44 - Say Cheese and Die—Again (6 page)

“Ha-ha,” I said. “You guys are as funny as a flat tire.”

“No. We’re as funny as
two
flat tires!” Michael joked.

“Maybe you need a mountain bike,” Bird said. “Something sturdy.”

“Maybe you need a sturdy punch in the face,” I threatened.

“Just don’t sit on me!” Michael exclaimed, raising both hands in front of him
as if to shield himself from me.

“Are we going to ride or not?” Shari demanded, sighing. She glanced up at the
graying sky. “If we don’t hurry, we’re going to get caught in the rain.”

I eased myself carefully onto Terry’s bike. Then I followed them down the
driveway and into the street.

We rode aimlessly around town. When we reached the long, narrow park a few blocks from school, we bumped onto the
grass and raced as fast as we could.

Bird has the best bike and the longest legs. So he always wins our races.

After about an hour, it started to drizzle, so we turned for home. I was
glad. My legs felt heavy. My muscles ached.

As we pedaled through the raindrops, I caught Shari watching me. Studying me.

Despite the sweat rolling down my forehead, I suddenly felt cold all over.
Why is she staring at me like that? I wondered.

Why?

The next morning, I woke up with two words on my lips: Mr. Saur.

Today is the day I show him the camera, I told myself, stretching and
yawning. And today is the day I get my grade changed.

I stood up, still yawning. Rubbed my eyes. And saw that my pillow had fallen
to the floor during the night.

When I bent over to pick it up, I felt a tug on the front of my pajama shirt.
The buttons all popped off and scattered over the floor.

“Huh?” I opened my mouth in surprise—and heard a long
rrrrrrip.
It
took a few seconds to realize that my pajama bottoms had ripped right up the
back.

“Oh, nooooo.” I opened my mouth in a long, low moan.

The collar of the pajama shirt dug tightly into my neck. I tried to loosen it—and both sleeves ripped at the shoulder!

My heart pounding, I straightened up and crossed the room to the mirror.

My whole body was trembling as I stepped up to the mirror.

I shut my eyes. I couldn’t bear to look.

But I had no choice. I had to see. I had to know.

Slowly, slowly, I opened one eye, then the other. I took a deep breath and
gazed at my reflection.

Had the snapshot come true? Did I weigh four hundred pounds?

I leaned into the mirror and stared at myself.

No. Not four hundred pounds.

I didn’t look too different. A little puffy. My cheeks were a little rounder.
My shoulders were broader.

I stepped back to check out the rest of my body—and Mom came walking into
the room. “Greg, what are you doing? You’re going to be late for school.”

I spun away from the mirror. “Mom—I grew last night!” I blurted out. “I—I
ripped my pajamas.”

She narrowed her eyes at the torn pajama top. “Greg, you didn’t grow
overnight,” she said calmly. “Those pajamas always were a little small on you.”

I turned back to the mirror. “They were?”

Maybe Mom was right. Maybe I wasn’t growing huge. Maybe it was all in my
imagination.

I turned back to her. “How do I look?”

She shrugged. “You look fine.”

“I mean, do I look fatter to you?”

She studied me for a moment. “Well, actually…” Her voice trailed off.

“Actually what?” I demanded.

“Maybe I’ll put
skim
milk on your cereal this morning,” she replied.

“Hi, Greg. Putting on a little weight?”

That’s how Mr. Saur greeted me when I hurried up to his desk before English
class.

His words sent a cold shiver down the back of my neck. But I ignored them. I
held up the camera. “Mr. Saur, I want to show you something.”

He lowered his eyes to the camera and frowned at it. “You want to take my
picture? I already had my photo taken for the yearbook, Greg.”

“No,” I replied. “This is the camera, Mr. Saur. This is the camera that—”

He raised a hand to tell me to stop talking. “Not right now, Greg,” he said,
climbing up from his desk chair.

“But, Mr. Saur—” I protested.

He was gazing over my shoulder. I turned and saw Mr. Grand standing in the
classroom doorway. Mr. Saur hurried over to talk to him.

They talked until the bell rang. Then Mr. Saur returned to the front of the
room to begin class. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here yesterday,” he announced. “I understand you had a wonderful time learning the subjunctive
tense.”

