Free Down and Out in Bugtussle by Stephanie McAfee Page A

this is just what I need right now,” I tell my little dog as I run my hand over the worn cover. “A guide.”
    I get up and move to the couch. Buster Loo hops up beside me, sniffing the book in my hand. I flip through the first few chapters,all of which are dedicated to flowers. Flowers, flowers, and more flowers. I read until I fall asleep on the sofa, not from a lack of interest, but probably from a heavy dose of meds. I wake up late in the afternoon with the book on my face. I place it on the coffee table and stand up.
    I take Buster Loo for a walk just before dark, then come home and start ironing my clothes for the next week. Pants too tight in the ass with a button barely hanging on? Check. Baggy shirt formerly reserved for “fat” days? Check. These days, every day is a fat day. Funny how that happens. I dig around in my sock drawer until I find a matching pair of polka-dot socks, and unless I wear a plus-sized pair of paisley panties, those socks will be the only item in my wardrobe with a trace of personality.
    Now that I’m thoroughly depressed, I walk back into the living room and pick up Gramma Jones’s garden book. I stare at the words on the cover and wonder if this book could somehow offer some relief from the hopeless misery sucking the life out of me. Damn those tight-ass “fat” pants. Damn them! I won’t buy a size up. I won’t. I put the book down and wonder if instead I should be reading a book called
How Not to Be a Fatass
. No, that wouldn’t be right. I would need a book titled
How Not to Be a Fatass When You’ve Read Every Damned Book in Print About How Not to Be a Fatass but You’re Still a Fatass and Here’s Why!
Yeah, I’ll go to the bookstore tomorrow and ask about that one. Just as soon as I get out of school. School. F me in the A. I’d rather have eyelashes burned off with a flamethrower.

8

    M onday, I dread getting to work partly because I’m already burned-out after only one week and partly because I don’t want Chloe to go apeshit crazy on me when she finds out I ditched the date Friday night. Lucky for me, Stacey Dewberry is already in the conference room when I arrive, but despite that, Chloe has no kind words for me as she goes over the day’s assignments. On the way to our hallway, Stacey remarks that Chloe seemed a little irked with me.
    “Oh, it’s nothing,” I say, thinking I better dream up a king-sized lie to tell Chloe later. I expect to be called to her office at some point during the day, but I’m not.
    On Tuesday, Chloe is still giving me the cold shoulder, and I just let her do her thing and don’t say a word. I leave the conference room and head straight for the teachers’ lounge where I run into Freddie Dublin who is so nice to me it makes me nervous. I thinkabout what Lilly said and try to keep my mind sharp as we exchange unusually polite banter. Lilly was right; I am blinded by his fabulousness. He’s beautiful and his cologne is intoxicating. After speaking with him for five minutes, I don’t even care if he’s trying to manipulate me; I love this guy. He’s downright enchanting and I want to be his friend.
    Later in the day, I catch a bunch of freshmen making fun of Stacey Dewberry, so I give them a lecture, which they ignore, so I threaten to call some of their parents if I hear them talking about her again. That’s much more effective, and I pat myself on the back for perhaps eliminating some small part of the grief Stacey has to put up with at school.
    Wednesday, Stacey and I are off sixth and seventh, the latter of which turns out to be Freddie Dublin’s planning period. Stacey takes it upon herself to tell us her whole entire life story, after which Freddie appears to be on the verge of tears. I watch him closely, looking for signs of insincerity. He turns the charm on full blast and starts counseling Stacey about her life, love, and otherwise. I say nothing during the entire conversation. I just watch and listen. His voice is smooth