Free Big Fat Manifesto by Susan Vaught Page B

holds on to his donut, napkin, and juice cup as I sit and eat. When I'm finished, he offers me
     all of his stuff.
    "You aren't eating?" My eyelids finally do move a fraction higher. I collect his food and juice, but nothing's computing.
    He reaches into his pack on the bleacher step behind us and pulls out a bottle of water. "I have to get ready," he says. "You
     know, start eating better, so this whole surgery thing doesn't shock my system."
    My eyes open all the way. The first bite of Burke's donut turns heavy in my mouth, and I don't think I can swallow it without
     choking. For some reason, my eyes dart from his dreads and smooth forehead down across his cheeks, to his broad shoulders,
     belly, and finally come to rest on his powerful legs. I wonder how long he's been "eating better." Is he already smaller?
     Has he already started to change before he even has that god-awful stomach-stapling thumb-sized-two-tablespoons nightmare?
    Christ, Jamie. Does that even matter when he might die in six days?
    Smile at him, damn it.
    So I smile, and force down the bite of donut, take a swig of juice, and wish I had some idea what to say, because Burke obviously
     wants me to say something.
    "Good for you." NoNo breaks the silence, and I could kiss her, but I'm too busy letting the rest of Burke's donut slip out
     of my fingers and fall to the grass and mud underneath the bleachers. The ants can have a feast. I don't want anything else.
    NoNo finishes her whatever-it-is bar and stretches. Her T-shirt is totally colorless today, with a consistency that reminds
     me of burlap. Her jeans, though—still bright blue hemp, high waist, and totally dork. "It's important to prepare for body
     trauma," she continues.
    Freddie's face puckers. "Body trauma. God that sounds gross. Don't make me hurl my sugar and animal fat into your lap, 'kay?"
     She wipes donut crumbs off her chin as NoNo gags. To Burke Freddie says, "I'm glad you're doing that. I wondered when you'd
     start—well, worried that you wouldn't, really."
    "I don't want to be one of those people who gains twenty pounds before they go in." Burke shakes his head, and his dreads
     brush the shoulders I love to squeeze and poke and rest my head on when I'm tired or sad, or even really happy. "That would
     make my risk of complications higher."
    Everybody looks at me.
    My turn to talk.
    Only my words fell through the bleachers with Burke's donut.
    Guess he doesn't want the four chocolate bars I automatically packed in my makeup kit for him. He probably doesn't want them
     anymore ever, does he?
    / could eat the ones I have left, or give them to Dad. My stomach lurches, and I taste orange juice when I swallow a burp. Nothing sounds good right now, even chocolate. It'll be nice to save that fifteen bucks a box every week, right? Because that's pretty much where I spend the lunch money my parents give me, on Burke's candy, since I don't eat at school.
    After a few awkward seconds, I manage to squeak, "I want you to take care of yourself." Then, after a slow breath, "Can I
     do anything to help?"
    Please say no.
    As if reading my mind, Burke shakes his head. "I have to do this part on my own." He takes my hand and gives it a squeeze,
     his eyes already far away again, studying the crowd.
    Fifteen or so minutes later, Freddie gives me hell as we dress in the back corner of the visitor field house. It smells a
     little like gym socks, boy-sweat, and heinous foo-foo perfume from all of us, which does nothing to help Freddie's mood.
    "You need to be more supportive, lamie, I swear." She glares at me over the jeweled veil of her purple belly-dancer costume.
    She and NoNo automatically stand in front of me, to give me a little privacy as I struggle into last year's Aladdin and the Wonderful Lamp costume. I played Fatima, a healer chick who gets killed, then is impersonated by a genie's wicked brother. Faf-ima. Of course.
     I'm sure the whole school thought that was a kick, but at least I got a