I think they were afraid to come up to me. Afraid I might fall on them! I really did look like one of the balloons in the Thanksgiving Day parade!
The morning went pretty well. I kept to myself and tried to hide in corners. It wasn’t easy to hide. But everyone left me alone.
Until I stepped into Mr. Saur’s class.
He was as sour as ever. And he embarrassed me in front of the whole class.
“Greg, I don’t think you’ll fit into a chair,” he said, rolling his wooden pointer between his hands. “Why don’t you just stand by the window.”
I didn’t say anything. I waddled over to the side of the room.
The room fell silent. The other kids didn’t laugh. They could see that there was something seriously wrong with me.
But Mr. Saur insisted on giving me a hard time.
“Greg, forget the window,” he said. “If you stand there, I’m afraid you’ll block out all the sunlight.” Then he smiled.
Again, no one laughed. I think the other kids felt sorry for me. Even Donny and Brian weren’t cracking jokes.
“Greg, I want you to go see the nurse,” Mr. Saur ordered. “I want her to discuss the four food groups with you. I think you’ve been eating too much of all four!”
I think that was supposed to be a cruel joke. But no one laughed.
I turned my bulk around and stared at him. Was he serious? Was he really sending me to the nurse?
“Get going,” he said, pointing to the door.
I turned and shuffled heavily out of the classroom. I expected Donny to stick out his big foot and try to trip me, the way he always does.
But he stared straight ahead, as silent and still as everyone else in the class.
I was glad. If he tripped me, I knew I’d never be able to get up.
I pulled myself down the hall, thinking angry thoughts about Mr. Saur. Why did he make fun of me in front of everyone? Why was he so cruel?
I couldn’t answer my questions. Besides, I felt too angry to think clearly. I’ll pay him back some day. That’s what I told myself. I’ll do something mean to him. I’ll embarrass old Sourball in front of everyone.
My angry thoughts followed me to the nurse’s office. But I instantly forgot them when I saw the girl huddled in the chair in the waiting room. I stopped outside the door and gaped at her in shock.
Shari!
It took me a few seconds to recognize her.
Her jeans and T-shirt appeared to be about ten sizes too big! Her arms were as thin as toothpicks. Her face was pale and puckered. Her head had shrunk. It looked like a tiny lemon on her frail, noodlelike body.
“Greg,” she whispered weakly. “Is that you in that big body?”
“Shari!” I cried. “How much weight have you lost?”
“I—I don’t know,” she stammered. “Look at me! I’m shrinking away. I’m so light. It took me hours to walk to school this morning because the wind kept pushing me back!”
“Are you sick?” I cried.
She frowned at me. “I’m not sick, and neither are you,” she replied in a tiny, frail voice. “I’m shrinking away, and you’re bloating up—and it’s because of those photos we took.”
I sighed and lifted my huge stomach with both hands so that I could get through the doorway. “What are we going to do, Shari?” I whispered. “It’s those photos. You’re right. But what are we going to do?”
21
Dad picked me up after school. He had rented a van since I couldn’t fit into the car. Dad helped me squeeze through the door. My body took up the entire backseat.
The seat belt wouldn’t stretch over my stomach. So we had to forget about it.
“I’m sure Dr. Weiss will have you back to normal in no time,” Dad said. He was trying to be cheerful. But I could tell he was really upset and worried.
He drove slowly to Dr. Weiss’ office across town. The van couldn’t pick up speed because of all the weight it carried—me!
Dr. Weiss is a nice elderly man with bright blue eyes and a long mane of white hair. He talks to all the kids as if they’re two years old. He still gives me a lollipop after each visit, even though I’m twelve!
But I didn’t think he’d give me a lollipop today.
He tsk-tsked as I climbed on the scale. But he couldn’t get my weight. The scale didn’t go high enough!
He had trouble listening to my heartbeat. His stethoscope got stuck in the folds of flab over my chest.
