Here’s another sneak peak into Heavyweight.
The game picks back up and I can hear the juices in my stomach battling to digest the massive quantity of crap I just rammed into it. Sweat pops out on my brow and I feel shaky. My stomach cramps, causing my eyes to go wide and my ass to clench. I need a bathroom. Now.
I stand, praying I can make it to a bathroom. The twins get up with me, but I wave them back down, calling over my shoulder that I’ll be back, before practically sprinting down the bleachers.
Fans are going crazy, so something good must be going on in the game. I use the ruckus to sneak into the tunnel that leads from the end of the field back into the school locker rooms.
Thankfully, it’s empty as I rush into a stall, shaky hands fumbling with the latch. I debate whether to sit or bend over. It’s coming out from one end or the other. Both are awful, but from the mouth is better for my weight issues.
I bend at the waist. Kneeling would be better, but I can’t risk someone coming in and seeing my feet sticking out. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath; brace myself before shoving two fingers down my throat.
Acid rises along with my dinner. One never gets used to the burning sensation nor the horrific taste it leaves in its wake. I retch repeatedly, noisily expelling the garbage I so recently filled my body with.
Time escapes me as I repeat the process making sure to rid my body of as much of the junk as possible. An intermittent flush helps keep the smell at bay and hide some of the offending sounds in case someone has entered. When the dry heaves hit, I know I’m done. My hands are bracing themselves against the sides of the stall. Slowly I straighten to an upright position. When I feel stable, I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. Damn, my breath could knock over the whole team. I suddenly remember I’ve got mints in my locker. Zero calorie mints, my new best friend.
Unlocking the door, I push it open, listening for the sounds that would mean others are in the locker room. I’m met with silence. At least something is going my way today. Throwing on the taps, I hurry to scrub my face and hands, gargle some water. My shirt is stuck to my body like a second skin and one eye is blood shot. Shit. You know you threw up a lot when you burst blood vessels in your eye. There’s not going to be anyway to hide that. I’m going to have to be honest, to a degree anyhow, and tell them I got sick. I’ll just explain I don’t eat a lot of fried stuff. That should work, right? I freakin’ hope so.
Deciding there’s nothing else to do about my pallor and horror-show eye, I head to grab some mints. A handful tossed into my mouth and I’m shutting the locker when someone else enters the room.
“Whoa Quinn, you look like you’ve been ridden hard and put away wet. You got that cute Chink in here with you? Or maybe it’s the brother? You were quick to come to his defense the other day.” Andrews taunts me, a broken helmet dangling from his hand.
Rage fills me as I rush forward and slam him up against a row of lockers. The sound of his body hitting the metal is more satisfying that I would have thought.
“Watch your fucking language you piece of white trash. Didn’t your momma teach you if you don’t have anything nice to say to shut your goddamn mouth?” I’m on a roll. No need to stop now. “Ooh right, she skipped out on you to bang the UPS man.”
I think I hear the moment he snaps. Everyone knows not to bring up the fact that Mrs. Andrews left her husband and young son to travel the state with the man in the big brown truck.
His fist shoots out before I can even think of moving. It connects with my eye. Oddly enough, this abates my anger and I’m satisfied I have a cover up for the blown blood vessels. He pulls back, ready to knock me back a second time, but I’m more aware now and catch his fist, curling my fingers tightly around his swelling hand. I’m itching to hit him back, but know if I’m caught fighting on school grounds I could be kicked off the team. Better him than me.
“That was your one shot, and maybe I deserved it, but you keep spouting that racist homophobic bullshit and I will find you off school grounds and give you a beating that will require wiring your jaw shut. Watch yourself.” I shove his arm back and he reels, hitting the lockers with another satisfying clunk. Eye smarting, I leave him behind to ponder my threat.