Camp Utopia & the Forgiveness Diet (9781940192567) Read Online Free PDF Page A

Plaza/Colonel Carolina drive-thru window. Praise Jesus! There were cameras in the driveway and bullet holes on the menu, but whatever. They had chicken and fiery orange macaroni. I uncrumpled the fifty dollar bill my mom instructed was for emergencies only and handed it to the employee.
    â€œBy the way,” said Doug, collecting my change and my chicken bucket, “this is how you got fat in the first place.” Then he tore open the bag that contained my neon macaroni and shoved a handful of my French fries in his mouth. “I’m just putting it out there.”
    Jackie touched his knee as a reminder that we weren’t that far into our trip yet, then Doug touched Jackie’s knee. I realized I would have to watch their squeeze-me-stroke-me marathon for days. The overflowing condoms at Doug’s feet reminded me that I’d be forced to listen to their guinea pig sounds all night too. Bonus: We only had one tent.
    â€œJust hand me the bag, Doug,” I said.
    Doug did not hand me the bag. Instead he dug his hand inside of it and removed a biscuit. My biscuit. Then Jackie, who was driving, reached confidently into the bag still centered on his crotch and said, “Come on, Bethany. You can share your food with Doug.” She held the fries up and chewed them slowly, like someone was filming a porno of it. From the backseat, I saw the downy hairs on her neck swirling up to her ponytail. “Doug’s right you know,” she started. “This is the time to adopt new eating habits, and you aren’t off to the best start.”
    You could positively smell the hormones—thick and pungent—in that car. Jackie and Doug were so excited to be driving to California that they forgot what initiated the expedition in the first place: me.
    â€œI just want my macaroni, guys. Please?”
    Then Doug leaned over and kissed Jackie, a sloppy one on the lips. Like I wasn’t even there. On and on the kiss went. And on. Did I mention that the only person who ever kissed me was dreaming in his bed right now? And the last time he kissed me—really kissed me—was a year ago? Now you can imagine how uncomfortable it was to view this tongue fest, which clearly violated about a hundred traffic laws. I stuck my face right between them, so close I smelled the gardenia perfume Jackie dots behind her ears every morning, so close I saw the razor bumps sprouting on Doug’s chin.
    â€œMacaroni?”
    They broke apart, a string of saliva between them, then Doug groaned. I guess he was estimating how long until he could be alone with my sister. He had assumed this was their road trip all along—never mind that the inevitable end was Utopia. I could see this epiphany crash into him—his small mind grappling with the fact I’d be there for every state, every mile, sticking my face between theirs. He must have been thinking about something bad because instead of offering me the bag like a normal human being, he hurled it back so viciously it exploded all over the backseat.
    â€œThere’s your macaroni,” he said. Then: “You fat pig.”
    He muttered that last part, loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough for Jackie to convince herself I didn’t.
    â€œDoooouuuuggg?” That was Jackie’s attempt at annoyance.
    â€œWhat? Your sister’s the one with all the demands. Give me this. I want that. She’s worse than a baby.”
    Jackie, who had a thing for babies, tried her hand at empathy. “She’s only sixteen, Doug.”
    â€œSixteen isn’t three. At sixteen I had a job. I went to the gym. All she does is chase that fairy magician around hoping he’ll pop her cherry.”
    Oddly enough, he turned around to offer me the plastic fork. The macaroni he’d propelled; the utensil required civility. “We all know you like a good romance, so here’s yours, Bethany.” He waved the fork like he was conducting an orchestra.