He took all kinds of tests, his expression tense and thoughtful. “We’ll send the blood samples to the lab,” he told me. “We should have some answers in a few days.”
He shook his head and frowned. His blue eyes appeared to fade. “I’ve never seen anything like it, Greg,” he said softly. “I’m completely stumped.”
I wasn’t stumped. I knew exactly what the problem was.
As soon as I got home, I lumbered to my room and grabbed the phone. It took all my strength to raise my huge, flabby arm and hold the receiver up to the bulging flesh of my face.
I punched in Shari’s number. It took three tries. My finger was so fat, it kept hitting two numbers at once.
She answered on the third ring. “Hello?” Her voice floated out so tiny and weak, I could barely hear her.
“I’m coming over,” I announced. “And I’m bringing the camera.”
“You don’t have to shout!” she squeaked. And then she added, “Hurry, Greg. I’ve lost five more pounds. I’m so light, I’m afraid I’m going to float away.”
“I’ll be right there,” I told her. “We’ll figure out a way to save ourselves.”
I hung up the phone. Then I carefully dug the camera out from its hiding place in my underwear drawer. I had to bend over to reach into the drawer. I was huffing and puffing, gasping for breath.
If I get any fatter, I’ll explode, I thought unhappily.
Carefully gripping the camera, I lowered my bulk down the stairs. “I’m going to Shari’s,” I called to my parents.
They were in the den, discussing what Dr. Weiss had told Dad.
“It started to rain,” Mom called. “Take an umbrella.”
“I’m only going next door!” I shouted back.
Besides, an umbrella wouldn’t cover all of me.
I peeked outside. It was only drizzling. Not much of a rain at all.
I tucked the camera under the folds of my arm, pulled open the front door, and started to step out. But I stopped when I saw the dark-haired boy walking up the driveway.
Jon!
“Oh, no!” I murmured. I knew why he had come. He wanted his camera back.
But I couldn’t give it back. I needed it to save Shari and me.
I watched him walking slowly, his head down because of the rain.
What am I going to do? I asked myself. I can’t let him take back his camera. I can’t!
I’ll duck back inside and hide, I decided.
I tried to back up. Tried to back my heavy bulk into the house.
Too late.
Jon saw me.
22
He waved to me and started jogging toward the house.
I had the camera in my hand. I carefully lowered it to the porch and stepped in front of it. I knew it would be hidden behind my enormous body.
But what was I going to say to Jon? How could I convince him to let me keep the camera for a while longer?
“Hi!” he called.
“Hi,” I answered, my voice muffled by the thick folds of flab around my face.
“I’m looking for a boy who lives around here,” Jon said, stepping up to the porch. “His name is Greg, and he’s blond, and he’s about my age. Do you know him? He has a camera of mine.”
I stared at him. My mouth dropped open. I could feel my chins drop onto my chest.
“What’s his name?” I choked out.
“Greg,” Jon repeated. “I don’t know his last name. Does he live around here?”
He doesn’t recognize me! I realized. I’m so hu
ge, he doesn’t know that I’m me!
“Uh… yeah. I think I know who you mean,” I told him. “There’s a kid named Greg who lives over there.” I pointed up the street.
“Do you know which house?” Jon asked, turning to where I pointed.
“It’s about four blocks that way,” I lied. “A big redbrick house. You can’t miss it. It’s the only brick house on the block.”
“Hey, thanks,” Jon said. The rain started to come down harder. He turned quickly and jogged down the driveway.
A close call, I thought.
I felt bad about lying to Jon. But I had to lie. I couldn’t give him back the camera—ever. It was too dangerous.
I watched him until he disappeared behind some hedges. Then, I reached my flabby hand down, picked up the camera, and bounced across the front yard to Shari’s house.
Shari greeted me at her front door. I could see the shock in her eyes when she saw how huge I had become.
I was shocked, too. I cried out in surprise. She was starting to look like a stick figure!
