Say Cheese - and Die Screaming! by R. L. Stine Page A

up the books—and the back of my jeans burst open with a loud rrrrrrip.
     
    After school, Bird and Michael and some other kids started up a softball game
on the diamond behind school. I didn’t want to play. I didn’t want them to see
how huge I was getting.
    But they pulled me onto the diamond and forced me to play first base.
    Maybe they won’t notice anything different, I thought. I crossed my fingers
and hoped. Maybe they won’t notice that I’ve filled out a bit—since this morning!
    My T-shirt was stretched against my bulging stomach. The shirt was so tight,
I could barely move my arms. My ripped jeans fit over my legs like tights.
    Maybe they won’t notice, I told myself as I tried to trot out to first base.
Maybe they won’t notice.
    “Hey, Greg—” Bird called from the pitcher’s mound. “Have you been
super-sizing all your meals?”
    Everyone whooped and laughed. A few guys rolled around on the grass, giggling
like hyenas.
    Michael pointed at me. “Hey—it’s Sumo Three!” he yelled.
    “It’s Sumo Three and Four!” someone else called out.
    More loud whooping and laughing.
    “Give me a break,” I muttered angrily.
    “Give him a lunch break!” Michael called.
    It wasn’t funny. But everyone laughed, anyway.
    They gathered around me in a wide circle. They shook their heads. “Weird,”
Bird muttered. “How did you put on two hundred pounds since yesterday?”
    I didn’t want to talk about it. “Are we going to play ball or what?” I
demanded.
    I had a strong urge to tell Bird and Michael why I was ballooning up so fast. I wanted to tell them that I had taken out the
evil camera. That Shari had taken my picture. That it showed me weighing at
least four hundred pounds.
    And now it was coming true.
    But I didn’t dare tell them. They had warned me not to go back to the Coffman
house. And they had begged me not to take out the camera.
    If I told them the truth, they’d think I was a total jerk.
    So I kept my mouth shut and tried to concentrate on the game.
    I did pretty well until I went to bat in the third inning. I hit the ball
over the second baseman’s head and trotted to first base with a single.
    I was totally out of breath by the time I reached the base. But the ball was
still rolling around in the outfield. “Keep running!” my teammates shouted.
“Greg—go to second!”
    So, huffing and puffing, I lifted my heavy legs and made my way to second.
    “Slide! Slide!” everyone was shouting.
    So I slid into second. Safe!
    And then I couldn’t get off my back.
    I wasn’t strong enough to pick up my heavy body. I must look like
Humpty-Dumpty! I realized.
    I tried rolling. I tried rocking back and forth.
    And then I tried calling my friends for help.
     
    * * *
     
    I was exhausted by the time I pulled my huge body to my house. Sweat poured
off my forehead and rolled down my round cheeks and chins.
    My clothes were stretched so tight, I could barely breathe. My jeans were
ripped. My shirt pressed against my skin. Even my sneakers pinched my feet!
    This is horrible! I’ve got to get into something comfortable, I decided.
    I remembered my huge, baggy shorts. The ones I wore to go bike riding the
other day.
    I carried my bulky body over to the dresser. Bent over with a groan and
pulled out the big shorts.
    I tugged them on, eager to get comfortable.
    Tugged. Tugged harder. Then gasped in horror.
    The huge, baggy shorts were skintight!

 
 
20
     
     
    I put on nearly three hundred pounds that day. By evening, I could barely
walk.
    “It’s an allergic reaction,” Mom said.
    I stared at her. “Excuse me? What’s that?”
    “You ate something you’re allergic to,” she answered. “A person doesn’t swell
up like a balloon overnight.”
    Dad squinted at me. He was trying to look calm, but I could see how worried
he was. “Do you eat a lot of candy bars after school?” he asked.
    Mom shook her head at Dad. “He could eat a thousand candy bars a day!