expected. Virgil gulped and backed away.
“Look, I know we all have big appetites here,” Virgilsaid, stepping back with his palms facing out. “But let’s not do anything we’ll both regret….”
“It’s me,” Milton said as he pressed his face between the Pang’s gaping jaws.
“Milton.”
Virgil peered inside the creature’s mouth. A grin of recognition spread across his face, until it was suddenly clouded with alarm.
“We got to get you out of there!” Virgil yelped. “I’ll try to find some Ipecac or ex-lax—”
Milton put his hand across Virgil’s mouth. The chef peered through the kitchen blinds suspiciously.
“I’m in disguise,” Milton assured his friend. “The name is
Jonah.”
Milton tried to wink but wasn’t sure if his Pang face had the subtlety for sly gestures.
“I came back to rescue you,” he added.
“And you thought you’d get a snack first?” Virgil replied. “Not that I’d blame you or anything. That’s what I’d do. You know, to keep my strength up.”
Milton’s real face blushed, but his hungry Pang mask was unabashed.
“It’s just that, I wanted to … you know, fit in.”
“Well, no one eats here anymore,” Virgil said. “Chef Boyareyookrazee was just messing with you. I only came for more napkins. The
real
meal deal is outside. In the hall.”
A bell rang, like one of those old triangular dinner bells they used to use back in cowboy times.
“It’s time for gym,” Virgil said desperately. “If we’re late, they’ll force us to spend extra time on the DREADmill….”
“Gym?” Milton whined. Gym was his least favorite class even when alive. “But I’m starving!”
Virgil wiped a smear of sauce from his cheek. He eyed the cook behind Milton warily.
“I’ll set you up with something
dee
-licious after class,” he said with a grin, his lips flecked with saliva and his pupils dilated. “Promise. Let’s go!”
So Virgil and Milton tromped down the hallway, their footfalls exaggerated by the hollow, bouncing wood floor. They sounded like a thundering two-boy stampede.
I’m in
, Milton reflected as he manipulated his abundant, barely controllable body down the hall.
Now it’s just a matter of getting out
.
Milton watched their enormous reflections—stretched out, gruesome, and distorted—and felt both of his stomachs sink.
“As easy as smuggling two elephants out of a maximum-security circus,” Milton mumbled, discouraged, as he and Virgil pushed open the double-wide doors leading to the boys’ locker room.
12 • HEALTH CLUBBED
MILTON AND VIRGIL wrenched themselves into their burlap leggings, like two enormous sausages attempting to slip on their own casings. The marriage of coarse burlap and plump thighs gave birth to a wailing nursery of welts.
“Can you help me with this?” Virgil asked, holding out his black rubber tube top.
Milton nervously cased out the empty locker room. It was pretty much an unspoken rule that one never,
ever
helped another boy with his gym clothes. It was a surefire way to guarantee that one’s school social calendar would be jam-packed with torment, derision, and—more than likely—wedgies. Milton sighed and grudgingly helped his friend pull on his skintight rubber tube top. Finally, Milton tugged and jerked the smelly piece of synthetic workout gear into place.
The bell rang. Gym class hadn’t even begun and Milton was already exhausted. He shambled toward the door. Though he was getting better at operating his Pang, it still performed with a slight lag behind Milton’s will, like an old arcade game with an unresponsive joystick. They passed a warped fun-house mirror strategically placed by the exit, with the obvious intention of getting in one last demoralizing dig before the portly boys underwent the full-body anguish of gym. But Virgil—his attitudinal glass perpetually at half full—took a look at himself and shrugged.
“It could be worse,” he murmured at the grotesque, contorted
“Look, I know we all have big appetites here,” Virgilsaid, stepping back with his palms facing out. “But let’s not do anything we’ll both regret….”
“It’s me,” Milton said as he pressed his face between the Pang’s gaping jaws.
“Milton.”
Virgil peered inside the creature’s mouth. A grin of recognition spread across his face, until it was suddenly clouded with alarm.
“We got to get you out of there!” Virgil yelped. “I’ll try to find some Ipecac or ex-lax—”
Milton put his hand across Virgil’s mouth. The chef peered through the kitchen blinds suspiciously.
“I’m in disguise,” Milton assured his friend. “The name is
Jonah.”
Milton tried to wink but wasn’t sure if his Pang face had the subtlety for sly gestures.
“I came back to rescue you,” he added.
“And you thought you’d get a snack first?” Virgil replied. “Not that I’d blame you or anything. That’s what I’d do. You know, to keep my strength up.”
Milton’s real face blushed, but his hungry Pang mask was unabashed.
“It’s just that, I wanted to … you know, fit in.”
“Well, no one eats here anymore,” Virgil said. “Chef Boyareyookrazee was just messing with you. I only came for more napkins. The
real
meal deal is outside. In the hall.”
A bell rang, like one of those old triangular dinner bells they used to use back in cowboy times.
“It’s time for gym,” Virgil said desperately. “If we’re late, they’ll force us to spend extra time on the DREADmill….”
“Gym?” Milton whined. Gym was his least favorite class even when alive. “But I’m starving!”
Virgil wiped a smear of sauce from his cheek. He eyed the cook behind Milton warily.
“I’ll set you up with something
dee
-licious after class,” he said with a grin, his lips flecked with saliva and his pupils dilated. “Promise. Let’s go!”
So Virgil and Milton tromped down the hallway, their footfalls exaggerated by the hollow, bouncing wood floor. They sounded like a thundering two-boy stampede.
I’m in
, Milton reflected as he manipulated his abundant, barely controllable body down the hall.
Now it’s just a matter of getting out
.
Milton watched their enormous reflections—stretched out, gruesome, and distorted—and felt both of his stomachs sink.
“As easy as smuggling two elephants out of a maximum-security circus,” Milton mumbled, discouraged, as he and Virgil pushed open the double-wide doors leading to the boys’ locker room.
12 • HEALTH CLUBBED
MILTON AND VIRGIL wrenched themselves into their burlap leggings, like two enormous sausages attempting to slip on their own casings. The marriage of coarse burlap and plump thighs gave birth to a wailing nursery of welts.
“Can you help me with this?” Virgil asked, holding out his black rubber tube top.
Milton nervously cased out the empty locker room. It was pretty much an unspoken rule that one never,
ever
helped another boy with his gym clothes. It was a surefire way to guarantee that one’s school social calendar would be jam-packed with torment, derision, and—more than likely—wedgies. Milton sighed and grudgingly helped his friend pull on his skintight rubber tube top. Finally, Milton tugged and jerked the smelly piece of synthetic workout gear into place.
The bell rang. Gym class hadn’t even begun and Milton was already exhausted. He shambled toward the door. Though he was getting better at operating his Pang, it still performed with a slight lag behind Milton’s will, like an old arcade game with an unresponsive joystick. They passed a warped fun-house mirror strategically placed by the exit, with the obvious intention of getting in one last demoralizing dig before the portly boys underwent the full-body anguish of gym. But Virgil—his attitudinal glass perpetually at half full—took a look at himself and shrugged.
“It could be worse,” he murmured at the grotesque, contorted
Similar Books
