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Busy, busy New York, filled with busy, busy New Yorkers. But well enough to sit up a little and grab the phone. You put down the blinds.

Honebuto no hōshin

I hear the blinds slide down. I clutch the phone receiver to my ear and stab the number 9—9—1—1 into the phone. The extra 9 is so that I can get an outside line. Let me see. Let me see! Every emergency operator in Manhattan knows where Death Dorm is by now. Well, whatever! I mean, he was only assigned to Fischer Hall in order to do damage control. Big Boned 27 And yet he managed to find time to gripe at me about borrowing supplies from the dining office.

But at least I, unlike Sarah, refrained from saying he deserved to get shot. I guess Owen had wanted to enjoy the warm spring morning. Just his head was slumped over, like he was taking a nap. Clearly, death had taken him unaware, and been mercifully quick. Or at all. For some reason, however, there is a small desktop computer set up in the storage room, along with several nonbroken chairs, a sleeping bag, and what appears to be a fully functional Mr.

Coffee with quite a few mugs scattered around it. I suppose the housekeepers or building engineers are using the space as an unofficial break room. I basically just steal them. Problem solved. Maybe Sarah is right. Like that someone wanted him dead.

I’m not fat. I’m big boned

Veatch knew it. And yet they allowed another deadline for signing our contract to pass at midnight last night. So you think Dr. Veatch got shot by someone in your organization? Of course not! I can feel the beginnings of a headache coming on.

That is a totally ridiculous suggestion. Which is exactly how they might manage to get away with it. You know, if they did it. I recognize him from pictures in the campus newspaper—and a brief introduction one afternoon in front of the library while he and Sarah were picketing—as Sebastian Blumenthal, the head of the Graduate Student Collective, or GSC. And of course Dr. What are you even talking about? It was probably just a stray bullet from some random drug shooting over in the park.

I think he was shot on purpose, and by someone who knew him. And Caucasian. Both of you. You have to admit, the man was cold. Remember when he yelled at you about the paper?

She had a known grudge against the victim on account of the paper thing. You all right? Can I get you anything from the caf? Hot tea, or something? There you are. Are you all right? I just heard. You up for it? Was he really a victim of a random drug shooting?

I knew it was dangerous not to have those street-level windows bricked up. What are you trying to do, make things worse? I mean, I am. But—look, do we have to talk about this? Finding a corpse—particularly one belonging to someone with whom you worked as closely as Heather worked with Dr. Veatch— can be very unsettling. How much more can I take in one day? I could have dislodged something. But how can you ever be sure without a visit to the gyno?

I want those two and a half hours of sleep I missed out on back. I totally support you guys, and everything. Have I said anything about the fact that you, Sebastian, are constantly hanging around this building, even though you are not, in fact, an undergraduate, and do not, in fact, even live here?

But sing at your rally? In Washington Square Park? You have to be kidding me. And you want her to host some union rally? Something inspiring. And it can be unplugged. Who would run this place? And for another thing, if they tried to fire you, that would be a violation of your constitutional right to congregate and peacefully protest. But when you work in Death Dorm, those kinds of things happen with alarming frequency. But if the real NYPD wants to launch an investigation on an actual murder.

Oh, and turkey pot pie. The waffles seem to have been a long time ago. Well, at least this time, whoever offed your boss did so from the street, not from inside the building, for a refreshing change.

Where were you? You know me! I can hear subtle sounds of activity coming from behind it, the murmur of measurements being read off, as well as the steady crunching of tacos.

This is just a formality. I begin to feel myself blush. The thing is, um, this morning, I, um. I went running. You know, just in case they happen to find a stray one. He has, after all, daughters of his own. Anything—or anyone—out of the ordinary? I changed at. And I do mean a look.

Besides, his grilling me like this reminds me of my dad. If my dad had any interest whatsoever in my personal life. Which, it happens, he does not. Is there any way you can not put his name down in your report?

