just as I reached my front yard, I heard someone calling my name. I looked across the street and Daniela was standing in her garage with a broom in her hand. She yelled at me to come over.
“What do you want?” I panted. My lungs were burning.
“What the fuck were you just doing?” she asked, crinkling her nose.
“Jogging,” I said.
“Well, I’d suggest some deodorant.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “At least you’re killing all the fuckin’ flies.”
“Very funny,” I said and walked away.
The next day, I asked Nancy about her aerobics class. She and Bubbles go twice a week.
“You can come if you want,” Nancy said. “It’s fun and the instructor is really nice.”
I was nervous about going because I was afraid that someone might see me. Or even worse, someone in the class might know me. But Nancy told me not to be such a spaz and that the class was all women so that made me feel a little better. On Tuesday night, after my dinner of plain tuna and a bowl of salad, Nancy told me to get ready. She was dressed in her latest Suzy Shier outfit — a pink tank top with matching pink shorts, pink leg warmers, and a pink headband.
“My lord,” my mom said when she saw Nancy. “Are you going to an exercise class or the senior prom?”
I was planning to wear the usual — black rugby pants with a sweatshirt — but once I saw Nancy, I felt retarded. If only I had a matching headband, too.
“No one will care what you look like,” Nancy told me. “Everyone wears jogging pants and T-shirts anyway.”
Then Bubbles showed up.
“Hey, that’s great you’re coming with us!” she said. She was wearing a blue tank top with matching blue shorts, blue leg warmers, and a blue headband.
“What are you two, twins?” Christine asked them.
“You never know!” Bubbles said and smacked her gum.
“Be careful!” my mom yelled as we were walking out. “Nancy, you keep a close eye on your brother. And Peter, if you start feeling pains in your chest or anything, you come right home.”
The aerobics class was held in the basement of St. Paul’s Church, so I felt better knowing where I was going. When we went down the stairs, there were eight women standing around, talking. All of them were thin. I felt very fat.
“C’mon,” Nancy said. “I want to introduce you to the instructor. She’s really nice.”
Nancy led me over to a purple butt. At least, that’s all I could see, since the woman was bent over at the waist.
“Tracy, I want to introduce you to my brother, Peter. He’s checking out the class tonight.”
> The woman straightened up and turned around. I gasped. It was evil Mrs. Hanlan!
“Well, hello there, Peter,” Mrs. Hanlan said and smiled. “It’s nice to see you without that paper sack over your shoulder.”
“Yeah.” I could hardly talk.
“You two know each other?” Nancy asked.
“Your brother’s my paperboy,” Mrs. Hanlan said, “and a very good one at that. Dan says he’s never seen a kid so punctual.”
Did Mr. Hanlan really say that? I almost asked, but I knew better. I didn’t like the way she called him by his first name, like she knew him better than me or something.
“I didn’t know you were a teacher,” I said.
“Just a couple nights a week,” Mrs. Hanlan said. “It helps me stay in shape.”
“Tracy used to be fat, too,” Nancy said.
“You were?” I looked at her toothpick arms.
Mrs. Hanlan laughed. “During my teenage years, I was. C’mon, let’s get started.” She put her hand on my shoulder. “If you start feeling short of breath, Peter, just slow down. And don’t feel that you have to keep up with everyone. Just take it at your pace.”
I still couldn’t believe that skinny Mrs. Hanlan used to be fat.
“Okay, let’s get started everyone!” Mrs. Hanlan called out and put a tape in the ghetto blaster that was sitting on the floor.
Mrs. Hanlan had us march in place for a little bit to get warmed up. “That’s it!” she said, over a Loverboy song. “Now swing those arms!”
It was pretty easy and I wasn’t getting any pains in my side like when I went jogging. I was thinking that this wouldn’t be so bad, after all, even if it was Mrs. Hanlan standing in front of me. I made a point to keep my stomach sucked in so she wouldn’t notice and tell Mr. Hanlan about it.
“Now, jumping jacks!”
Everyone started jumping up and down and flapping their arms. I was starting to sweat a little bit by then, but not too badly. My nipples were bothering me, though. I didn’t tape all the way around my chest because I knew it’d be too hard to breathe. Instead, I went back to my old Scotch tape star trick. But the tape wasn’t holding very well and my nipples were burning. They started to hurt and I was getting frustrated.
“Now windmills!”
All the women started waving their hands in the air. I was losing my rhythm and looked over at Nancy to see how she was doing. She was in perfect time with Mrs. Hanlan. Bubbles was, too. She was even smacking her gum to the beat.
“That’s it! Take it at your own pace,” Mrs. Hanlan called out.
She was looking right at me when she said that. I could tell she was trying to wear me out, but there was no way I was giving in.
“Now dosey-do!”
And then everything started getting very complicated and the class was skipping into the middle of the circle and skipping back out, like we were all at a square dance. I tried to do the same, but I ended up skipping into the circle when everyone was on their way out.
“Now sugar shack!”
I didn’t even know what a sugar shack was and by watching Mrs. Hanlan, I still couldn’t tell. She was waving her toothpick arms in the air and everyone was jumping around like they had ants in their pants. I couldn’t stand the embarrassment anymore, so I mouthed the words “bathroom” to Nancy and jumped my way backwards until I was outside the door.
I sat down on the front steps at St. Paul’s. I felt so embarrassed. I couldn’t jog. I couldn’t dosey-do. I couldn’t do anything. I could just hear Mrs. Hanlan telling Dan all about it. How was I ever going to face them again? Grade 9 was only two and a half months away and I’d never be anyone different than I was at that moment — fat, boy friendless, taped-up Peter Paddington.
