The Fat Girl Read Online Free PDF

the ceramics room. Norma was tidying up and refused to look at me.
    “I couldn’t find her,” I said.
    The muddy green, misshapen pot was still sitting out on the table where she had left it. I picked it up and held it out to Norma. “Look, she left her pot. I’ll put it up on the shelf and tomorrow I’ll tell her I’m sorry. Come on, Norma, I didn’t know she was there. I wouldn’t have said it if I’d known. I’ll make it up to her. You’ll see.”
    She was still mad, but after I’d helped her clean off the table and benches, she calmed down and let me come home with her and stay for dinner. Her mother made marinated tofu shish kebobs, but it was a great evening anyway. I didn’t get home until nearly midnight, and my mother yelled at me and called me selfish

five
    The fat girl didn’t come to school the next day. The ugly little pot sat up there on the shelf unclaimed. Nobody noticed her absence except me. Even Norma seemed to have forgotten about her.
    “The fat girl didn’t come to class today,” I told her.
    “Oh no?” She looked around. “Maybe she’s sick.”
    “Maybe,” I said. But I didn’t think that was the reason.
    She wasn’t in school on Monday either.
    “The fat girl didn’t come to class today either,” I told Norma.
    Norma said impatiently, “Look, Jeff, her name is Ellen. Why don’t you call her Ellen?”
    “Okay. Ellen didn’t come to school today.”
    “So?”
    “So—I wonder why she didn’t. I wonder if . . . if it has anything to do with what happened Thursday.”
    It took Norma a second or two to remember. She was busy brushing delicate scallops around the rim of a low, flared bowl. She put her brush down and looked at me. “Oh, Jeff, I hope it’s not because of that.”
    “What do you think I should do?”
    “I don’t know. Maybe you could call her and ask how she is. Or maybe—maybe I could call her. Would you like me to call her?”
    Her lovely, kind face was filled with pity for Ellen. How I loved Norma! I reached over and pressed her hand. Then I looked at the ugly, green pot on the shelf. “I think maybe I should handle it myself. Maybe I’ll just stop at her house and bring her the pot. I don’t have to say anything about Thursday. It would be worse if I apologize. I’ve been thinking about it over the weekend. You were right, Norma. I’ve been weird and I don’t know why. But that’s all over now. I’m going to take the pot over to her house. From now on, I’m going to try to . . . to be more friendly to her.”
    “You’re a nice guy, Jeff,” Norma said softly. “Did I ever tell you I think you’re a nice guy?”
    “No, I’m not,” I said. “I’m a jerk, but I’m going to be different after this.”
    I thought about what I was going to say on the way over to her house that afternoon. I was going to be friendly, a little hearty, the way you were supposed to be with the deformed. “Hey, how are things, Ellen? We missed you in class, and I thought I’d drop your cute little pot over. Are you sick? Can I get you anything?” Real cool! I’d make-believe Thursday never happened and, after this, whenever I saw her, I’d smile at her, maybe wink, maybe wave, throw a few crumbs of kindness in her direction.
    But it wasn’t going to be easy, because I still loathed her. I still hoped she wouldn’t take ceramics next term, wouldn’t be there watching me, disturbing my balance and, most of all, making me forget that I was a nice guy. Like Norma said, that’s what I am, a nice guy. I don’t go around making girls cry—not even huge, bloated ones. I’m a nice guy.
    “Hi, there, Ellen,” I was going to say. “How are things?”
    But maybe she would yell at me or slam the door in my face. She shouldn’t—she should be grateful—but maybe she wouldn’t. You never knew what to expect with a creature like that. Here I was going out of my way to deliver her tacky pot to her, and if she carried on, well, it wouldn’t be my fault.
    I