But I can guess. Sleeping with the prof for an A. Main squeeze. Whatever you kids are calling it these days. Are you eighty? Also the planters outside the building. And the paramedics. And the ER doc who pumped my stomach. As well as my IV stand. For him. Inside Dr. He blinks at me. I know he was married once. He was getting divorced. From Iowa, I think. He stares at me. He gives Odie a lasagna. And the dog is all happy. The cat? Or Dr. Veatch, I mean. Enough of a grudge to shoot him in the head?

Well, interim hall director. But nobody hated him—not that much. Not that I know of. No one gets fired. They get transferred. You know good and well whether or not his divorce was acrimonious. Now tell me. Is it serious? If those guys really do go on strike, the rest of the unions affiliated with the college will be obligated to strike with them.

I mean, you know. He gives me a stern look. Someone walked up to his office window and deliberately shot him assassination style, if not point-blank, then as close as. Someone who knew him, and someone who wanted him dead. The last thing I need is to have to worry about plucking your bony ass out of another near-death situation.

The scent of tacos wafting from the grate has gotten pretty overwhelming. But hey. I ran today. Would it be so wrong to have a little snack? She brightens when she sees me. The cafeteria is mostly empty so early in the day.

But he did. Math, eh? I saw you two this morning in here, feeding each other bites of whipped cream. Cozy enough that. But it had. Magda raises her drawn-on eyebrows.

When the timing is right. Then she squeals. Can you? Math is no dummy. Not like Cooper. Heather, you cannot wait for the rest of your life for Cooper to come around.

Some men never do. Like Pete. Widowed father of four Pete?

Insatiable appetite for panadas Pete? But that was a long time ago, back when his wife first died, and I felt sorry for him, and all of that. Not that it made any difference. Where were we? And he never caught on? Think about asking him out? Where did you guys go? You probably spent the entire 50 Meg Cabot time screaming at the refs.

I mean, did you ever tell him? Did you ever think of that? I moved on. Like my cellulite has moved on. Since you asked. No offense. I glare at her. Consenting adults. No one will care. Well, no one but that Dr. You know?

Mark my words. I know about these things. Why do I want to be saddled with kids at my age? I still got my whole life ahead of me. And echo her curse word inside my head. Because President Allington, along with his entourage, has finally shown up. Jessup, and on the other by Dr. All three men are listening in what appears to be a semistupefied manner to Muffy Fowler, the public relations guru Big Boned 53 the college has hired to help deal with press involving the graduate student union negotiations.

Now, however, Muffy appears to be doing damage control on Dr. Flynn says, his voice completely toneless. The thirtysomething-year-old former beauty queen no, really.

It said so on her CV in The Pansy, the newsletter that is distributed to all New York College administrators once a month wears her chestnut brown hair in a large poufy helmet around her head—known in a previous decade as a bouffant, in this one as.

I guess I can see why every guy in the vicinity is so attracted to the vivacious, well-coiffed Ms. Fowler—at least until she opens her mouth.

We need to take a more delicate approach to this. I think we should send a woman. Someone from the administrative staff. For the love of all that is holy. Jessup is trying to tell the president. Kilgore is on her way. I sort of understand her astonishment. Even one as attractive as Muffy Fowler. Not that anyone seems to have been laughing. Oh, right. Do you have someone you can send outside to deal with the press, Stan?

Someone who can act caring? Jessup begins. I mean, really. Got a really unsavory task? Why not send Heather Wells to do it?

She lost her uterus in the park this morning, after all. Or something like that. Flynn says. Flynn has always been a stand-up guy. Flynn looks alarmed. She actually says this.

Jessup seems wearier than usual. He looks slightly pale beneath his Aspen tan. Come on, Jessica. She has me in a sorority girl death grip. Do you think you can do that for me, Jessica? Her breath smells like she just swallowed an entire Listerine Pocket Pak.

True, the drug dealers have scattered thanks to the strong police presence over by Fischer Hall. Obviously, she works out. They look like a puff of wind could blow them away, but in reality, they can bench-press more than your boyfriend. That really hurt! Oh, boys! Over here! This gal here found the body! And, yes, I am that Heather Wells. Sarah had been out here, using Dr.

