Read Online Fall to Pieces by Vahini Naidoo - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Vahini Naidoo
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your first kiss?”
This is a traditional question for Pet. We ask it every time. Every fucking time, and it still doesn’t matter; the answer is still hilarious
.
Petal wrinkles her nose. “Andy Burgerman.”
“More like Booger Man,” I say. He was this fat kid, famous for picking his nose
.
We all shriek with laughter except Amy. She was a fat kid, too, all the way through middle school. People used to tease her. The words of school kids twined into the insults her parents were constantly throwing her way, and she fell apart
.
Her fat dropped away as we went through middle school, and so did her spirit. She’s gotten it back—her spirit—in the past couple of years. But she doesn’t get that I’d love her, we’d love her, either way. Fat or thin or green and blob shaped
.
It still hits her hard when we laugh at Booger Man. Because she imagines other kids, at some other kitchen table, putting their heads together and laughing about her
.
And that thought makes me sick about what I’ve just said. I notice Mark’s fingers curling around Amy’s shoulder
.
“I’m going to screw up the order,” Pet says. Amy’s quiet, staring at one of her black curls floating in the pink punch. She fishes it out and takes a sip. Punch spiked with vodka, and Essence of Amy
.
She shakes her head, flicks away the bad thought. A few drops of punch still linger in that lock of hair
.
“Back to you, Mark,” Petal says
.
He makes a face at her
.
“
What do you least want to admit to everyone at this table? Go around in order. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve thought about Ella, Ames, and me?”
He turns to me and says, “Ella, in the seventh grade I had this dream about you.”
“Stop right there! I don’t want to hear about your horny seventh-grade dreams.”
He laughs. “No, don’t worry; it wasn’t one of those dreams. You were riding a horse and singing ‘Thriller’ in a really high-pitched voice. And that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever thought about you.”
“That’s not too bad,” I say. “But because you heard me singing ‘Thriller’ in your sleep; I think you need this.” I grab a glass of punch and fill it. “Drink up.”
He drinks and whoops, because he’s Mark and that’s what he does. “And you, Petal,” he says. “You. Well, there was that time I thought you were considering becoming a stripper. Do you remember that?”
She slaps him lightly. “I do. But you were high, so I forgive you, my favorite stoner.”
“Shut up. I’m not a stoner anymore.”
“
What about me?” Amy leans forward. Hair sliding into the pink punch again. Half submerged
.
“You.” Mark’s voice drops. His words are a whisper in the dark, splashing into the punch. “I—I used to think that I liked you better when you were fat.”
The hair slides farther into the punch. Three-quarters gone
.
Chapter Eleven
S OMEONE ’ S POUNDING THEIR fist against my chest. Bitch. Water rockets up through me, and I make sure to spurt it all into Petal’s face.
I turn on my side and cough and splutter and choke the river water out onto the grass.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
My skin is wet. My clothes are wet. My throat is on fire. The wind whips through the sun-speckled grass and I
feel it
.
I’m alive.
The rush, the high from before I passed out, still lingers in my body. It will take a long time to go, fade out slowly, evaporate with the water that drips from my clothes.
And I got a memory back, too. I can feel myself smiling, my wet skin stretching as far as it can go.
I got a memory back. And finally, it’s about us. Me, Mark, Pet, Amy.
My smile fades as I think about the conversation. I look for Mark, find his blue-green eyes. “You liked Amy better when she was fat,” I manage to wheeze out.
It’s understandable. I mean, her methods of losing weight were questionable. Yo-yo dieting. Bulimia. Sometimes I hated Thin Amy, too. I hated her for what she was doing to herself. I hated her
This is a traditional question for Pet. We ask it every time. Every fucking time, and it still doesn’t matter; the answer is still hilarious
.
Petal wrinkles her nose. “Andy Burgerman.”
“More like Booger Man,” I say. He was this fat kid, famous for picking his nose
.
We all shriek with laughter except Amy. She was a fat kid, too, all the way through middle school. People used to tease her. The words of school kids twined into the insults her parents were constantly throwing her way, and she fell apart
.
Her fat dropped away as we went through middle school, and so did her spirit. She’s gotten it back—her spirit—in the past couple of years. But she doesn’t get that I’d love her, we’d love her, either way. Fat or thin or green and blob shaped
.
It still hits her hard when we laugh at Booger Man. Because she imagines other kids, at some other kitchen table, putting their heads together and laughing about her
.
And that thought makes me sick about what I’ve just said. I notice Mark’s fingers curling around Amy’s shoulder
.
“I’m going to screw up the order,” Pet says. Amy’s quiet, staring at one of her black curls floating in the pink punch. She fishes it out and takes a sip. Punch spiked with vodka, and Essence of Amy
.
She shakes her head, flicks away the bad thought. A few drops of punch still linger in that lock of hair
.
“Back to you, Mark,” Petal says
.
He makes a face at her
.
“
What do you least want to admit to everyone at this table? Go around in order. What’s the weirdest thing you’ve thought about Ella, Ames, and me?”
He turns to me and says, “Ella, in the seventh grade I had this dream about you.”
“Stop right there! I don’t want to hear about your horny seventh-grade dreams.”
He laughs. “No, don’t worry; it wasn’t one of those dreams. You were riding a horse and singing ‘Thriller’ in a really high-pitched voice. And that’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever thought about you.”
“That’s not too bad,” I say. “But because you heard me singing ‘Thriller’ in your sleep; I think you need this.” I grab a glass of punch and fill it. “Drink up.”
He drinks and whoops, because he’s Mark and that’s what he does. “And you, Petal,” he says. “You. Well, there was that time I thought you were considering becoming a stripper. Do you remember that?”
She slaps him lightly. “I do. But you were high, so I forgive you, my favorite stoner.”
“Shut up. I’m not a stoner anymore.”
“
What about me?” Amy leans forward. Hair sliding into the pink punch again. Half submerged
.
“You.” Mark’s voice drops. His words are a whisper in the dark, splashing into the punch. “I—I used to think that I liked you better when you were fat.”
The hair slides farther into the punch. Three-quarters gone
.
Chapter Eleven
S OMEONE ’ S POUNDING THEIR fist against my chest. Bitch. Water rockets up through me, and I make sure to spurt it all into Petal’s face.
I turn on my side and cough and splutter and choke the river water out onto the grass.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
My skin is wet. My clothes are wet. My throat is on fire. The wind whips through the sun-speckled grass and I
feel it
.
I’m alive.
The rush, the high from before I passed out, still lingers in my body. It will take a long time to go, fade out slowly, evaporate with the water that drips from my clothes.
And I got a memory back, too. I can feel myself smiling, my wet skin stretching as far as it can go.
I got a memory back. And finally, it’s about us. Me, Mark, Pet, Amy.
My smile fades as I think about the conversation. I look for Mark, find his blue-green eyes. “You liked Amy better when she was fat,” I manage to wheeze out.
It’s understandable. I mean, her methods of losing weight were questionable. Yo-yo dieting. Bulimia. Sometimes I hated Thin Amy, too. I hated her for what she was doing to herself. I hated her
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