Former Fat Boy

By Marétha Marais

Davey has settled into his role of Big Brother to Adam, the kid next door. He is happy with his comfortable, calm, no-drama daily routine. His weight is holding steady, and food is heathy and delicious. Life is good. Then the Benjamin house across the street is sold. The new owners of the house move in and with them – an angry Zulu boy whose only mission seems to be stirring up trouble and messing up Davey’s neatly ordered existence. Between Adam and the new kid, Davey’s stress level is at an all-time high. Add his perfect sister to the mix and it’s enough to lose his head and grab a chocolate bar. An unexpected accident, frenemies, Big Henry and the wild dogs, his last year of primary school is anything but relaxed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Nov 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798886934991

Marétha Marais

Marétha Marais has been a prolific reader for the first 49 years of her life. When she turned 50, she decided to put her communications degree to good use and start writing children’s fiction. She is forever thankful to Nawaal D at Penguin Random House, who convinced her not to give up and finish the Creative Writing Short Course. This has led her to author Mike Nicol’s Masterclass. The Fat Boy series is inspired by her own and friends’ weight loss experiences and the realization of how little control children have over their parent’s food choices. Her first book, Fat Boy No More, was published in 2020. She is currently busy with the third and last installment in the series. When Marétha is not daydreaming up stories, she works as a Bids and Compliance Officer at a consulting engineering company on the West Rand where she does a lot of not so interesting reading and chasing tender deadlines.

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Year 2, Month 1, Week 1

Captain David Zacharias Log

Stardate 72482.11 Log Entry 160

Week 1—Happy New Year, Former Fat Boy

New Year Resolution: Eat right—lose weight.

I’m too tired to write. It has been a long day. See ya.

Year 2, Month 1, Week 2

Captain David Zacharias Log

Stardate 72501.30 Log Entry 161

Week 2—Happy Holidays

Stay away from Perfect Amelia and her cardio classes in the garage.

Enjoy the last two weeks of the summer holidays.

Eat right—lose weight.

This time around, losing weight is much easier. It was not easy to convince them, but everyone has now adapted to our new healthy eating lifestyle. Some more than others—like Perfect Amelia, who has even started cardio classes in the garage, three times a week.

Davey, did you see the board—the Benjamin house has been sold! I wonder who is going to move in. Do you think the new owners are old people or maybe a family with children? I hope they are our age, like ten or twelve. Do you think your mom will know? Adam and I are on our daily bike run, and as usual, he is talking a mile a minute.

Mom does not know, or she will have said something. Are we going to the park? I want to…

No, I wanna see if they have finished painting the blue house. Perhaps you can ask Tannie Kotie, she knows everything that is happening in the neighborhood.

No way! You can ask, she likes you. I am not talking to the witch, she will only ask about my weight. Tannie Kotie is a nasty old woman, living a few doors down. Mom says she does not have a kind bone in her body.

She’s always commenting on my weight. I’m sure she is just waiting for me to get fat again. Although I’m down two pants sizes and three shirt sizes since last year, I’m still overweight, and Tannie Kotie just loves to point out that I’m still ‘quite chubby’.

When we reach the intersection with St. Michael’s Avenue, Adam slows down and stops. Do you think we would ever go down St. Michael’s again? I can see and hear the longing in his voice and face. It was great fun, was it not? Even when we had to practice really hard to get fit. Do you think we can ask Father Bosinio when he is back if we can do it again? Like an affirmation, you know.

Affirmation…? I’m very careful not to commit to anything in Adam’s presence; he has a way of keeping you to your word. Last year, I had unwittingly promised to race down the extremely steep mountain of a hill, St. Michaels Avenue, when I was no longer fat.

I never ever thought it would happen for real. As my luck would have it, Father Bosinio heard about Adam’s wish. Before you can say booger bomb, our do-not-tell-the-parents secret escalated into a full-blown street closed, muffin selling, and crowd lining up event.

Suddenly everyone knew my name—even if, some called me by my hated nickname, Little Nuke. It was strange being the focus of all the attention, but racing down St. Michaels was an exhilarating once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Not to be repeated ever again.

Don’t you think we should get a new adventure? If I can get Adam to think up new adventures, St. Michaels will not be on the menu. Did that drone-crazy cousin of mine not come up with any good ideas?

You said you didn’t wanna hear about Liam’s ideas? I don’t like the smile Adam has on his face. I must have stepped in it now. My stomach clenches in nervous anticipation. At least, Adam has again started in the direction of the blue house.

Start with the boring ones…

There are no boring ones. Only scary ones. Adam charges down the street. When I get close, he just speeds up enough to stay in front of me, until we reach the blue house.

Adam started to call it the blue house when the owners painted blue patches on the walls. It’s a strange-looking house. It looks like someone has stacked boxes randomly on top of one another and has put up glass walkways to connect them.

Some places you can see through to the mountain behind it. We find the two owners on the front lawn in a loud and angry discussion with the painters. Only one block has been painted since we saw it two weeks ago. I don’t think he likes the color.