He keeps sending me dark looks that I try not to take personally, but that clearly peg me as The Man. He was a nice guy. But nice. Got a statement? Best wishes? Anything like that? My God. My dog would make a better father than he would. And a dog. Best wishes. Mazel tov. All that. After all, Jordan and I dated for nearly ten years. He was my first kiss, my first love, my first. About the circle of life and death? Yeah, that sounds good.

My ass, to be exact. My ex is having a baby. Is your ex a loser? Do you know who killed that man? To each his or her own, and all of that.

But the idea of any woman moving to New York and entering the workforce with the express purpose of snagging a husband is sort of. Who knows what I might have said to Ms. Are you okay? One assumes he often has to run after people, such as bad guys and. Or something to the top of his dark, slightly-in-need-of-a-haircut head. And you are? I was wondering if I could speak with her for a few minutes?

Cooper stares at me. She introduced herself. I thought it might have been a hallucination. Maybe because someone shot your boss in the head this morning? I mean, I know he cares. Everybody and his brother has asked me this. I barely talked to the guy, Coop. He was just. Like vanilla. I mean, for someone to hate you enough to kill you, you at least have to.

Have done something. Something interesting. But there was nothing remotely interesting about Owen. I roll my eyes. You think any one of them could have the guts to shoot some guy in the head? If anything, the GSC has lost the only voice of reason they had in this crazy mess. No one. Are you crazy?

This place will be a zoo. Could be exactly what the owners of those companies were waiting for. Little mid-year pick-me-up. You think. Even that time when I accidentally dried his favorite sweatshirt from college and shrank it to a size small.

His face is just a few inches from mine. Somebody jump, or something? And wondering what it would be like to run my hand across that razor stubble. Which is ridiculous, because I already have a boyfriend. Who proposed to me this morning. Well, practically. From Golden Girls. His fingers tighten on my shoulders. How much time have the two of them wasted, when they could have been together?

I mean, if Pete likes Magda back. Maybe if I just tell Cooper how I feel. This guy may have been into stuff you have no idea—no earthly idea—about. Do you understand me? Poor Tad! How could I do this to him?

He has that question he wants to ask me, after all. But come on. All right? Give it up right now. But where is the best place, and when is the best time, really, to tell the guy you love unrequitedly that you love him unrequitedly? He has to have noticed, right? Between my madly throbbing pulse and the tears in my eyes, he has to know something is up, right? Oh God. Not now. His eyes, behind his gold-rimmed glasses, are concerned, his expression worried. Oh, hi, Cooper.

And then, as if suddenly becoming aware that they were still resting there, he drops his hands from my shoulders and takes a step away from me. He looks almost. Well, I was about to confess my undying love for him. The vultures. I picked up some lunch for us. I guess. I figured you might need something high in nutrients after the shock you had—and we had that awful breakfast. Is he kidding? Do I look like a girl who could use a three-bean salad right about now?

Threebean bowl of chili with about a pound of melted cheddar cheese on top would be more like it. Unless he means awfully delicious. I filled up on three-bean salad earlier. On being an uncle. Well, future uncle. Also, typical of Jordan.

Cooper looks horrified—the appropriate reaction, under the circumstances. Did the condom break, or something? Because anyone who knows them would think that. Good for them. Or something. We better go eat, I guess. Before someone else gets shot. But, you know. Like Sarah says: Often we resort to gallows humor in an effort to break the connection between a horrifying stimulus and an unwanted emotional response. See you, Coop. To let in a little natural light.

And second of all, whoever shot Owen obviously had something against him. No one has anything against me. And Dr. Veatch was? Especially the part about the grate. Maybe he was selling babies on the black market, or something. No such luck, however. But apparently, to Tad, there is. What do I say? What can I say? More in a where-have-you-been? Everyone is looking for you. Like, now. I had no idea. The room is still amazingly popular, however, with residents who have a test to study for and who need to get away from their partying roommates.

Quiet Study Only Please! But whatever. Our meeting is tonight at nine. Sarah hates not being involved in anything that the professional staff is doing. She certainly works as hard if not harder as any of us, and for room and board only, on top of which, she goes to class full-time. It really does suck that now the college is planning on yanking her insurance and everything else. She has every right to complain—even to strike. Look how well that had turned out.

