Read Online Fat Angie by e. E. Charlton-Trujillo - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: e. E. Charlton-Trujillo
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language. You’re such a
fucking
saint,” Wang said. “Fucking crazy saint just like —”
And before Wang could say their sister’s name, Fat Angie shoved him. Hard! So hard that he fell flat on his butt.
Fat Angie was aware of the unwanted audience.
She started counting in her head.
The bus driver called out to her.
Wang stood, straightening out the handprints she had left on his shirt. “You’re switch is flipped, and I’m telling Mom.”
“Wang, c’mon. I’m sorry — I didn’t meant to . . .”
“Get off me,” he said.
The bus driver closed the doors. Fat Angie froze in place as Wang walked to his Jeep Cherokee.
“She’ll never come back,” he said. “Never!”
His voice was swallowed between chatter and bus-engine hum. Fat Angie beat on the bus doors with her palm four times, and it opened. Still counting in her head, she plopped into her usual seat. The Duo of Geekdom continued their spitball target practice. She leaned her head against the seat. Maybe Wang was right. Maybe she did not know how to “belong” in the absence of her sister. That was exactly what she had thought the day she’d slit her wrist with a discount double-edged razor. The main chorus of “Free Fallin’ ”— the Tom Petty song her mother had played on repeat for days after the disappearance was first announced — had echoed in Fat Angie’s head as they lifted her into the ambulance.
She had told her therapist,
“I just couldn’t get the song outta my head. It was exactly how I felt.”
The therapist had made a note:
Music therapy not an option.
The bus was several stops in when Fat Angie realized she had never read KC’s note.
Each unfold of the note revealed a graffiti-esque layer of hearts on one side. On the other, written in red ink, was
Fat Angie entertained the possibility that perhaps she could be the daredevil, the girl against the grain she had hoped to be. Because she was most definitely seen by one new-cool-swell girl, KC Romance!
Fat Angie stood over the full sheet cake. She had been standing there for three minutes according to the precision timing of her Casio calculator watch. The watch had been her father’s when he was her age. Standing well within earshot, the Triple Threat spoke in cupped hand whispers. Fat Angie could feel their perfectly blue eyes boring a hole into the back of her skull. Their barrage of bubble-gum commentary shaped into a white noise balloon, encasing Fat Angie and the image of that cake. Then,
pop!
The piercing laughter of her mother burst the otherwise hypnotic moment.
“Oh, Debbie, that’s the best story,” said her mother in the voice she used only for social gatherings and Wang’s therapist. The voice made Fat Angie’s skin want to rip from the bone. She didn’t quite know why.
Her mother picked up a dessert plate and a pink plastic knife and fork.
“What are you doing?” said Fat Angie’s couldn’t-be-bothered mother. “People have been staring at you standing here. You promised to reel it in.”
“I can’t eat that,” Fat Angie said, her eyes still fixated on the cake.
“I said it was fine,” said Fat Angie’s mother. “You just have to skip dinner. Trust me, you will survive without one meal.”
“It’s a
fetus,
” Fat Angie said, looking at her mother.
The cake had an ultrasound picture on it. Fat Angie stared at its oddly shaped parts once again.
“It’s an ultrasound of a baby,” said her mother, annoyed. “And your aunt is very proud of it, so quit being so strange. People will never love you if you keep being so strange. Isn’t that what your therapist told you?”
“Not in so many words,” Fat Angie said.
“I see your eccentric new friend is enjoying herself,” said Fat Angie’s mother.
KC double dipped celery from the veggie platter while playing a baby-name game.
“Where did you say she was from?” asked her mother, sampling a cookie.
“I didn’t,” said Fat Angie, her eyes fixed on the motionless
fucking
saint,” Wang said. “Fucking crazy saint just like —”
And before Wang could say their sister’s name, Fat Angie shoved him. Hard! So hard that he fell flat on his butt.
Fat Angie was aware of the unwanted audience.
She started counting in her head.
The bus driver called out to her.
Wang stood, straightening out the handprints she had left on his shirt. “You’re switch is flipped, and I’m telling Mom.”
“Wang, c’mon. I’m sorry — I didn’t meant to . . .”
“Get off me,” he said.
The bus driver closed the doors. Fat Angie froze in place as Wang walked to his Jeep Cherokee.
“She’ll never come back,” he said. “Never!”
His voice was swallowed between chatter and bus-engine hum. Fat Angie beat on the bus doors with her palm four times, and it opened. Still counting in her head, she plopped into her usual seat. The Duo of Geekdom continued their spitball target practice. She leaned her head against the seat. Maybe Wang was right. Maybe she did not know how to “belong” in the absence of her sister. That was exactly what she had thought the day she’d slit her wrist with a discount double-edged razor. The main chorus of “Free Fallin’ ”— the Tom Petty song her mother had played on repeat for days after the disappearance was first announced — had echoed in Fat Angie’s head as they lifted her into the ambulance.
She had told her therapist,
“I just couldn’t get the song outta my head. It was exactly how I felt.”
The therapist had made a note:
Music therapy not an option.
The bus was several stops in when Fat Angie realized she had never read KC’s note.
Each unfold of the note revealed a graffiti-esque layer of hearts on one side. On the other, written in red ink, was
Fat Angie entertained the possibility that perhaps she could be the daredevil, the girl against the grain she had hoped to be. Because she was most definitely seen by one new-cool-swell girl, KC Romance!
Fat Angie stood over the full sheet cake. She had been standing there for three minutes according to the precision timing of her Casio calculator watch. The watch had been her father’s when he was her age. Standing well within earshot, the Triple Threat spoke in cupped hand whispers. Fat Angie could feel their perfectly blue eyes boring a hole into the back of her skull. Their barrage of bubble-gum commentary shaped into a white noise balloon, encasing Fat Angie and the image of that cake. Then,
pop!
The piercing laughter of her mother burst the otherwise hypnotic moment.
“Oh, Debbie, that’s the best story,” said her mother in the voice she used only for social gatherings and Wang’s therapist. The voice made Fat Angie’s skin want to rip from the bone. She didn’t quite know why.
Her mother picked up a dessert plate and a pink plastic knife and fork.
“What are you doing?” said Fat Angie’s couldn’t-be-bothered mother. “People have been staring at you standing here. You promised to reel it in.”
“I can’t eat that,” Fat Angie said, her eyes still fixated on the cake.
“I said it was fine,” said Fat Angie’s mother. “You just have to skip dinner. Trust me, you will survive without one meal.”
“It’s a
fetus,
” Fat Angie said, looking at her mother.
The cake had an ultrasound picture on it. Fat Angie stared at its oddly shaped parts once again.
“It’s an ultrasound of a baby,” said her mother, annoyed. “And your aunt is very proud of it, so quit being so strange. People will never love you if you keep being so strange. Isn’t that what your therapist told you?”
“Not in so many words,” Fat Angie said.
“I see your eccentric new friend is enjoying herself,” said Fat Angie’s mother.
KC double dipped celery from the veggie platter while playing a baby-name game.
“Where did you say she was from?” asked her mother, sampling a cookie.
“I didn’t,” said Fat Angie, her eyes fixed on the motionless
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