Project Fat Suit

Two: Santa Clown

Chapter two: Santa Clown

“Here,” I sneered at the cashier boy, whose name I still haven’t learned yet, and passed his physics homework to him.

“Here,” he mocked my tone in a shrill voice and gave me a post-it. It had some address on it. “Be there on Saturday at four.”

I managed a small, yet still very unlady-like grunt before turning around to sit at my usual table between two trashcans.

“Hey Rena,” a familiar voice called. I looked up to see one of the cheerleaders standing there with a seemingly innocent expression plastered on her face.

“What do you want?” I asked suspiciously. The last time one of the cheerleaders talked to me I ended up in the center of a wedgie circle.

“I just wanted to keep you company,” she replied sweetly with a smile on her face. “You just seem so lonely all the time.” She proceeded to sit down across from me.

“I don’t want your pity, bimbo,” I snapped at her. I saw her eyes narrow in anger, but only for a second.

“But I just needed your help,” she pleaded.

“With what?”

Her sickening sweet smile turned into a devious smirk as she replied, “I lost my cell phone the other day. I was just wondering if you could check the folds of your fat for it.”

I could hear the people sitting at the tables around us laugh and in the corner of my eye I could see the other cheerleaders giving her an approving look. I really couldn’t blame them. It was a good joke. Under different circumstances, I would have probably laughed as well.

 I glared at her instead. “Are you sure it’s not in one of the bathroom stalls?” She gave me a confused look, so I pressed on wards. “Isn’t that were you spend most of your time purging and what not?”

“You’re a bitch,” she managed to squeak after a very long silence. I think I could see tears welling up in her eyes.

Crap, I thought cheerleaders were tougher than this.

“I know I am!” I exclaimed suddenly, trying to force tears out of my eyes. “Listen, bimbo, you have to help me out here,” I continued, trying to sound more hysterical.  “I’m so lonely and desperate for a friend.” I took this time to place my hands on hers. “Will you be my friend?” I asked desperately with my puppy face, which looks more like a cow suddenly stepped on foot in my opinion.

In an instant I saw her eyes go from sad, pity, freaked, and finally to back to her former confident expression. “Let go of me, freak,” she demanded whilst yanking her hand out from under mine. “No one would ever be friends with someone like you,” she said darkly and then strutted away, probably going to add to the bathroom wall that I was a lesbian or something along those lines.

I so deserve a Grammy Award for my incredible acting skills.

:::x:::O:::x:::

“Roll over,” I demanded from the dog for at least the tenth time. The dog totally ignored me went back to sniffing its tail. Stupid dog. “Damn it, dog! Roll over!”

“Language, Rena,” Dad warned coming into the living room.

“Sorry, Dad,” I apologized halfheartedly.

“Has anyone called yet?” he asked looking at the dog.

“No, not yet,” I replied sadly. How could anyone not want their dog back? We’ve been keeping him at our house for three days and no one has called.