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The morning sun shines brightly on a train platform filled with about fifty teen boys, luggage beside them. Among them stands a brown-haired boy, loudly arguing with his dad. “I don’t want to go to this stupid camp.” “It’ll be good for you, Jasper.” “Why? I don’t even like being outdoors, I hate the forest, and I doubt anything there will have been cleaned since the civil war. Bet it doesn’t even have Wi-Fi” Jasper stands at the tip of his toes, trying to leer into his father’s eyes. “Or is it because mom left? You just want to go somewhere to fuck that bimbo you cheated on mom with.” A loud slap makes everyone turn toward Jasper, now lying on the ground. “There. That’s my answer. You’re going and that’s that.” A burly older teen, his hair a dirty blonde, flannel shirt over jeans shorts covering his bulky build, equal muscle and fat. “Is there a problem sir?” “And who would you be?” “I’m Dave. I’m entrusted with getting all of our precious boys to the camp.” Dave extends a hand to

Chapter 5 Leo runs like the wind, blue sick coating his glowing skin as he races through the twilight forest. His ample backside bounces out of a set of over-tight undies, a red furrow stretching across his middle where the belt from his pants had been. His shirts flies onto a nearby tree branch as he discards it, the clothing constraining him. A large beach ball sized belly, dangling down softly, bounces as Leo runs, determination on his face. This is nothing, I’ve run more than this for soccer. While being two foot taller and fifty pounds lighter. That leg length sure used to help. Oh god my knees. Every step just hurts. Is that why fat boys don’t run? My lungs. They’re on fire. [Be a good boy and stop then] Never. Leo glances at a scrap of paper in his hands. That’s five more miles northeast. That’s doable. Thunder rumbles above as Leo sprints deeper into the woods, a wind in his back and a fire in his gut spurring him on. Leo crawls into a small cave halfway up the mountain, his

Chapter 2 Miles grows red in the face as approaches his dressing room, blood boiling with every step. He throws the door wide, pointing at his manager with a quivering finger. “You knew! You knew they wouldn’t stick to the script! I now have a bunch of fat kids jiggling their blubber on my show!” “And you will bear it, Miles. The winds are changing. Obesity is on the upswing, and more and more of your audience has a bit of … heft. So, you will plaster on that fake smile you do, and go out there. You do want your money, don’t you?” The managers smiles over his third scotch, eyes a puffy red leer. “They could at least stick to the script!” “They are. Just not the script you got. We knew you’d never agree to it. Now, go and be a good stooge.” “Well, fuck you!” “You going to quit?” “You’d like that huh? I know I don’t get paid if I quit.” “Good boy.” Miles is bright red in the face as he returns to the studio, his guests milling about, talking softly with the audience. Dear god

Howard smiles encouragingly as he sees his sons exit the dressing room, skinny legs sticking out of a basic set of black shorts, a white shirt draped around their slender torso. “Well, if that’s not my two right cuties.” “We’re still us, dad. We’re not cuties, we’re just … getting some treatment for my so called ‘anorexia’ and ‘delinquent behavior.” Ed scowls, twisting his smooth pace into a pout. “Speak for yourself, Ed. Besides, I’m here to support you. We’re both kids again. Let’s just have fun.” El runs up to his dad, giving him a hug. “So, you boys ready for your big breakfast? Apparently, you have to pack some meat on those bones.” Howard smiles. “Do we have to?” Ed’s grumbling stomach belies his protests, and soon enough both boys are seated at a cheap diner, the floor gleaming even if the fake leather of the seats is frayed. The waitress smiles friendly at Ed and El as she takes the boy’s orders. “I want the pancakes and extra syrup, and a big milkshake and …" “Are

Chapter 2 Light creeps into Ryan’s bedroom, his alarm blaring. His eyes sting with sleep, but he jumps from his bed nonetheless, rushing to the bathroom, cradling his gut. He doesn’t bother closing the door as he sits, last night’s indulgence bursting forth. Oh god, it’s so much. So fucking much. What did you expect? You ate multiple pounds of food for dinner last night. Worth it. Ryan jumps onto the scale, frowning. “Half a pound? But I ate like … Wait. Half a pound. If I do that for the entire summer, I’ll … Well, it was only dinner.” “What’s that sweetie?” Ryan’s mom walks into the bathroom, pouring a glass of water from the tap. “Mom! I’m in here.” Ryan tries to cover up by grabbing a towel, but the rack is empty. “So? Didn’t bother you before.” “Well, maybe … You know, my body, my space. I’d like to …” Ryan turns red in the face as he sputters, deciding between just calling his mom’s bluff and showering or retreating. “Whatever. Hand mommy some aspirin. And dear god you look

Day 13 Sun shines brightly on the camp green, Brad sitting back relaxed on the bench on his cabin porch, his cabin mates still on dish-washing duty. Ice cream runs down his hand as he relaxes, one hand working his belly, the other feeding him an ice cream sundae. A shout pulls him from his revelry. “Damn! You got fat.” Brad chuckles as he sees his brother Chris approach, his former big brother now a good foot shorter than he is. “Look, who’s talking.” “At least my gut doesn’t reach the chair when I sit.” Brad reaches out for a hug, the rest of his sundae quickly gobbled down. “Missed you, man. How’s camp been? I know I should have come see you sooner ...” “Well, you know, some short chubby kid shouting in my ear to run faster, while some other kid is giving me ‘the look’. How you holding up, Bratty Brad?” Brad laughs as he sits back down. “Great. I mean, I didn’t get a spot in Zack’s cabin, but well …” “Oh, you’re still trying to get him to notice you?” “Well duh. I mean, he is the

Dragons and Princes A beefy man opens his front door to reveal two boys standing there, the left one clad in a loose football jersey and shorts, the other clad in a skintight polo shirt, glasses on a freckled face. “Hey son, and friend.” “It’s Wesley.” “Sure thing, Wesley” The beefy man extends a hand in greeting, vice like grip crushing Wesley’s hand. “Dad, don’t be like that.” “Like what, Lyle?” “Like that. Just look at Wesley’s hand.” “I just got a man’s grip. Now, Wesley, why don’t you and Lyle go upstairs and have some fun before dinner.” Wesley follows the blonde Lyle up the stairs, his own face red beneath his slick black hair as he rubs his hand. “You’re dad sure is …” “An asshole.” Lyle opens his bedroom door, throwing wide his arm. “Welcome to my piece of this world.” Wesley looks around, eyes lighting up at the superhero posters and enormous gaming rig. “I didn’t know you gamed!” Lyle chuckles as he closes the door behind him. “I sure do. Trying to sit on my ass as often as

Samuel curses as he checks his watch, his brother’s heavy metal blaring through the car stereo, the pickup truck bouncing along the deserted town roads. “Why are you so worried? Thought you didn’t want to go? I know I don’t.” “I mean, it’s coach. And next year, he’s … retiring, he wants his last year to be the championship year. And I need that sports scholarship, so … There.” “It’s only soccer. But we’ll see.” Samuel fingers his earlobe, a small silver stud gleaming in the orange street lights. “I know.” As soon as they pull up on the school parking lot, Samuel leaps from the car, his thin muscular legs carrying him fast. Besides him another boy pulls up, his blonde hair swaying in the evening breeze. “Hey there, Samuel. Race you.” The boy pulls ahead of Samuel, reaching the circle of boys sitting on the soccer green two seconds before Samuel does. “You win again, Amos.” Samuel smiles as they plop down next to the other players on the team, Samuel sitting wide-legged behind