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Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

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Blurb

His eyes roamed over me, my face, my sweats. He licked his lips, wetting them before speaking. "My god, you look incredible."

I looked down, trying to hide my face from him, so he wouldn't see how uncomfortable I was with the compliment. His fingers came under my chin, tipping my face to him. I searched his eyes, all thoughts of everything leaving my head, except how wonderful it felt to be near him. He cupped my face, like he had done the previous day, stroking his thumb against the skin of my cheek. His free hand came to run through the length of my hair, the soft waves catching around his knuckles. "Every time I see you, you take my breath away. It's better every time," he chuckled, a deep rumble that came from his chest.

Ophelia Hamilton has never been interested in the things that most other teenage girls did. A little nerdy, a little smart, and definitely rich, her life didn't lack much... that is, until new-kid Michael Morgan arrives at school.

Through an act of fate, they end up on the same school project together, and one thing leads to another, and....

You'll just have to read to find out.

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Why Does High School Suck?
If there was anything in the world that I could wish for, it would be just to have one perfect day. I'm not asking for rainbows, or bubbles popping magically as I take a stroll downtown--no. I'm just asking for one day to go smoothly, where not everyone--in the whole world--has to point out How. Freaking. Fat. I. Am. "Hi. I'm Ophelia Hamilton, and I swear I am the biggest girl at school." I pull my hair back into a messy bun, not exactly satisfied with what I see in the mirror. "Come on, Opie! We gotta go! You're going to make us late!" My sister tapped on the door. I slung my backpack on my shoulder, trying not to be depressed. I had on my old reliables. Blue shirt. Blue jeans. You know, the truly Blendable materials. It's not that I want to be fat, and it's not like I'm continually stuffing chocolate down my throat or bingeing on crazy amounts of junk food... It's just, hard for me to lose weight and keep it off. Honestly I'm not sure how some people do it. I step into the kitchen, smelling the coffee brewing, and watching my sister pick out her morning fruit allotment. "You're wearing that old shirt again? Gosh, Ope. You act like there's nothing in your closet upstairs." Ava slinks into a dining chair, peeling back a banana. Take Ava, for example. We have the same parents, live in the same house, and are completely opposite people. From looks, to social hierarchical rank, we couldn't be more different. Especially when it comes to our looks. Ava could probably eat a total of fifteen prime ribs a day and still have her perfect size 3 waist, while all I have to do is look sideways at a tray of Oreo's and I've added thirteen pounds, two zits, and a shoe size to my already cumbersome body. "It's my lucky shirt!" I say, pulling the front of it so I can admire the fuzzy way the thread balls have collected around the hem. "I've got to wear it." I shrugged off her judgement. I've worn the same shirt to the first day of school for 3 years now. My high school career. I guess you could call it my security blanket; plus it's extremely comfortable, and I don't feel like it draws any kind of attention to my shape or size.  Again, blendable materials. As in--blending into the wall. You catch my drift. I looked at Ava, perfectly put together, and I sighed to myself. This year, I was really expecting things to be different. But looking down at what I had on, plus the way I felt this morning, I didn't know if things could actually be more the same. In my defense, it's not like I had a plan where everyone was going to see me walk through the door and their breath be instantly sucked out of their lungs by the sight of me--that'd be overkill, and HIGHLY improbable since I haven't changed anything about myself. But, I did hope that maybe all of the teasing and poking would take a break. South Kingsway High has a reputation for housing some of the most beautiful people in the area, and I seemed to stick out like the sorest of sore thumbs. "Leave her alone, Ava. If that's what your sister has deemed..." My mother paused. "...school attire, then you should support her. And keep your comments to yourself." This was the perfect example of how my mother walked around me. On egg shells. For no reason.  I had never been a sissy, or one to cry easily, so I'm not sure why she's always acting like I'd break. Like right then, jumping to my defense over my lucky shirt. It's not like I picked this outfit out to impress them. I shouldn't care, but I guess I do. Usually during school, I wake up, and skip breakfast (mostly because I don't want to hear my mother make that tight tsk noise with her tongue when she sees that I've reached for the sugary cereal, instead of fruit and bran like my sister....Like, why buy it if we're not going to eat it?). But this morning, since it was the first day of school and all, I perused the options that were available. Frosted corn flakes it was. Lucky me. "Baby, why don't you peel one of those oranges I picked up from the store? Ava said they're real good!" Mom picks one off of the counter to pitch it to me. See? "Mom, we've got to go! I needed to be there early to meet with the team before opening bell to talk about practices this week!" Ava was whirling out the door, a wake of glitter and plastic strings trailing behind her. Mom looked at me, rolling her eyes. "Come on, sweetie. You're sister's having a conniption fit." I followed them