Veatch is.

Out of the picture? President Allington is going to appoint someone—Dr. Jessup, probably—as interim ombudsman—until a replacement for Dr. Veatch can be found. Which is ironic, because Dr. Veatch was a replacement until a replacement for Tom could be found. Allington would have to meet with us one on one. I tried to tell him.

I tried to tell him that would never happen. I mean, why would Phillip Allington sully his own hands with filth like us, when he can hire someone—someone else—to do it? Concerned—for more reasons than Big Boned 77 one—I put my arms around her, cradling her head against my shoulder as her crazy frizzy hair tickles my nose. I mean, they just bought a winter place in Taos.

Get in here! Are you going to be all right? Well, mostly. There are still a few brimming, unshed, in her eyelashes. But they could be mistaken for an allergic reaction to the pollen season. Go on. You better go. That guy barely even bathes. And he carries a murse.

Like I need to point that out. Flynn; the department head, Dr. Jessup; Dr. The whole staff really has been waiting on me for the meeting to begin. He pauses while Tom and I find seats—in the back. Thanks, I mouth back. I miss Tom. Then there was the small fact that Tom had never been stupid enough to get himself shot in the head. He has the bland good looks of a Big Boned 81 sports announcer. He sitting on one of the arms of the love seat Muffy Fowler is sharing with Gillian Kilgore.

Muffy is leaning forward in her seat with both her elbows on her knees and staring up at Dr. Jessup with her lips slightly parted. In no way are any other members of this staff in jeopardy. Yes, Simon? You say that. That no other members of the staff are in jeopardy.

But what is anyone doing to ensure that? I mean, how do we know that none of us is next? Tom draws a small doodle of a man who looks a lot like Simon. Then he draws his head exploding. I mean the one you actually like. But I need some dating advice. And who better to ask than a gay man? Are you serious? Or are you not basically living with the New York College basketball coach?

And why!

It was the GSC! Sebastian Blumenthal has to have been behind it! Most people seem to be of the opinion that Sebastian had to have done it.

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This belief seems to be based solely on the fact that Sebastian has long hair and appears to bathe irregularly. This causes Reverend Mark to observe that a certain savior could also be described this way, but that he never killed anyone.

This remark so delights Tom that he looks up toward the dropped ceiling and mouths, Thank you, God. Jessup wanders around the room, trying to get everyone to calm down by insisting that in this country, citizens— even long-haired, unwashed graduate students—are innocent until proven guilty, but to no avail.

Finally Drs. We are professionals in higher education, not common street thugs! But Tom grabbing the fire extinguisher off the wall and setting off a burst of CO2 in the middle of the room certainly does.

Since this is how he routinely busts up parties over at the frat building, where he lives and works, he does so with an almost comically bored expression on his face. Jessup says, now that Tom has restored order.

When the police have the evidence they need in order to make an arrest, they will. In the meantime, please. I wonder, though, if I ought to warn Sarah to say something to Sebastian after all. Everyone in the room, including me, joins him. I glance at him from beneath my hair. This is supposed to be a moment of silence, you know.

But I forgot. What is this? I really am. But the snark can also be a little trying. Tom is silent for another two seconds. Not to mention the money.

Then you should quit. And you should be like, Eight is enough! Tom will be acting as interim-interim hall director of Fischer Hall until a replacement interim hall director can be found. I long to high-five him when I hear this, but as I feel all gazes turn in my direction when this is announced, settle for looking sadly at my shoes.

None of them has to know I sort of hated the guy. A memorial service—date and location to be announced— is being organized by Reverend Mark. People who actually liked him? In light of the tragedy hatchmark , they will be accommodated without charge at Wasser Hall in the VIP guest suites those bastards—by which I mean Wasser Hall, of course, not Dr.

Seriously, though, they are such suck-ups over there. They have to rub it in by having VIP guest suites, too? Neil Diamond. The year before: Tippi Hedren. Jessup, Kilgore, and Flynn make their last and final announcement.

