Read Online A Really Awesome Mess by Trish Cook - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Trish Cook
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obvious?” I asked.
“That’s kind of how it works,” she explained. “Kids tend to hang out here based on what level they are. Most of the people around us are on levels one and two, with maybe a few threes thrown in. I’m Colbie, by the way. Level two. Been here a month now.”
“How can you tell the kids over there are on the upper levels?” I imagined some sort of merit badge or pin I hadn’t noticed yet.
Colbie gave me a knowing look, rolled her eyes, and puffed out her cheeks. I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? It’s like a factory farm in this place,” she explained. “They force-feed everyone who’s the slightest bit thin until they get obscenely plump and juicy, and then you’re kind of cooked, you know? They send you home so fat you don’t want anyone to see you, so you never go out. And then your parents think you’re totally fixed, like
Isn’t that sweet! My teenager wants to spend Friday night on the couch
watching movies me with me! Wasn’t Heartland just so great for her?
And meanwhile, you’re all like
Shoot me now, I’m a cow
.”
I scrunched up my nose. “So how can you stop it from happening?”
Colbie shrugged helplessly. “You can’t! I’ve gained, like, ten pounds since I got here. I’m already a total heifer and it’s just going to get worse!”
“Really?” I asked, horrified. Ten pounds in one month, times however many months kids got stuck here, had to be the scariest, meanest, most unfair punishment imaginable.
Colbie nodded sadly. “I mean, I’ll do whatever I have to to get out, but the minute I get home, I’m on a starvation diet until all the weight comes off. Period, end of story.”
I felt sorry for her and her inevitable porking out.
And happy for me that thanks to Justin, Mohammed, and Chip, I was going to be the only kid in the history of Heartland who managed to avoid becoming one of the factory farm girls on the other side of the room.
NOBODY KNEW WHO WAS GOING TO BLOW IT FOR US. BUT EVERYBODY knew somebody was. The only person who could be reasonably ruled out was Mohammed. He was really good—scarily good, actually—at keeping things under wraps. I guessed that was a skill you developed when you watched one of your parents murdered in front of your eyes.
So that left me, with my smart mouth and low tolerance for bullshit; Emmy, who couldn’t stand food; Chip, who was at least as much of a dick as me, since we’d already thrown down once; Jenny, who was so fragile it was like she might crack and turn to a pitiful pile of dust at any second; and Diana, who was a violent psycho.
Of course, as Mohammed’s three assault convictions showed,he was kind of a violent psycho himself, and actually much scarier than Diana because he hid it better. Which meant there was no way I was mouthing off to some authority figure and risking sharing a room with a guy who knew revenge was a dish best served cold. And it got cold in the middle of the night out here in the heartland.
So, in the end, it was Diana, who probably figured as a thirteen-year-old girl who looked like a ten-year-old, she’d be most immune from Mohammed’s revenge, that snapped. After an entire week with nobody getting in trouble, we could almost taste the upcoming rewards. And then, twenty minutes away from our deadline, Diana went apeshit in the cafeteria when she thought that someone cut in front of her in line. It took Tiny and one other similarly huge staff guy to restrain her.
Which meant everyone arrived at group in a really foul mood. Mohammed looked like he might kill somebody. I did not want to sit next to him, or really, within about a half mile of him. Neither, apparently, did anybody else, so he got the couch all to himself with the rest of us on beanbag chairs or, in my case, a hard plastic chair because Tina indicated that my sharing a beanbag chair with Emmy would be a no-no. Surprisingly, Emmy looked kind of bummed about that. Even more surprisingly, I kind of
“That’s kind of how it works,” she explained. “Kids tend to hang out here based on what level they are. Most of the people around us are on levels one and two, with maybe a few threes thrown in. I’m Colbie, by the way. Level two. Been here a month now.”
“How can you tell the kids over there are on the upper levels?” I imagined some sort of merit badge or pin I hadn’t noticed yet.
Colbie gave me a knowing look, rolled her eyes, and puffed out her cheeks. I burst out laughing. “Are you kidding me? It’s like a factory farm in this place,” she explained. “They force-feed everyone who’s the slightest bit thin until they get obscenely plump and juicy, and then you’re kind of cooked, you know? They send you home so fat you don’t want anyone to see you, so you never go out. And then your parents think you’re totally fixed, like
Isn’t that sweet! My teenager wants to spend Friday night on the couch
watching movies me with me! Wasn’t Heartland just so great for her?
And meanwhile, you’re all like
Shoot me now, I’m a cow
.”
I scrunched up my nose. “So how can you stop it from happening?”
Colbie shrugged helplessly. “You can’t! I’ve gained, like, ten pounds since I got here. I’m already a total heifer and it’s just going to get worse!”
“Really?” I asked, horrified. Ten pounds in one month, times however many months kids got stuck here, had to be the scariest, meanest, most unfair punishment imaginable.
Colbie nodded sadly. “I mean, I’ll do whatever I have to to get out, but the minute I get home, I’m on a starvation diet until all the weight comes off. Period, end of story.”
I felt sorry for her and her inevitable porking out.
And happy for me that thanks to Justin, Mohammed, and Chip, I was going to be the only kid in the history of Heartland who managed to avoid becoming one of the factory farm girls on the other side of the room.
NOBODY KNEW WHO WAS GOING TO BLOW IT FOR US. BUT EVERYBODY knew somebody was. The only person who could be reasonably ruled out was Mohammed. He was really good—scarily good, actually—at keeping things under wraps. I guessed that was a skill you developed when you watched one of your parents murdered in front of your eyes.
So that left me, with my smart mouth and low tolerance for bullshit; Emmy, who couldn’t stand food; Chip, who was at least as much of a dick as me, since we’d already thrown down once; Jenny, who was so fragile it was like she might crack and turn to a pitiful pile of dust at any second; and Diana, who was a violent psycho.
Of course, as Mohammed’s three assault convictions showed,he was kind of a violent psycho himself, and actually much scarier than Diana because he hid it better. Which meant there was no way I was mouthing off to some authority figure and risking sharing a room with a guy who knew revenge was a dish best served cold. And it got cold in the middle of the night out here in the heartland.
So, in the end, it was Diana, who probably figured as a thirteen-year-old girl who looked like a ten-year-old, she’d be most immune from Mohammed’s revenge, that snapped. After an entire week with nobody getting in trouble, we could almost taste the upcoming rewards. And then, twenty minutes away from our deadline, Diana went apeshit in the cafeteria when she thought that someone cut in front of her in line. It took Tiny and one other similarly huge staff guy to restrain her.
Which meant everyone arrived at group in a really foul mood. Mohammed looked like he might kill somebody. I did not want to sit next to him, or really, within about a half mile of him. Neither, apparently, did anybody else, so he got the couch all to himself with the rest of us on beanbag chairs or, in my case, a hard plastic chair because Tina indicated that my sharing a beanbag chair with Emmy would be a no-no. Surprisingly, Emmy looked kind of bummed about that. Even more surprisingly, I kind of
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