As she led the way to her room, she kept tripping over the cuffs of her jeans, which sagged down over her feet. She had tied a knot in the belt around her tiny waist, an attempt to keep the jeans from falling off.
“If I get any smaller, I’ll have to wear doll clothes!” she wailed.
“Did your parents take you to a doctor?” I asked, huffing and puffing as I tried to drag my weight after her.
“Of course,” she replied in her tiny, weak voice. “The doctor said to make me drink milk shakes five times a day!”
“I wish my doctor said that.” I sighed.
I lowered myself carefully onto her bed. I didn’t want the bed to collapse under me. But as soon as I sat down, I heard a crunching sound. The sound of wood splintering.
And the bed crashed loudly to the floor.
“Don’t worry about it,” Shari said softly. “I don’t have the strength to climb up to bed, anyway.”
“If I get any bigger,” I moaned, “I won’t be able to get out of the house. I really won’t fit through the door.”
She folded her hands in front of her. Her fingers were so skinny, they looked like bird claws. With her black hair hanging down from her tiny, round head, and her straight pole of a body, she looked more like a mop than a person!
“What are we going to do?” she wailed.
I patted the camera with a fat, spongy hand. “I brought this,” I said. “I thought maybe—”
“What good will that stupid camera do?” Shari cried. “I wish I’d never seen it! Never! Never!”
“I have an idea,” I told her. I flicked a fly off one of my chins.
She hugged herself, wrapping her skinny arms around her toothpick body. “What kind of an idea?”
“Let’s take new pictures of ourselves,” I said. “Maybe the new pictures will show us looking normal. Maybe the new pictures will change us back to the way we were before.”
She raised her eyes to mine. I could see her thinking about it, thinking hard. “It’s kind of risky—isn’t it?” she said finally.
“Do you have a better idea?” I asked.
She thought hard again. Then she lowered her eyes to the camera. “Okay,” she agreed. “Let’s do it.”
23
I struggled to climb to my feet. But my arms and legs were barely strong enough to push up my huge body.
Before I could move, Shari flew across the room. She grabbed the camera from my lap.
“Oh!” she cried out as she nearly dropped it. “It feels so heavy!”
“That’s because you’re so light,” I told her. I tried again to lift my bulk off the bed. And failed again.
“Sit still,” Shari ordered. “I’ll take your picture first.”
“Okay,” I agreed. “I hope the new photo shows me skinny.” I tried to cross my fingers. But they were too fat to cross!
“Say cheese,” Shari said, aiming the camera at me.
“Don’t be funny,” I snapped. “Just take the picture.”
She stared through the viewfinder. Raised her finger over the shutter button.
Then she lowered the camera with a sigh. “It—it’s too dangerous,” she stammered.
“Shari—take my picture!” I insisted. “Look at us! We couldn’t be any worse off—could we?”
She nodded in agreement. Then, with a sigh, she raised the camera to her eye again. It felt so heavy in her skinny arms, she had to hold it up with both hands.
“Here goes,” she said softly. “I hope it shows you normal again, Greg.”
She snapped the picture. The flash made me blink.
A second later, the white square slid out from the front of the camera. She carried it over to the bed and dropped lightly down beside me.
“Let’s see it!” I cried, eagerly grabbing for it.
“Careful!” Shari warned. “If you fall over, you’ll crush me!”
I gasped. She was right. Sitting next to me could be extremely dangerous.
“Maybe you’d better stand up,” I suggested.
She climbed to her feet, swaying because she wasn’t used to being so light. “It’s starting to develop,” she announced.
She held the snapshot in front of me so we could both watch it. The yellow filled in first. I squinted to see if I could make out my face.
Was it fat in the photo? Or back to normal?
The yellow was too pale. I couldn’t see my face at all.
Shari and I both were frozen there, staring at the small square. Not moving a muscle. Not blinking. Watching it darken.
