Page 4 - #2 Dive into Danger

he says again and again. And he’s a biologist
for the Marine Mammal Center in Sausalito,
California. He could literally write a book
about the world beyond my world. “You could

be so much more than you are,” he says. But all
I can hear is, “You’re not good enough.” And
all I can think is, “He’s right.”
It’s not his fault. He was born to be a tan,
aquatic giant with both brawn and brain. I was
born to be Pudge. That’s what he calls me. It

started as my mom’s nickname for a fat little
toddler, and it stuck—even after she left us. I
doubt Dad even remembers my name is Austin.
Most days, I push past his disappointment.
He lives upstairs. I live in the basement. He

leaves for work at six a.m. I wake up at seven
for school. We only chat at dinner—small talk.
“How was your day?”
“Did we get any mail?”
If my weight comes up, the peace is
shattered, so it doesn’t come up. Silence takes

its place.

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