Heâd practice through July and August and make a goal the first game back, shut everyone up, and go on eating lunch with his friends like nothing happened.
Instead he gained his weight.
Everything that happened in the wake of his accident was just a taste. There were kids at the high school who hadnât heard about it, but his size was obvious to all. He supposed he could join the Fat Table, but heâd seen the way peoplegravitated to it for the express purpose of picking on those kids. Besides, sitting there would be an admission. Heâd gained some weight over the summer was all. Like the doctor said, it happened. Puberty. Heâd grow, and the weight would distribute itself evenly.
If the handicapped bathroom was full he didnât know what heâd do.
I hope no one is in there
.
He walked down the hall as fast as he could, feeling his belly and breasts jiggling rhythmically. He was still sometimes shocked by the way his new body felt and moved.
The door was unlocked.
Later, Zachariah thought back and realized he had willed the bathroom empty without meaning to. Just like he had kept the bleachers from collapsing.
* * *
In the library, he researched game shows.
The broken ones interested him the most.
He knew
Press Your Luck
from reruns. Contestants answered questions to gain turns at a big board, where they pushed a button to land a fast-moving frame over cash or prizes. If a contestantâs frame landed on a âWhammyââa cartoon that made fun of youâall cash and prizes disappeared.
Some guy who had watched hundreds of taped episodes made it to the bonus round. Most people who made it to the big board only stayed for a few minutes before they hit a Whammy. But this guy had discovered that the frame moved in a pattern. After a few tries to get the timing right, every turn yielded more money or spins or both. He was on for so long that the show had to keep taping his final round onthe next day. The producers were mad, but what could they do? He hadnât broken any rulesâhe was smart enough to recognize a pattern.
Zachariah didnât want
Love Balloon
to be beatable. Most of the time, dating shows favored guys who looked like underwear models: they were handsome and strong and basically had everything going for themselves. They didnât need to win anything because they had already won. None of them ever had to sit in a stinky bathroom stall to eat another peanut butter sandwich at lunch. They had moms. Their monogrammed backpacks didnât draw jeers. When they played soccer they scored goals. They didnât have dads who drank too much and got mad at nothing. They talked to girls and got jobs and left their hometowns to live in New York or Boston.
They knew the pattern.
But there were other people on the shows. Normal-looking people, sometimes even fat ones. Like the guy who figured out
Press Your Luck
. He looked crazy.
Zachariah had watched the few heavy people on game shows more closely since he gained his weight. When they won they were happier than their skinny counterparts, and when they lost they didnât look bothered. They were already used to losing all the time.
That was a pattern, too.
He wondered if their lives were like his. Maybe they grew up with dads who thought they were going somewhere but got stuck working in a mill putting coffee trays into boxes. There was nothing to do but drink can after can of Venerable and watch sports on TV after work, either at home or in a bar. Sports reminded his dad of high school and Armbristerâs statechampionship. Zachariah knew his dad told everyone about playing football. But heâd work in the mill forever. Partially because he, Zachariah, had come along.
When he rode his bike around town Zachariah saw kids hanging around who he recognized from the junior high halls. Kids who once played soccer or football, now smoking cigarettes in front of the Lâil Bee. They were only a few years
Mari Carr and Jayne Rylon