No, they are deciding on which blue color to paint next. Look, there’s a picture of the completed house. Adam points to a large blue painting on an easel. They should paint the blue that looks like the sky. Then we can call it the Sky House.

That is actually a good idea, young man. Moreover, a great name for the house. Pierre, we have another vote for the sky blue. The tall blond owner approached us, while we were staring at the blue painting. That is now two for the Azure Fusion and two for the Ebony Mist.

Which one is the Ebony Mist? Adam moves his bike closer to the painting.

Pierre picks up the painting and points to a grayish-blue color on one of the bottom blocks. This one. It grounds the house. I notice that his eyes are the same blue as the sky color when he looks at me: Seems that you are the deciding vote on this one. What will it be—Azure Fusion or Ebony Mist?

Suddenly, all eyes are on me, waiting for my decision. I hate being the center of attention. I look at the painting—it is a jumble of blues and grays flowing into one another. Desperately, I try to think of an answer. My eyes land on the painter, he looks tired and at the end of his patience. Different color blue paints streak his hair. He must have pulled on his hair every time the owners changed their minds.

Ebony Mist, because it is the first block you see when you enter the driveway. I watch the painter breathe a sigh of relief.

Cube—it is called a cube. He looks at the two owners: Is that the deciding vote, can I start now?

Yes, it makes perfect sense. Sorry, little guy, it seems we are outvoted this time. The tall guy gives Adam a high five.

It is OK. Let us know when you are going to paint the next cube. I’m Adam, and this is my friend Davey. We can come around at any time. Why are you building such a strange house? Are you an Architect? Is this a space house? It looks like a house in a sci-fi movie.

I desperately pull at Adam’s sleeve; when he looks at me, I shake my hand and hold up five fingers.

Adam takes a breath and turns back to the two men, wanting to know the answers.

Pierre stares at Adam. I thought I recognized you. Alain, these are the two kids in the video racing down St. Michaels Avenue last year.

I avoid the eyes, polishing a speck of dirt from Firefly’s gleaming orange body. I’m still not used to being recognized. Most of the time, I leave the talking to Adam. Finally, the torture is over, and we wave goodbye to the owners and the painters, busy with the undercoat.

When we get home, Adam longingly gazes at the house across the street. Davey, I think we should ask Tannie Kotie about the new owners. Tomorrow.

See you tomorrow, Adam. The poor kid really wants to solve the mystery of the new owners. I feel a tiny twinge of jealousy that Adam wants a new friend. Am I not enough? Maybe the Advocate would like the new kid better and forbid Adam to see me. Adam’s father does not like me very much, I did not make a good impression the first time we met. I’m on thin ice with the Advocate; he always blames me for Adam’s hare-brained schemes. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that an old couple moves in across the street.

Since I was not paying attention, I run into the one person I wanted to avoid—my sister, Perfect Amelia.

Why so down, did you and Adam get into a fight? Amelia is dressed casually, in form-fitting black sweats with bright pink running shoes. Her blond hair is pulled back into a ponytail.

No, nothing like that, just distracted. I practically run up the stairs to get away from blue-eyed, blond-haired Amelia. I’m not in the mood to get into another argument about joining her cardio class in the house garage, as Adam calls our two-story four-car garage. Amelia does not give up that easily:

Davey, wait! I want to ask you something. She pushes against the door that I’m trying to close.

I’m not going to join your cardio-class, so get it out of your head. I weigh more than Amelia, but somehow, she keeps the door open. This is not fair. Mom! Mom, Amelia is bothering me again! Tell her to leave me alone.

Amelia, leave your brother alone. Carly is at the gate. I stick out my tongue at Ms. Perfect, when Mom takes my side. She suddenly lets go of the door, and it slams shut with a bang.

Sorry, Mom. It was an accident. Amelia gives me a little wave and a smirky smile and waltzes down the stairs.

The next moment I hear Dad: David, get down here. Crap, Dad is home. Amelia must have seen him arrive home just in time to hear the door slam.

Coming, Dad. I rush down the stairs. Hello, Dad. Sorry about the door, Mom. It was an accident. I hope that Dad will accept my apology, and it will be the end of the story. Dad looks tired, he is still wearing a tie and jacket, and must have attended a Council meeting; usually not the best time to misbehave.

What is it with you and your sister? It is the second time this week that I walk in on an argument between the two of you.

Uhm…It’s nothing, Dad. I grab the stacked plates on the counter; perhaps he will let this go if I start laying the table.

David, at some stage, you will have to increase your exercise regime to lose more weight. Eating healthy is a big part of it, but practicing with water bottles and biking will only help to a certain point. Cardio exercises are a good way to get fit and help you burn fat. Why don’t you want to try it?

I look at Mom, but she agrees with Dad. Davey, Amelia is only trying to help. Won’t you try it? Just once. It was strange for me too, but now it is fun. Please. My mom was never one for exercise, but once she started to lose weight, without too much hassle, she happily joined Amelia’s Cardio classes. She also convinced Dad to start playing squash again. The two of them even take long walks in the afternoon. Mom is looking stunning. Everyone says she looks like a young Elizabeth Taylor, an actress famous in the 1950s.