both out to the garage, sitting across from Ava in the back seats of the minivan, surrounded by her stuff. She had pom-poms, duffels with gear, and her back pack all stuffed in the aisle. "Ava this is ridiculous. You look like you're moving into the school." I pushed the pom-poms fluff out of my seat. My thick thighs needed all the room they could get. Muttering something sarcastic under her breath, she pulled out her phone, texting all of those tiny bobble heads she was required to be friends with. My mother insists on taking us to school almost every morning, unless Ava has a game day or cheer practice or something. It's how Mom says we stay connected. When Ava's busy, then it's just me and mom while Ava zips around in her sporty little Jeep Wrangler with her friends. I don't mind it, though. I'm not much for driving if I can help it. It's kind of nice, too. Mom and Ava chat aimlessly back and forth, and I sit back and observe them like a true Anthropologist. I guess it's really Ava I study...while she's not looking...all the time. I don't know why or how she got all the perfect genes in our family, but it's clear between the two of us that I did not win our family's genetic lottery. "My gosh, I love this song!" Mom hums. "Sweetie, sing with me!" I shake my head, not really in the "upbeat" mood, and go back to observing my sister. She's checking her makeup for the umpteenth time in her compact, while describing her new skin care routine to anyone that would listen. Honestly, I can say that I do not hold Ava's perfection against her. No. I love her, and pretty much act like she hung the moon most of the time. But it's just...life seems to come easier to her. Everything seems to get handed to her on a golden platter.  Boys like her, teachers like her, adults from all walks of life dote on her.   Everywhere we go people see her, wave at her, make small talk and compliment how talented she is, or how beautiful she is.  On the other hand, the only way I'd get acknowledged in public was if I got hit by a bus or something.  This sort of story actually happened... but I don't want to get into it right now. Anyways.  Back to Ava.  She and my mom share the same tone of deep skin that looks perfect against their luscious mahogany hair. Their eyelashes have natural curl that would knock any man down with one flirtatious flutter. They fit in perfectly to any crowd, can pull off any clothing trend, and don't have to wear makeup to be beautiful. You know, the real jewels in my father's crown. Subconsciously I hear my mom clear her throat, "Baby, are you doing OK this morning?" There's a hint of concern in her voice. I blink several times to shake the mental fog that had come over me. "I'm fine, Mom. Just thinking." About how life is so unfair. Seeming satisfied with my answer, she turns back to Ava who is now applying another coat of lipstick to her already well lined lips. I cringe. I seriously do not know the first thing to applying makeup. Maybe I should watch a few tutorials on YouTube. I shudder to myself. Nope. Last time I did that I ended up looking like James Charles--the Clown. Catching a glimpse of my reflection in the tinted window, I let out a sigh. If it weren't for my boobs, I'd be the spitting image of my father. He and my mother are like night and day when it comes to appearances. Where she's small and curvy, he's tall, broad and muscular. Where she's dark, he's light. Her brown eyes contrast to his fair blue, and the list continues. That's how it is standing next to Ava. She's tiny and curvy, while I tower over her like a brick building. We're almost to school, the anxiety starting to bubble in my stomach makes me groan. Hanging my head into my hands, my internal preparation for school starts. I have this mantra I say about, "If you don't look up, they can't look at you." It's messed up, I know, but it's the only thing that seems to safeguard my self-esteem against any snide comments or jeers. As a general rule, I don't look anyone in the eyes. I don't make friends, or connections. I just do me, and hope that they do them, and leave me alone. If I play it cool, and keep to myself, usually the damage is minimal. Some days are great! As long as Bethany Cross (a.k.a. Hitler's Protégé) doesn't see me looking too confident, I'm fine. I feel the car pull up to the curb and stop. Ava hops out and strides through the courtyard, tucking her pom-poms into her duffel. Looking at my mom, I squeak out, "Any way I could stay home today?" Feigning horror, my mother shakes her head while blowing me a kiss. "Chin up, trooper. You'll be fine." So much for solidarity. Huffing, I throw my backpack over my shoulder. Stepping onto the sidewalk, I misjudged where the curb was. I felt the toe of my shoe get hung as I was turning to close the door of the van, and instantly, I'm planted face first into the pavement. My mom starts laughing along with every other onlooker in the courtyard. Pulling myself up I start the inspection for blood on my hands and elbows. Being eternally clumsy will make you create a mental checklist of injuries to look for after different kinds of falls. My red face tells the story of my embarrassment as I shake the small pebbles from my pants. My mom tries to choke back her laughter as she calls after me, "Have a good day, Sweetie! It'll be OK. One rough start does not a whole year make. " Yeah. Awesome start to another terrible day. I can hardly wait to see what else is in store. "Gosh, Ope, I thought most of us mastered walking a long time ago." One of my best friends, Mags, walked up to me, carefully brushing some missed pebbles from my pant leg. I sighed with gratitude. Thankfully I didn't rip anything this time. I swatted her on the shoulder. "Please, don't even