The Fat Girl Read Online Free PDF Page B

was getting myself all worked up over her by the time I reached her house. To my surprise, it was a very pretty house. I guess I was expecting that she’d live in a messy, dumpy place. But her house had brown shingles and neat flower boxes filled with red geraniums lining the sides of the stairway. When I rang the bell, I could hear chimes inside. I checked the address Ms. Holland had given me, but it was the right one. A normal-looking boy about twelve opened the door.
    “Uh—does Ellen De Luca live here?”
    “Uh huh.”
    “Well, is she home? I’m a—a classmate of hers.”
    “She’s sick.”
    “Oh, well, I don’t want to disturb her, so would you please give her . . .”
    “Who is that, Ricky?” came a voice from behind him. And a normal-looking woman came to the door and inspected me.
    “I’m Jeff Lyons, Mrs. De Luca, a—a classmate of Ellen’s. I just wondered how she was.”
    “She’s been sick,” the woman said quickly. Too quickly.
    “Well, I don’t want to bother her. I just wanted to drop something off.”
    Mrs. De Luca suddenly smiled at me and opened the door. “Come in, Jeff. I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you. She’s much better. Nothing contagious.”
    “She’s eating,” Ricky said.
    “She’ll be glad to see you,” repeated Mrs. De Luca. “Come in, come in.”
    Inside, she led me into a bright kitchen filled with plants. Baskets and pretty blue and white dishes hung on one wall. Glass doors led out onto a deck filled with pots of colorful flowers. It was a lovely room, and smack in the center of it sat Ellen, a half-empty plate of cookies in front of her. She looked enormous, dressed in an ugly pink and green flowered wrapper, with lace edging her huge throat.
    “Here’s a friend of yours, Ellen,” said her mother in a hearty voice.
    She looked up at me, her fat face impassive, very white but with an unmistakable red rim around the eyes.
    “Hi, Ellen,” I said cheerily. “How are things?”
    Ellen didn’t answer. She bent her head over the plate of cookies in front of her. There was a half-empty glass of milk also on the table.
    “How about some milk and cookies, Jeff?” said her mother quickly. “I just baked some.”
    “Thanks a lot, Mrs. De Luca. They smell great, but I had something to eat before I came.”
    Both of us looked at Ellen, who remained silent, so Mrs. De Luca said, “Why don’t you have a seat, Jeff?”
    Just then another boy, also a normal-looking one about fourteen or fifteen, wearing a soccer shirt, came into the kitchen and said, “Come on, Mom. I’m late.” He took a cookie off the plate in front of Ellen and smiled at me.
    “This is my other son, Matt,” she said. “I’ve got to drive him over to the park.” She looked in a worried way at Ellen. “Is there anything you want outside, Ellen? I’m going to take Ricky for a pair of tennis shoes, and then I have to pick up a few things at the store. Do you want anything outside?”
    Ellen shook her head. She kept her eyes on the plate of cookies.
    “Well, dear, I won’t be gone too long. It was nice meeting you, Jeff. Help yourself to some milk and cookies if you get hungry.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. De Luca,” I said. “I won’t be staying long.”
    I could hear her talking and laughing with her sons, the bustle of getting out, the door slamming, the sound of the car starting up, and then silence. Ellen was still looking at the cookies on the table.
    “Hey, Ellen,” I said. “I’m sorry you’re sick. I brought your little pot over, and . . . well, we missed you in class today.”
    She looked up at me then, and the tears began streaming down her face.
    “Hey, Ellen,” I said, “. . . listen Ellen, don’t cry. Listen . . . I . . . I’m sorry. I didn’t mean what I said.”
    “Yes, you did,” she said. “You did mean it.”
    “No, I didn’t,” I lied. “It was just a lousy day for me. You know how it is sometimes. You have a lousy day, and you just say stupid things