I headed straight for the Shop ’N’ Bag to see the one person I could count on — Mr. Bernard. I hadn’t been by to visit him since I started my diet. He must’ve thought I’d died or something.
“Well hello, stranger,” he said when I came into the store. “Long time no see.”
“I’ve been away on a trip,” I lied. I couldn’t tell him that I’d been avoiding his store on account of my stupid diet. He’d probably be hurt. “Europe, mostly.”
Mr. Bernard smiled and said, “Of course. I can only imagine.”
I grabbed a Caramilk and a Mr. Big from the shelf and told Mr. Bernard to ring me up.
“Vhy have you betrayed me?” Dr. Luka asked.
“I knew you wouldn’t last,” Mrs. Hanlan said.
“I thought you loved me,” Debbie Andover cried.
I paid Mr. Bernard, shoved the chocolate bars into my back pockets, and hurried out of the Shop ’N’ Bag.
“Dirty chocolate,” I whispered to myself. But I couldn’t wait to get home and tear into them.
As I was walking past Papa Bertoli, I looked in and saw Daniela sitting on one of the bar stools. There was no one else in the restaurant, so I decided to go in.
“What’s new?” I asked her.
“I think I’m gonna fuckin’ fail this year,” Daniela said, picking at the scabs on her knees. She didn’t even turn around to look at me.
“Are you sure?” I sat down beside her. If Daniela failed grade 8, that would put her behind two years. By the time she graduated high school, Daniela would be older than the teachers.
Daniela nodded. “Sister Louisa told me that unless I passed all my fuckin’ projects and tests next month, she was going to keep me behind. I’ve done okay so far. I got a D- on my book report, which is like a fifty-three or something, I think. And I got twenty-six out of fifty on my math test. But today, I got back my book report and there was this big fuckin’ F on it.”
“Why did you get an F on it?”
“I don’t fuckin’ know!” Daniela shot back. “I copied it word for word from my copy of Cosmo.”
“You shouldn’t have done that,” I said. “Copying things out of magazines is illegal. You could go to jail. Why didn’t you just write your own?”
“Because I didn’t have any fuckin’ time, okay?”
I kept my mouth shut because Daniela was getting loud. She had already picked off four scabs.
“They’ve won,” she said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Everyone,” she said. “My parents. Gianni. My teachers. Everyone who told me I couldn’t fuckin’ make it. They’ve won and I might as well just sit here for the rest of my fuckin’ life and watch everyone walk by the window.”
It was weird, but for once, I knew exactly how Daniela felt. Even though I never served tables or had a nun for a teacher, I felt like “they” had won in my life, too. “They” were the people that thought Daniela and I were losers. “They” thought they were better than us, just because they were thin and had normal nipples and didn’t wet the bed.
But did “they” ever enter a beauty pageant, even though there was no chance of winning? Did “they” ever save one of their friends’ virginity from a Banger? Did “they” ever have the Virgin Mary appear to them in their closet? Who did “they” think they were, anyway? And why did Daniela and I always let them beat us? I was so angry, my nipples started to vibrate beneath the masking tape.
“Daniela, we’ve got to take control of our lives,” I said and slammed my palm down on the counter.
“What are you talking about?”
“I need to lose weight,” I said. “And you need to get a job. A real one. Just imagine if you were working and making money. Your own money. Then you could save up, buy a house and the only driveway you’d have to shovel would be your own. Of course, by then, you could probably hire someone to come and do all your housework for you. Can you imagine if you placed a Help Wanted ad in the Observer and Paolo Vernesse showed up at your door? You’d just look at him and say, ‘I wanted someone to take out the trash. Not bring it to my doorstep.’ Then you’d slam the door in his face and Paolo would go home and take out his bottle of Pino Silvestri and cry.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?”
“What I’m talking about is you getting a real job.”
“How am I going to do something like that?”
“What if you took over my paper route?”
Daniela’s eyes bugged out. “Are you kidding me?”
I shook my head, even though I was still a little surprised myself. But how could I change anything about myself if I didn’t start somewhere? Maybe it was time to say goodbye to Mr. Hanlan, even though he’d be upset. “You can’t hold on to me forever,” I said to him in a telepathic message.
Besides, I’d be starting grade 9 in a few months and by then, I’d be thin with plenty of boy friends and have football practice after school.
“But if you take over my route,” I said to Daniela, “you have to be professional. You have to get the papers out to people on time. And you have to watch what you say to them. People will expect you to be nice to them, whether you feel like it or not.”
“Hey, don’t fuckin’ lecture me about being a pro,” Daniela said. “I’ve spent the last fourteen years of my fuckin’ life working like a slave.”
Then she flicked one of her peeled-off scabs across the bar. I gave her the chocolate bars I had in my back pockets. They were a bit mushed up, but I told her they were still edible.
Daniela grabbed them. “I hope you didn’t fuckin’ fart on these or anything,” she said, sniffing the Mr. Big.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I said.
I was going to head home but then I figured I’d go back to the Shop ’N’ Bag and tell Mr. Bernard that he might not be seeing me for a while.
“It’s not you,” I’d tell him, “I’m just going through some big changes in my life right now.”
I just hoped he wouldn’t take it too hard.
Just as I was coming up to the door, I looked in and saw Uncle Ed. He was standing on the other side of the counter, talking to Mr. Bernard. At first I thought, “That can’t be right. That’s not Uncle Ed.” But one look at the Hawaiian shirt told me it couldn’t be anyone else. Why was he in there, talking to Mr. Bernard? How did they know each other? I started to get angry. Why couldn’t Uncle Ed just leave me alone? Why couldn’t he stop embarrassing me? He must’ve been following me, going to the same places I went, telling everyone things about me. Private things. Things he shouldn’t know about. If he pulled my picture out of his wallet, I’d never talk to him again.
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