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

“TJ isn’t interested in anything but birds, so maybe you should start eating like one, and he’ll notice you too.”
    What was worse than his words was the smile. Doug grinned almost sweetly. “I’m only trying to help, Bethany.”
    Jackie smacked him playfully. “They’ll help her at camp.”
    â€œYour mom spent too much money for that, and it’s not like she even wants to go.” Doug loved cataloguing how people spent their money, because he never had any of his own. “Take my mom. She went on that new diet. The forgiveness one. Downloaded the e-book for ten dollars.”
    â€œReally?” Jackie interrupted. “Did it work?”
    â€œNo,” I said. They’d forgotten I was there again.
    â€œAs a matter of fact,” Doug said, raising his voice. “She forgave my dad for …”
    Spawning you?
    â€œâ€¦ losing his job and for Internet porn, and she forgave the cat for rubbing his butt on the carpet, and she was telling me how she didn’t feel hungry lately. Like she could walk by Wawa and be like, meh. It only took a day.”
    There were times I hated Doug with a fury so thick it practically suffocated me. Now was one of them.
    â€œDid she forgive you for being a worthless pothead? A tag-along loser that wasn’t even supposed to be in this car?’’ I grumbled.
    â€œWhat did you say?”
    â€œNothing.” I muttered. “I was only talking to myself.”
    â€œJust remember, you wouldn’t even be in this car if you weren’t so fat. Start with that fact, little girl.”
    Then he pitched back my lemonade in this way that resembled some version of friendly, like I could easily catch it, which, of course, I couldn’t. It crashed to the carpeted floor of the minivan, spilling ice everywhere.
    â€œDoug,” Jackie whined. “Stop!”
    The windows and the seatbelt, already coated with little orange noodles, were now completely soaked. So was the front of my shirt. And my flip-flops. They would be sticky forever ! Fries limped along the seat and floor. I wiped my face and looked at Doug, who had been dating my sister on and off for two years.
    â€œI thought you’d catch that,” he said.
    He faced forward, baseball cap low on his forehead. His light brown hair peered out from under it, all full and curly.
    Just then, I wanted to burn those little hairs. Watch his corkscrew curls jump in alarm. Smell the fine ends singe. Crackle. If only there were a blunt object in the backseat, a lead pipe or even a chunky shoe, I was sure I could bring myself to clunk him over the head. But before I could wrap my hands around his neck, Jackie slammed on the brakes.
    â€œPerfect,” she said.
    In front of us were orange barrels, giant dump trucks, and cranes. The van wriggled into a construction zone and stopped between a knot of cars. Jackie turned off the engine and flung off her shoes. “This will be awhile,” she said.
    Doug rolled down his window, and the smell of boiling tar swept in the car. He pivoted the side mirror in order to better see his reflection. His words echoed in my mind: If you weren’t so fat, you wouldn’t be here. If you weren’t so fat, you wouldn’t be here. Well, I’d show him! I concentrated on the reversing ding of trucks and the cacophony of jackhammers as I picked the macaroni from my hair. What I needed was an assassin. A hit man. Construction men gathered around a steaming pile of tar. I eyed each one, trying to determine which one might be up for knocking off Doug. One knelt down below a billboard. He shaded his eyes with his palm and seemed to look right at me. Maybe him.
    Above his head, slanted on the side of the rocky mountain, was an electronic billboard. Letters comprised of orange dots urged drivers to PLEASE FORGIVE OUR MESS over and over again. That message PLEASE FORGIVE OUR MESS scrolled continuously above his orange hard