Read Online Diary of a Mad Fat Girl by Stephanie McAfee - Free Book Online Page A

bedtime,” I say, being very sarcastic.
    “ What?” she says with exaggerated
exasperation. “You have hounded me to death about this for five
months and I have told you no less than a thousand times that I
couldn’t talk about it and I have asked you no less than ten thousand times to trust me and
you never would, so there. Are you happy now?” She flips down the
visor and starts fiddling with her sleek blonde hair, “Can we get a
move on? Please?”
    “ Okay, off we go,” I say and put the
car in reverse. “So, are you like a lesbian or a fag hag or some
kind of weird sex freak or what?”
    “ Do not use the term ‘fag hag’ because
that is derogatory and insulting to both gay men and their
friends.”
    “ Sorry,” I say and mean it, “so what
is the politically correct term for what you are then? An escort? A
call girl? What?”
    “ Not having this conversation, Ace,
just drive, please.”
    “ Right,” I say, “because it’s not what
it looks like, right?”
    And we ride in silence from my house to the
school.
    “ Pull up behind the cafeteria and
let’s go in that side door next to the gym,” she says, pointing.
“You got your keys?”
    “ No, Lilly, I used a screwdriver to
crank my car and left my keys at home.”
    “ You are such a smartass.” She whips
out her school issued photo ID card that has a picture of her
looking like an advertisement for Crest White Strips and
Pantene.
    I whip out my school issued ID card, but my
picture looks more like a startled primate at the zoo. I swear, the
woman taking the picture said “one” then paused for thirty seconds
and said “two” then I popped my lips and the bitch screamed
“three!” and snapped the flash and now I have this jewel of a
photograph that I am supposed to wear around my neck every day.
    I begged to have another photo made, but
that vagina wart Catherine Hilliard refused. I waited a few weeks
and claimed I lost it thinking that would do the trick, but Mrs.
Hilliard was kind enough to fish up the same old photo to put on my
new ID. Then she docked my check $35 for her trouble.
    “ C’mon,” Lilly says impatiently,
“let’s do this.”
    “ Do what exactly?” I ask. “What are we
going to do when we get into the school? You know the lobby is
locked and then Catherine Hilliard probably has dead bolts on her
dungeon door.”
    Lilly points to a crisscross of bobby pins
in her hair.
    “ Are you freakin’ kidding me right
now?”
    “ I can do it, trust me,” she says and
I’m not feeling reassured. “Ace, I have to get in there, alright? I
have to. You don’t even understand how important it is for me to
get in that building and get my stuff.”
    “ What stuff is it that you so
desperately need?” I ask, stalling because I really don’t want to
get arrested again this week. “All the hog-head had in her hand
that day was pictures and post cards.”
    “ It’s not the pictures and post cards
that I need,” she looks at me. “It’s one of the frames.”
    “ The picture frames?”
    “ Yes, the thick black and brown frame.
Did you notice if she had that one in her hand that day?” She gives
me a mean look, “Because it wasn’t in the stuff you threw out in my
yard.”
    “ Yeah, she did because I remember
thinking to myself what a big ass picture frame that was and, uh,”
I look at her, “kinda dwarfs the photo, don‘t you
think?”
    “ It has a computer chip in
it.”
    “ It didn’t have a cord.”
    “ Not one of those chips, stupid. It’s
taped in where the inner and outer frames snap
together.”
    “ Oh, so it’s one of those deals that
could be two smaller frames or one big one.”
    “ Yes, glad you’re up to speed on that.
Can we go now?” she looks around nervously.
    “ I’m not sure I really want to know,
but I have to ask,” I look at her, “what’s on the chip?”
    “ Everything.”
    “ Oh. Okay. That’s clear as mud. Like
pretty much everything else you’ve said so far today.” I