And suddenly, I could see myself.
My huge blobby face. My round, balloon body.
Still enormous. Still enormously fat.
“Noooooooo!” I let out a long cry of horror. “Noooooooo! I want to be changed back!”
Shari was shaking her tiny head sadly, still staring at the darkening photo. “What’s that on your face?” she cried. “Yuck!”
I grabbed the snapshot from her and held it close. “Oh, no!” I groaned. “My skin—it’s all scaly. I look like an alligator or something!”
Shari grabbed back the photo and studied it. “The scaly stuff is on your arms, too,” she said. “It looks like reptile skin or something.”
And as she said that, I started to itch.
I glanced down and saw red scales covering my arms. Itchy red patches. I started to scratch. But the scratching made the scales itch even more.
My skin flaked off under my fingernails.
“Oh, yuck!” I moaned. “It itches so bad!”
I scratched my arms. Then I scratched my face. More dry skin peeled off as I scratched. Chunks of skin.
Shari took a step back. She let the new photo fall to the carpet. “Oh, this is so horrible!” she declared. “You’re still huge—and now all your skin is cracking off!”
“Ohh! My back itches so bad!” I wailed. “But I can’t reach it.”
“I’m not going to scratch it for you!” Shari declared. “It—it’s too gross!”
I pulled a chunk of scaly, red skin off the back of my hand. “Do you want me to take a new picture of you?” I asked Shari. “Maybe you’ll have better luck.”
“No! No way!” she cried. She took another few steps back. “No new picture. It will only make things worse.”
Her face twisted in disgust. She swallowed hard. “I’m sorry, Greg,” she choked out. “But you look so gross, I think I’m going to be sick.”
I tried to scratch the back of my neck. But my arms were too fat. I couldn’t reach back there.
I rubbed my forehead. A big chunk of skin dropped off and bounced on the carpet.
“Let’s just rip up the photos!” Shari declared.
“Huh?” I gaped at her.
She bent to pick up the scaly new picture of me. “Let’s rip them all up,” she urged. “I’ll bet as soon as we rip them up, our bodies will return to normal.”
I stopped my frantic scratchi
ng for a moment. “Do you think so? Do you think that’s all we have to do?”
“Maybe,” Shari replied. “It’s worth a try—don’t you think?”
I pulled the first two photos from my pocket. The negative of Shari and the first fat photo of me.
“I’ll rip these two up,” I said. “You tear that one. We’ll see what happens.”
We both held the photos up. I started to tear mine—then stopped.
“Maybe if we rip them up, we’ll disappear completely!” I exclaimed.
Shari and I stared at each other. Our hands stayed in the air, ready to tear the snapshots to pieces.
Should we do it?
24
“No!” Shari cried. “Don’t do it!”
We both lowered the snapshots.
“You’re right,” I said. My whole body was shaking. “It’s too dangerous.”
“If we tear the photos to pieces, we might be torn to pieces, too,” Shari said. “Or we might disappear completely and never come back.”
I shuddered. “Let’s not talk about what might happen to us,” I moaned. “Look at us. What could be worse?”
“A lot of things,” Shari sighed. “We’ll think of something to save ourselves, Greg. We just have to think positive.”
I stared at her. “What did you say?”
“I said, think positive,” she repeated.
Think positive.
“Shari—you just gave me a really good idea!”
I cried.
* * *
We carried the snapshots to Kramer’s, the photo store where my brother works.
It wasn’t easy to walk there. I had to stop to catch my breath every few steps. And I had to scratch my scaly, peeling skin. And I had to hold on to Shari to keep the wind from blowing her away.
The walk was only about eight blocks. But it took us more than an hour.
When we finally stepped inside the store, my heart sank to my knees. I didn’t see Terry.
“He’s in the developing lab,” Mr. Kramer told me. He kept staring at Shari and me. I guess we looked pretty weird. A stick figure and an elephant.