Big Fat Manifesto by Susan Vaught

Author:Susan Vaught
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloomsbury Publishing Plc
Published: 2009-09-27T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER

TEN

Burke studies me with his dark eyes, which seem wider and bigger as the days pass. He's propped on pillows in his hospital bed, and he has one arm draped across his belly to hold everything still. Every time I see him do that, I want to yell at him for choosing to have this procedure, but I don't because he's trying so, so hard to get better.

We're alone in his clean white hospital room with its clean white tile, because It's morning. I get before nine and after play practice, by agreement with M & M and Burke's parents, even on Saturdays and Sundays. Freddie and NoNo usually come with me at night, but in the morning, Burke's all mine.

"What time do you have to leave?" His voice sounds hoarse and weak, but at least he's been upright for my whole pre-ACT visit, and that breathing-tube hole in his throat is closing up.

I glance at my watch and taste a backwash of the coffee and pretzels I ate for breakfast. "Ten minutes. Mom's picking me up out front."

Burke coughs. The wet, rattling sound gives me cold chills.

"Is Freddie taking the test today, too?" He blinks those big eyes at me, chasing the chills away.

"Are you kidding?" I smile. "This is Freddie we're talking about. She's waiting until three Saturdays from now. The absolute last moment she can get a score turned in with her applications on time."

"Yeah, should have figured." He shifts his weight and winces. "You're ready. You're gonna kick major standardized-test ass."

Is his hair getting thinner? My smile fades to nothing even though I'm trying to keep it. I mean, I understand this whole losing-weight thing, how the pounds are falling off of him. He does have a stapled gut, and he's had complications, and he's been sick as a dog and frothing every other time he tries to eat. With all of that, nineteen pounds in eleven days isn't completely unreasonable.

But Burke won't lose his hair, right?

I didn't read anything about losing hair. Anorexics lose their hair and get all hypoglycemic and stuff—but I didn't think that was such an issue for bariatric patients.

I'd go check the top of his head and make sure his dreads are still firmly attached, but that might freak him out. After all the volcanic goo eruptions, I don't want to do anything to stress him. Stress makes mucous bubble like Evillene's cauldron.

After a few seconds, I realize we've stopped talking, and he's back to studying me. It's strange not to be eating breakfast with him. I must have had breakfast with Burke hundreds of times, but how can I eat real food in front of him?

We probably won't share meals hardly ever now. We'll have to find other stuff to do while we talk, so we don't just stare. Staring is weird.

"Can you tell I'm losing?" Burke asks for probably the twentieth time in the past three days.

I nod, like I always do. "More and more."

And I can tell.

His cheeks sink in and his neck's starting to sag, and under the sheets, his legs don't look so big.

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