Fat kid rules the world Read Online Free Page A

live in the same neighborhood my whole life and still stand out like a sore thumb.
    I watch him approach, wishing just once he’d trip and fall flat on his face. I’m dreading the moment he realizes Curt’s with me, and sure enough the first words out of his mouth make me cringe.
    “You have
got
to be kidding.”
    Dayle takes one look at Curt and knows I’ve done the wrong thing. Two roads diverged in a yellow wood and Dayle wishes I’d taken the one that ended in front of the train. He won’t even look at me. He’s not only disappointed, he’s angry. He glares at Curt as if he’s already intuited Curt’s role in thwarting my attempt.
    “Who is
this
loser?” he asks.
    Curt breathes out slow.
    “Ah,” he says, like a guru on a mountaintop, “the rude, twirpy one.”
    Dayle sneers and I give him my “big brother look.” The look hasn’t worked for years—not since Dayle turned seven and started beating me in sports—but I always try it anyway.
Got to make the attempt, right
? That’s what I think, but then I decide I’m kidding myself.
If I were Dayle, would I listen to me
?
    He redirects the sneer from Curt to me.
    “Now what have you done?” he mutters under his breath, managing to sound pissed and offended all at once. Ever since Mom died Dayle’s been convinced I’m plotting to irreversibly humiliate him.
    I clear my throat.
    “Well …”
    That’s when my father comes out of our apartment building. We don’t live in a big building, it’s a shabby five-story walk-up, but Dad still stops to lock the security door just in case someone decides to break in while his back is turned. He strides over and plants himself in front of me.

    There are now only two options as I see them. Curt can leave or Curt can leave. Elvis or no Elvis, the time has come. I wait for Curt to make his exit, but he doesn’t move. My father gives him a single disdainful glance before focusing on me. Priorities. As usual, he radiates quiet disappointment. He’s a neon sign advertising the Blue Light Special:
Disappointed Dysfunctional Parent Disappointed Dysfunctional Parent
. I’m sure Curt can see it flashing.
Couldn’t anyone
?
    “Where have you been?” he demands. The question is barked at top volume, and from the corner of my eye I see Curt nod in appreciation. My Dad is an ex-Marine and he has terrific lung capacity. Dayle smirks and opens his mouth to say something rude, but Curt interrupts.
    “Band practice,” he says before anyone can answer. We turn as one and Curt nods, encouraged by our undivided attention. “Yup,” he says, “band practice.” I gape and he amends his statement.
    “I mean, really just band formation, mental thought, planning today, but soon-to-be band practice of the most intense kind.”
    No one can translate what’s just been said. I glance at Dad and his face is screwed up like a raisin. My dad is big, like me, but all muscle. Six foot, five inches of tall, lean Marine. Since he retired he does freelance security for rich people uptown who want their own personal commando. Dad fits the part. Like me, he keeps a crew cut, but his cheeks aren’t fat and he never huffs. He is not, under any circumstances, funny.
    “We’re called Rage, or Tectonic, or Rage/Tectonic,” Curt continues. “Sort of a punk rock, Clash sort of thing.” He’s making it up as he goes along, but liking what he comes up with. The hint of a smile plays at his lips. My father turns to me.
    “Troy? Who is this?”
    For a moment, the entire absurd day flashes through my brainand I know the only truthful answer is “I don’t know.” Then I think of every other pathetic day I’ve spent for the past seventeen years, and decide, just once, I’d like to pretend I’m in a rock band.
    “Dad,” I say, “this is Curt MacCrae.”
    A burst of laughter explodes across the street, and one of our neighbors yells something in Spanish. I swear they’re laughing at me. I picture the scene as everyone else must see