Fat Boy vs. the Cheerleaders Read Online Free Page B

Are sophomores who are used to being buried near the bottom of the shit heap going to be quick to stand up? Justin was the most likely dude to do it, but he didn’t because he was already secretly dating Janessa.
    That’s right—Janessa Rogers!
    People started whispering. The volume increased. They all talked and talked about what might’ve happened. Maybe Shaver’s sick. Maybe he’s tired or he has to travel someplace. Maybe he doesn’t like us anymore. Maybe the marching band is losing its funding for next year.
    Whoa. Stop the presses.
    I hadn’t partaken (partook?) in the conversations at all because of my state of mind, but—
    Maybe the marching band is losing its funding for next year.
    Okay, when I was a freshman, Jacinta Smith was the president of the student council, and she also took community college classes at night from my dad (accounting). And I actually read one of her papers where she talked about how various student activities were funded and the band, sir, the band’s summer programming was entirely funded by proceeds generated from the pop machine in the cafeteria! I thought about Deevers telling me and Justin about property values and resort money and how there wasn’t enough money.
    I mean, balls!
    Suddenly, I knew in my pounding heart of hearts what was going on. A high holy effenheimer danced on the tip of my tongue. I sucked it in and let it expand in my chest. My heart pounded, man.
    Maybe the marching band is losing its funding for next year?
    I tried to breathe. I tried to swallow. I watched and waited. Pretty soon, conversations turned to summer plans and college and all kinds of crap that didn’t matter. Only I knew we were being victimized (totally bamboozled).
    My blood boiled, not just for me but for all us geeks.
    Look at me, Mr. Rodriguez. Here. I’m going to stand up. Do you think I like marching? I love the music—but marching? This is me marching. I look stupid, right? In fact, I hate the hell out of the marching part of band. The stupid tight pants and fur ball hats and the big white belt that crushes me across my midsection. I can’t breathe in the bullshit uniform in the first place. Then march me around in circles while I blow my guts out on this brass instrument that requires all kinds of wind? I look like a dying blimp wearing a costume and blowing a big metal robot wang.
    What I’m saying is while I love concert band and pep band with my whole heart, I don’t like marching one bit. But I’d had enough of getting the shaft. I’m not a joke. I’m not going to be a victim!
    Waiting for the bell to ring, I thought about Seth Sellers calling me a turd. I thought about the stinging price of Code Red and all the ways it crippled me (physically and emotionally). I thought about Deevers. I thought about the health class experiment and how I wasn’t the only one screwed over. I thought about McCartney and name-calling.
    I thought, None of this is by accident. I thought, Somebody is trying to use us up. I thought, If Kailey or Janessa were in the band, we’d have all the money we need to be the best band we can be. Property values and resort money don’t matter! They take my stuff because I make it easy! I just laugh and roll over!
    I exhaled hard. I stood up. Everyone stared at me.
    â€œI have totally and completely had enough of this bullshit,” I said. “This means war!”
    Austin Bates, a junior percussionist, laughed. “Ha-ha!”
    I gave him the finger.
    And then the bell rang.

CHAPTER 5
    Mr. Rodriguez, have you ever felt the need to get a whole new set of friends? I’m not saying Justin and Camille are bad people. They’re fine, okay? But Justin was the first person to call me Chunk instead of my given name, Gabe. (He said I looked like this fat kid in an 80s movie.) Camille treated me like an idiot all the time. And Justin “forgot” to give me a ride home that