I was still standing beside his desk, the camera in my hands. He stepped up
to the chalkboard, turned, and saw me.

“Greg, take your seat, please,” he said. “We have a lot to do today.”

“But, Mr. Saur—” I protested. I raised the camera.

“Take your seat,” he insisted.

I had no choice. I sighed and trudged to my chair near the back of the room.

How can I prove that my report was true if he won’t even listen to me? I
asked myself unhappily.

“Today, we’re going to hear more of your reports about true things that
happened to you,” Mr. Saur told the class. He turned to a girl in the front row.
“Marci, I believe it is your turn. What is your report about?”

Marci Ryder stood up. “It’s about my cat, Waffles. It’s about all the funny
things Waffles does around the house.”

I groaned.
Bor-ring!
I thought. A few other kids groaned, too.

But Mr. Saur actually smiled. The first time ever!

He practically purred! “I like cats,” he told Marci. “I have six of them
myself.”

Oh, yuck! I thought. Six cats!

I can’t sit through a boring report about a boring cat! I told myself.

I shot my hand into the air and waved it frantically. “Mr. Saur? Mr. Saur?”

The teacher’s smile faded. “Greg—now what?” he demanded.

“Uh… before Marci starts,” I said, “can I show you the camera? You know.
The one from my report? You said if I brought it in and proved that it’s evil,
you’d change my grade.”

Mr. Saur rubbed his chin and frowned at me. “It’s Marci’s turn,” he replied
coldly. “I know we all want to hear about Waffles.”

“But, Mr. Saur—you promised!” I cried.

A few kids snickered. My voice was so high, only dogs could hear it.

“Greg, you’re not going to change my mind,” Mr. Saur insisted.

“But I can prove it!” I pleaded. “I can prove the camera is evil.”

A few more kids snickered.

“Greg is evil!” Donny shouted.

It got a big laugh.

“Greg is
baaaaad!”
some other kid shouted.

Another big laugh.

Mr. Saur slammed the chalkboard with his wooden pointer. “Quiet, everyone.”
He sighed and motioned me forward. “Okay, Greg. One minute. It isn’t fair to the
others to give you extra time. But I’ll give you one minute to show off your camera.”

One minute!

I knew that’s all I needed.

I felt my shirt pocket to make sure I had the snapshot of Jon inside. I knew
that once Sourball saw that photo and heard what happened to Jon that night,
he’d believe me.

“Come on, Greg,” the teacher urged. “Get up here. One minute.”

“Coming,” I said. I eagerly tried to stand up.

Tried again.

Again.

We have those chairs with the desk attached to the front.

And I was stuck in the chair. Too fat to get out!

What is happening to me? I wondered, feeling panic creep up from my stomach.
My big blobby stomach.

I climbed into this chair without any problem. That was less than an hour
ago. And now I’m stuck in here. I must have put on a hundred pounds
while I
was sitting here!

“Greg, we’re waiting.” Mr. Saur rolled his eyes and tapped the chalkboard
impatiently with the pointer.

On the fourth try, I finally managed to slide out of the seat. Carrying the
camera carefully, I tromped up to the front of the room.

“This is the camera,” I told Mr. Saur. “My friends and I found it in a
deserted house. Just as I said in my report. The camera has a curse on it, and—”

He took the camera from my hands and examined it. He rolled it over and over.
He brought it up close to his face. He raised the viewfinder to his eye.

“No—don’t!” I shrieked. “Don’t take a picture!”

He lowered the camera. “If I don’t take a picture, how will I know if the
camera is evil or not?”

I reached into my shirt pocket. “I brought a photo,” I told him. “This will
prove I’m telling the truth.”

My fingers were so fat, I had trouble poking them into the pocket. My hands
felt like squishy balls of dough. They were too blobby to make a fist!

I nearly pulled the pocket off as I struggled to take out the snapshot of
Jon.

Finally, I pulled it out and shoved it in Mr. Saur’s face. “Here. Look!”

He took the snapshot and studied it.

“That boy is named Jon,” I told him. “I took his picture two nights ago. He
was perfectly okay. But the photo showed him with a nail through his foot. Two
minutes later, it came true. Jon got a nail in his foot, and his dad had to rush
him to the hospital.”

Mr. Saur burst out laughing.

