Free Man V. Nature: Stories by Diane Cook

talk shows. She’s screaming at her boyfriend, Mack. She’s louder than the music, and it sounds like one long wee . Marni is attractive and fat, with an unnaturally narrow waist and unnaturally big boobs and ass. Her cheeks and lips are plump, but somehow her jaw is sharp, and she looks like a sexy Victorian porcelain doll. She wears her hair big and together it all works to make her seem normal-sized with a lot to grab. But I’ve seen her getting into her pajamas and I’ve seen her gullet a whole pizza at a birthday party, and there is nothing normal-sized about her. She is a magnificent cow. She was my best friend. I wrote her twenty-six letters this summer, and she wrote me none. We haven’t talked since middle school.
    Mack grabs some of that big hair. He pulls her to him, mouth wide, rooting for hers. Marni raises her hand. Maybe she’ll stick fingers in there, swirl them around. I want her to. But she scratches at his face and hauls herself across the crowded floor. Couples part for her because somehow she is revered; rumor is she’ll be at least nominated for homecoming, though she won’t beat anyone on cheerleading. In the corner of the gym Theresa and Hill, Marni’s new bests, detangle from their dates. They’re getting felt up, but they somehow know Marni is on the move and they follow. I guess that’s what it means to be bests now. I only know what’s happening because I’m spying from bleacher land.
    â€œI wonder what that was all about,” I say to Clara. My voice is conspiratorial. I’m trying to make gossip. But the dead star barely shrugs.
    My knee quivers like a compass needle.
    I know Marni’s favorite spot.
    Dancing couples step all over me like I’m a cat underfoot. It takes me two whole songs to get across the gym. I throw my shoulder against the rusty door. It squawks.
    The hallway is quiet but full of couples pressing against lockers. Skirts inch up thighs; pants creep low. I can’t tell if it’s just style or if they’re all about to do it . Where are the teachers? What’s that smell? I want to grab all their hair as I run, and give a terrific yank. I want to sweep their legs and watch them go down.
    The girls’ bathroom is a floor above, at the end of the hall. I hear thudding and I sprint up the stairs. The ruckus gets louder down the corridor. I hear a thump and then an ooph, another thump and an ooph. From behind the door Marni shrills, “Harder!” and it’s like she’s in my ear.
    I crack the door and see Marni lying on the floor, coat spread under her, her hair splayed out. She looks romantic and princesslike, and then Theresa lands a socked foot hard onto Marni’s protruding fat gut.
    â€œOoph.” Marni’s cherub face bunches. Hill stomps her size nines down. They both say, “Ooph,” then Hill wheezes like it’s hot.
    â€œCome on,” Marni growls. She reaches for Theresa’s leg just as Theresa lets it drop. Marni’s head snaps back on the floor. A sick crunch.
    I gasp. The three heads jolt. They see it’s just me.
    â€œWhat do you want, Fart?” Marni sneers.
    She’s lying there: beaten, regal. Cracks in the windows make shimmering webs. The heater is clanging. The stomping girls are huffing. Everyone is waiting. I want to join, is what I want. I want to land some full-force kicks. I want to miss and get her shoulder, her head. I want to jam a toothbrush down her throat, make her thin.
    â€œYou’re going to get in trouble,” I say. I try to sound loud and sarcastic, but I don’t.
    The girls exchange looks and laugh too loudly; one big fake ha each. It’s effortlessly coordinated.
    Theresa plants a foot on Marni’s belly, claiming her like an explorer. “She’s in trouble all right,” she says, arching her back, sticking her gut out, rubbing it. She strains her face and moans.
    Marni on Mack. Mack in Marni. A