Page 22 of Wicked Hungry

“‘Ours is not to reason why,’” Andy says, finally. “Let’s get Stanley on the treadmill.”

I look at Lauren, wondering what she’ll say.

“I guess you may run after all,” she says.

Walking, then running on the treadmill, I feel like I’ve regained something I thought I’d lost forever.

And I have, but at what price?

I can run again, in exchange for a little extra body hair and smelly pits. What a steal, right? I smile from ear to ear as I breathe deeply and run in long, smooth, pain-free strides. I feel light and carefree. It’s like someone has taken a great weight off my shoulders.

I just need to remember it’s an hour and a half until my next pill.

But who am I kidding?

My body won’t let me forget.

Chapter 9: BANNED FROM 7-11

There is something seriously wrong with me. Something new. And no, it’s not my knee, not the pills. Not even my high school. I mean high school is new, and being a freshman? It’s kind of like being a sixth grader all over again. Once again we’re the smallest, and we have to learn the ropes. Everyone is bigger, the school is bigger, and there are a lot more people. My classes are hard, and I know I won’t be getting straight A’s. But my classes and my school are not the problem.

No, my problem is something else. It’s trying to keep secrets from my mother.

I mean, if she catches me going to Burger King I can tell her I went there for a veggie burger.

But what if she finds my stash?

No, I’m not hiding pot, or dirty magazines, or crystal meth.

I’ve got a stash of Slim Jims and Beef Jerky.

At school, the cafeteria ladies look forward to seeing me in the lunch line. They admire my appetite, and whenever they see the mad gleam in my eye, they give me an extra serving of meatloaf. They even pour extra meat juices on top. Free of charge.

I’ve been into 7-11 so often to buy meat products, everyone knows me there by name.

So today, outside school, I look around in the parking lot for Zach, seeing if I can get restocked on vitamins, but I don’t see him. There are a few kids in black hoodies hanging out in the parking lot of the food cooperative, sitting on skateboards and drinking carrot juice. But no one I recognize. I ignore them. I walk down the street and into the 7-11. I have a twenty-dollar bill and a plan.

But Ralph, the afternoon clerk, shakes his head. “We’ve had a whole lot of kids buying up our meat snacks.”

I must have given him a look, because he puts his hands up, like he’s trying to tell me to take it easy. “I’m just not sure if I can sell you a whole case, at least not at a discount.”

“You don’t understand,” I say. “I’m wicked hungry.”

He stares at me for a moment, and his eyes narrow.

“I know you,” he says, finally. “You were on the track team with my brother, Andrew. You were fast once, weren’t you? And now look at you, buying Slim Jims. What’s the matter with you?”

“None of your business.”

“Go home and eat something healthy.”

“I need a case.”

He shakes his head.

I reach out and grab his shirt. He pulls away, but I hold on tight. I hear his shirt rip.

“Let me go and put the money down on the counter,” he says. “Then I’ll see what I can do.”