After I passed thirty-three, I didn't feel like eating another Big Pack anymore.


Still—I kept eating.


Fifty, sixty, seventy—


My breathing got ragged. My stomach felt like it would burst. Greasy sweat dripped from my chin, drop after drop.


"Don't push it, Donut."


My brother tried to stop me, but I kept at it.


Eighty, ninety, ninety-one, ninety-two... ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five... ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine... one hundred.


Then I reached for the one hundred and one.


By now every hole in my body—my pores, even my ears—felt like patties were about to squirm out like clay.


I ripped the wrapper open, shoved the Big Pack into my mouth, and forced it down, holding back the burger that kept trying to come back up.


Dad shouted with pride.


"You did it, Donut. New record. You're the king!"


I barely managed a thumbs-up.


That's when something went wrong.


I couldn't breathe.


It felt like a huge fist had been driven into my throat. It was unbearable.


The grease from all those patties seemed to light a fire and set my whole body burning.


My brain felt like it would explode.


Help me—


I wanted to scream, but no sound came out.


"The burger's stuck in his throat! Ambulance! Now!"


My brother's shout cut through as I crashed to the floor.


Am I gonna die?


How did it end up like this?


All I wanted was for someone to say I was amazing. To say, You're the best. You're the king. Honestly, the reason didn't matter.


I just wanted to hear "You're incredible."


$ $ $


When I came to, the girl I hated most in the world—Lib Holstein—was looking down at me.


"Even if the world turns upside down and youbecome President of the United States someday, I'll never bow to you. Got it,Donut Trumpet?"