Read Good Luck, Fatty for Free Online

head-above-water ways to which Orv, Denise, and I are accustomed. Instead, I find my parents exotic.
    My mother motions at a bamboo stool with a crescent moon-shaped seat that reminds me of the grin Gramp would suppress—quivery and notched at the edges—whenever I said something inappropriate but funny.
    I take Marie’s cue and sit (a little too forcefully, I guess), splitting the seat with a drawn out craaack! The sound ping-pongs off the walls and hangs in the air like the ring of a church bell. I cover my mouth and mumble, “Sorry.”
    Duncan sets a cluster of grapes directly on the island and Marie begins nibbling them. “You know, Bobbi,” she says, the tone of a lecture creeping into her voice, “it wouldn’t hurt you to pursue a… healthier lifestyle.” She eyes the stool, which is now threatening to buckle under my weight; if a few more fibers give way, I’m a goner.
    Duncan follows the grapes with a big wooden bowlful of salad and a plate of cucumbers and hummus. “The way you eat over there,” he says, referring to Orv, Denise, and me, “it’s no wonder…”
    He shuts the refrigerator and I blink, realizing that these bunny offerings are what we’re meant to have for dinner. “Are you guys vegetarians?” I say.
    Duncan doles out the salad on colorful square plates like the ones I’ve spied in the Pottery Barn catalogs Denise leaves sprinkled about the house. (She peruses the advertisements for inspiration and then decorates on the cheap.) My plate is orange; Duncan’s is robin’s-egg blue; Marie gets the purple. I pick at the edge of a lettuce leaf as Marie says, “There are whole continents ravaged by hunger. The production of meat consumes too many resources.”
    “So you’re vegetarians?” I repeat.
    “It’s healthful and environmentally responsible,” Duncan tells me, finally claiming a stool of his own. “And it’s the only way we can feed all seven-billion people on the planet. Flesh isn’t a viable option.”
    I eat around a soggy mushroom and change the subject. “How long are you guys staying?” I ask. “I mean, when are you going back?”
    Marie squints. “Back?”
    “To… wherever, ” I say with a twirl of my fork, embarrassed about not remembering which country they’ve most recently conquered. “On your mission.”
    “We’ve got a new mission now,” Marie says, beaming at her belly. She locks eyes with Duncan, who looks abnormally emotive. “Isn’t that right, dear?”
    A bulb of a tear forms in the corner of Duncan’s eye. “Perfectly right,” he murmurs, the tear spilling. “ Perfectly.”

 
     
    chapter 5
     
    EXACTLY ONE important person has ever hailed from Industry, North Carolina, as far as I know anyway: Lex Arlington (at least that’s his stage name). As the legend goes, he began his career in local theater (meaning three counties over, in Guilford), where he honed his craft before launching for the big time: a squalid Los Angeles apartment and a steady trickle of TV spots for soda pop and mini hamburgers. Two years ago, he got cast as a hunky young lawyer on Penal Code 911. Now he’s a household name.
    And he just strolled into The Pit.
     I’ve heard the rumors of Lex sightings around town, which seem to pop up once or twice a year, especially around Christmastime. But I never imagined I’d be lucky enough to witness one firsthand. “May I help you?” I say in my pleasant, public-persona tone to Lex and his companion, a leggy, sunglasses-clad brunette with a warm, orange glow and Silly Putty lips.
    Where the hell is Harvey? He’s missing the biggest thing to hit The Pit since…well, ever.
    Lex is athletic and blond, with eyes like freshly mown grass. The irises of a pharaoh. “Didn’t this place used to be a barbershop?” he asks, a hand nonchalantly draped over the handlebars of a Trek Speed Concept 9.5, the most expensive bike in the shop. Maybe now that he’s rich and famous, luxury goods are drawn to him like planets to the