Another first. The first time he’d ever laughed in class!

“It’s not funny,” I insisted. “Poor Jon was in so much pain. He—”

“I’ve seen those trick nails,” Mr. Saur said, his eyes on the photo.

“Huh?” I didn’t understand him.

He handed the photo back to me. “I used to have a fake arrow,” he said. “When
I slid it on, it looked as if I had an arrow going straight through my head. So
I understand how you made it appear that this boy has a nail through his foot.”

“No! It’s real! It’s real!” I cried. “Look how much pain Jon is in! Look at
his face!”

“Your friend is a good actor,” Mr. Saur replied.

“No!” I shrieked. “He isn’t my friend! I don’t even know him! You’ve got to
believe me! You’ve got to!”

Mr. Saur glanced up at the clock. “Your minute is up.”

“But you promised—!” I cried.

“Greg, go sit down,” he ordered. “You’re not going to fool me with an old
camera and a joke snapshot.”

“You lose, Greg!” Donny shouted.

“You’re evil, Greg!” Brian chimed in.

Everyone laughed. I could feel my face growing hot. I knew I must be
beet-red.

I felt ready to explode. I was embarrassed and hurt and angry—all at the
same time.

“I’d give you an
A
for effort,” Mr. Saur said cruelly. “But I’m still
giving you an
F
for your report.
F
for fake!”

Everyone laughed again.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

I let out a cry of fury—and went running for the door.

At least, I
tried
to run. But I was too heavy to move fast. I could
only waddle.

“Greg—where are you going?” I heard Mr. Saur call.

I pretended I didn’t hear him and lumbered to the door. I had the camera
tucked under one flabby arm. I pulled the door open with the other.

And bounced out into the silent, empty hall.

I could hear Mr. Saur calling me from the classroom. And I could hear the
kids laughing and talking excitedly.

I slammed the door shut behind me and kept moving.

I didn’t know where I was going. I didn’t have a plan. I was so angry. I
wanted to scream and cry and punch the walls.

I turned the corner—and saw Shari down the hall.

“Greg!” she called, surprised to see me. “What’s going on?”

She was wearing a short black skirt over blue tights. She started to run down
the hall toward me.

She took about four steps—and then cried out as her skirt fell down!

“I don’t believe this!” Shari wailed.

We both stared down at her skirt, which had fallen around her ankles.

She dropped her books and bent to pull it up.

Normally, I would have burst out laughing. But she seemed so upset, I just
stood there.

“I—I’m losing weight,” she stammered, straightening the skirt around her
waist. “I weighed myself this morning. I’ve lost eight pounds!”

“Oh, wow!” I shook my head.
Why was she losing weight?

I tried to cheer her up. “Uh… eight pounds isn’t so much,” I said. I
knew it was lame. But I couldn’t think of anything else.

“Greg—I only weighed ninety to start!” she replied sharply. “Now I’m down
to eighty-two. I can’t keep my skirt up. All my clothes hang on me!”

“Maybe if you eat a really big lunch…” I started.

“You’re no help!” she snapped.

“Look at
me
!” I cried, holding my arms out so she could see my big
stomach. “I think I put on two hundred pounds overnight! A few minutes ago, I
couldn’t get out of my chair!”

Her eyes checked me out. She was so upset about being skinny, she hadn’t even
looked at me.

She squinted hard at me. Then she burst out laughing. “Oh, gross. You look
really weird!”

“Thanks a bunch,” I sighed.

“What are we going to do?” she demanded. “Why is this happening to us?”

I started to answer—but I heard footsteps approaching from down the hall.

Shari heard them, too. “Let’s go,” she urged. “Quick—help me pick up my
books.”

I bent to pick up the books—and the back of my jeans burst open with a loud
rrrrrrip.

After school, Bird and Michael and some other kids started up a softball game
on the diamond behind school. I didn’t want to play. I didn’t want them to see
how huge I was getting.

But they pulled me onto the diamond and forced me to play first base.

Maybe they won’t notice anything different, I thought. I crossed my fingers
and hoped. Maybe they won’t notice that I’ve filled out a bit—since this morning!

My T-shirt was stretched against my bulging stomach. The shirt was so tight,
I could barely move my arms. My ripped jeans fit over my legs like tights.