Tom and I fling each other panicky looks. Team building exercise? Anything but that. Kilgore, with whom both Tom and I have had the misfortune of working closely in the past, overhears this. She sends us both a glance so sharp, it stings. These are her exact words. The team building exercise turns out to be even more horrific than either Tom or I could have anticipated.

Kilgore, when she raises a skeptical eyebrow at this, since the goal of the exercise is to get to know staff members with whom we might not otherwise be well acquainted. Somehow, our other teammates end up being Reverend Mark, Muffy Fowler, and—because she assigns herself to our team, undoubtedly to keep an eye on Tom and me—Dr.

Flynn begins, when each team has assembled on their assigned love seat. Well, people, I want you to work together with your team to use these newspapers to build a free-standing structure large enough for your team to seek shelter in it.

Or tape! Flynn says calmly. Jessup says. Veatch would have wanted it that way. Veatch would have wanted, since no one here—including me—really knew him. Maybe he would have thought that making houses out of newspaper was fun. He definitely would have been in favor of scoring the houses, if you ask me.

His office computer is loaded with Madden NFL, his favorite video game. He plays it all day. Then he looks at me and stops smiling. How does she do that. You must be devastated. Just devastated. Kilgore correct him, at the same time. Kilgore adds, holding up our pile of newspapers between a thumb and forefinger, clearly not wanting to get ink smeared on her clothing.

The New York Times is notoriously smeary. Kilgore, clearly losing patience with her girlishness. Muffy and Dr. Kilgore watch him, clearly impressed by the way his fingers are flying over the newsprint. Intriguing, no?

The Japanese are so great. I just love sushi. Tom rolls his eyes. Flynn is walking around each group saying. Flynn and Kilgore have brought with them, Dr.

Flynn declares. And that teammate will guide the others. She turns to look at me and Tom. Your mentor? We know how badly seeing Owen like that freaked you out.

You can admit it, Heather. This is a place of trust. Tom, is it? She looks at Gillian with tears in her eyes. Everyone but Heather. Can you help? His handsome face has gone from snow white to beet red in three seconds flat. Even his neck, all the way to his shirt collar, is red. Never mind, I got it. But I suppose, in the spirit of coming together as a team, I can try. Oh, Dr.

Just great. Really excellent teamwork, all of you. Flynn asks. Sit back and relax while everybody else finishes theirs. And give yourselves a well-deserved pat on the back. Oh, here, let me help you up. He pronounces charade the British way. Flynn intones smoothly. Even though, of course, when it comes to me and Wasser Hall, it most definitely is about me winning and them losing. Jessup, who is wearing a multicolored scarf around his eyes and sitting in the middle of what appears to be a semicompleted teepee made of newsprint.

Flynn says to the student. His expression is, understandably, confused. Like how much I hate you? No need to process that, I already know. I tilt my head toward the door, indicating to Gavin that he should join me outside, in the hallway.

He does so, barely able to hide his amusement. Dear Mr. Henshaw Book by Beverly Cleary Review. Rejoice Book by Karen Kingsbury Review. The Story of the Amulet Book by E. Nesbit Review. Download Big Boned Heather Wells, 3 Book Big Boned Heather Wells, 3 is one of best books released on , this book written by Meg Cabot whom known as an author and have wrote many interesting books with great story telling.

Big Boned Heather Wells, 3 book tell us the storyline about Life is reasonably rosy for plus-size ex-pop star turned Assistant Dormitory Director and sometime sleuth Heather Wells.

Her freeloading ex-con dad is finally moving out. She still yearns for her hot landlord, Cooper Cartwright, but her relationship with "rebound beau," vigorous vegan math professor Tad Tocco, is more than satisfactory. Best of all, nobody has died lately in "Death Dorm," the aptly nicknamed student residence that Heather assistant-directs.

Of course every silver lining ultimately has some black cloud attached.I think Lucy might actually have had the right idea though. Which, it happens, he does not. And of course Dr. But there was nothing remotely interesting about Owen. I just want him to like me. Dad looks pleased. Jessup, overhearing this conversation, laughs heartily.

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