She is wearing a dark green sundress with a fitted bodice; the lilac belt shows off her waist, before the material falls in soft pleats to just below her knees. Mom has put up her thick black curly hair to keep it away from her neck in this heat. Mom has slimmed down considerably to what she calls a comfortable weight. She does not look fat, I’m the only one that still looks fat. It is so unfair.

Mom, there are only women and girls of Amelia’s age, I’ll be the only boy there. Everyone will look at me.

Please, Munchkin, just give it a try. If it is that horrible, we will make another plan. Her brown eyes are pleading with me. I want to stamp my foot and shout in frustration, but Dad is watching, and he will not tolerate me talking back to his wife, my mother, by the grace of God.

With a huge sigh, I agree. OK, Mom. I’ll give it a try. Mom immediately gathers me in a big hug and whispers that it will be OK and fun. Dad pins me with his blue gaze, a warning not to disappoint Mom.

Year 2, Month 1, Week 3

Captain David Zacharias Log

Stardate 72520.49 Log Entry 162

Week 3—Trouble comes my way

I hope the house across the street stays empty. I don’t want some new kid to mess up my friendship with Adam.

Get ready for my last year of primary school. Sometimes I feel sad that it is my last year, other times I’m happy that I’m half done with school.

Attend Perfect Amelia’s cardio classes with ‘good grace’, not my words. That’s what Dad told me when he saw my face on my way to Perfect Amelia’s shame session in the garage. According to Dad, if you approach a difficult task with a positive attitude and good grace to the others in the team, the most challenging part has already been overcome. Still not entirely clear on what Dad was trying to tell me, but I understood that I should not take my bad mood to class.

Perhaps I should re-think the no swimming rule. This summer is a scorcher. Maybe Adam and I could swim in the evenings. I can sometimes hear him in the pool around seven, cooling off before bed.

The day my world fell apart, starts out like every other hot, lazy, bright summer day. It is way too hot to sleep in, even at seven in the morning. I open the window wider to let in the cooler air, my body feels sticky and wet. I need a shower, but first, I’m going to finish my glass of water.

I lean against the cold wall watching the pigeons taking a bath. I wish we had a swimming pool. When I turn to leave, a white mini convertible with a Heart Homes logo pulls up in front of the Benjamin house. A woman with white-blond hair steps from the cool air-conditioned Mini. She immediately starts fanning her hand in front of her face.

She lifts her hair from her neck and opens the back door to pull out a huge basket filled with fruits, but I can see the bright blue chocolate paper between the orange, yellows, and reds. My heart sinks into my stomach, and a familiar twinge makes itself known. It is a ginormous basket, definitely too much for two elderly people. The Estate Agent quickstep up the driveway, eager to get out of the sun—her bright red shoes clicking on the pavers.

She is getting the house ready, walking around, opening windows, sweeping the stoep, and watering the hanging pots. A garden service bakkie stops in front of the gate, a man leans out the window while sounding the hooter. The Estate Agent, minus her red jacket, opens the gate and starts issuing instructions in a high-pitch voice.

My whole day, no, the rest of my holiday has been spoiled. Not even Mom’s super Creamy Oats, with the toasted almonds, cranberries and cinnamon apples, yoghurt and honey could make the day any better.

Why are you so blue? Perfect Amelia has noticed my mood. I hope you are not going to chicken out on cardio this afternoon. It is a small group. You can stand in the back. Please do not come to class with those horrible gray sweatpants of yours. Rather wear the black one you sometimes wear when you are biking and your black St. Michaels T-shirt. Mom, we need to get Davey exercise gear. And new clothes that fit him. She looks at me with big innocent blue eyes over the top of her cup. To show off his new slimmer body.

Go to hell. You are not funny. I hate it when people talk about my body, even if it is a compliment. Mom, tell her to leave me alone. I don’t need any help from her. I’ll wear what I want. I shove my bowl to the side and try to escape from the table, but Mom is in my way. She puts her hands on my shoulders.

Davey, love, calm down. What is wrong?

Nothing is wrong, just leave me alone. Mom’s hands tighten on my shoulders. I’m not going to get away without listening to what Mom has to say. Just stuff, I’ll sort it out myself. Mom pushes me back into my chair and takes a seat next to me.

Since you are already in a bad mood, I guess I should just get this over. We need to check your clothes and see what fits and what does not. School is starting next week; if you need new clothes, we need to do it now. She holds up her hand when Amelia opens her mouth. This has to be done. Dad has already commented on your sloppy way of dress. Her mouth is set in a straight line, and her brown eyes, so like my own, warn me that she will not tolerate any arguments.

Yeah, my day is totally spoiled! Three hours later, I finally put the last of my ‘maybe’ T-shirts back in the cupboard. It looks somewhat empty. Most of my pants, jackets, and shoes ended up in the three black bags currently stacked at the door. I caught sight of myself in the mirror, a boy of average height. Light brown hair and on a good day, dark blond; kept short by Dad’s orders.

Brown eyes with longish lashes, in a round face colored by the sun. I pick at the loose skin on my nose. I’m dressed in a dark green Wildebeest T-Sheet that