start. We'll just say I was going for a dramatic entrance." Mag shook her head, silent laughter shaking her body. "Dramatic is definitely the word for it," she snorts. Swinging her petite arm up to my shoulder, Mags inquires, "So are you ready to face Mr Casick, or should I say, the 'Mathinator'? I think we were warned every day last year about him." Rolling my eyes as we head towards the entrance, I answer, "I swear if he calls on me today, I'm sailing to Bermuda tomorrow." Mag threw her head back, laughing. Shaking her long red hair over her shoulder, she chuckled, "You are too much, Ope. It's only the first week of school. Let's not get irrational yet. But if you do decide to go to a foreign country to feed fishes, then, promise you'll pack me in your bag." I cast a wry glance her direction, appreciative of her teasing nature. "Besides," she continues, "I hear there are lots of new kids arriving this week. You never know. Maybe our Prince Charming's will be in the mix." She wiggled her eyebrows at me, a wide grin across her face. "I've heard some of the girls talking about someone they saw outside the Principal's office this morning. They said he was gorgeous--like absolutely drool worthy--but they weren't sure what grade he was going into." I nodded along to what she was saying, only half invested to listening. Even if there was a new pretty boy roaming our halls, I wasn't really sure what that would matter to me. I was happy being invisible. And there was no way in Hades he'd be interested in me. He was probably like a lot of the other boys here. They were nice to look at, but that's about as far as it went. Even if I ever did develop feelings for someone, they wouldn't be returned. Of that, I was positive. And you know, like unrequited love fueled the first half of the 18th and 19th centuries. So, really, this kind of life was just preparing me to be the next Charlotte Bronte. Silver lining. We stop in front of my locker long enough for me to throw my stuff inside before heading to Mr Casick's classroom. The familiar walls of the school wrap around us as we tread through the torments of the old hallways. South Kingsway, or SKH, has been around for a while, established sometime in the 1920s. The halls were all the original hardwood, and cedar wood, so it had an interesting smell when it rained, but overall, it was a beautiful building, with a huge campus and interesting history. It still had a working bell tower with a clock face that you could volunteer to help take care of, and a garden club that kept the landscape primly manicured every season. Our school was an extension of Kingsway itself really, since the town has both a rich history, and old money. It also was the town that everyone in the United States wanted to visit, because money knows money. We're like the Hamptons of the mountains, with our scenic views, old mansions and lake houses, and tiny town festivals. We're a small town in the tippiest part of Tennessee that no one has heard of, but every one knows about somehow. Plus, one of the biggest chemical companies in the world is stationed here, and has been based here for like almost a hundred years or something, which definitely put us on the map long ago. It's how the town is funded now. It hosts some of the biggest innovations, which in turn, brings some of the biggest names in the world to our tiny corner of the U.S. My dad works there, and all of my friends parents work there, and depending on how long your parents have worked there kind of determines how popular you are in all of the circles. So you see, everything in a small town is always interconnected. Our dad has been a Vice President for 3 years, so you can imagine what kind of pressure that should bring with it. For me, it doesn't really translate into popularity, but it definitely does for Ava. At the same time, it works for her. She wants to have the car, the nice clothes, and throw the parties--that my mother hosts--for all of her top-tier-friends. And she gets it. She and my mother live for that kind of interaction. They do the shopping in Nashville every couple of months, and throw the parties of the season, and do all of the checklist things that Southern Belles strive to accomplish. That's their life, and they dominate. Me, on the other hand, I feel lucky if all I have to do is stand there and pretend to hand out hors d'oeuvres at all these functions. And hope that no one really notices that I'm awkwardly standing there wishing I were anywhere else in the country. God forbid someone try to talk to me, because I really wanna be in my room, writing in my journal. Not pretending to like people I've never met. And the outfits my mother puts me in... gosh, someone kill me now. For the longest time, I had to brave those awful gatherings alone, but here lately, Maggie, Codie and I have been the Three Musketeer group that keeps me sane. "Ophelia, you are dragging this morning! Let's go!" Maggie's arms are flailing through the air, steam practically pouring from her nostrils. Talk about being dramatic. I mean, theater is the oxygen that fills her lungs, so we're never in short supply of drama. I'm always gonna be behind, and a little slower, while she's always the small ball of energy that could bounce across a stage putting on a full four-person production while I'm still making my way up a flight of stairs. She's been like that since the second grade.  Sometimes I think back to that day, and realize that the only reason that we ever became friends is because she gave me half of her fruit roll up. Funny, how even then, my life revolved around food. Interesting. I mean, the girl has no limits. She also volunteers on Student Council with me, and has a small contribution column in the Kingsway Gazette that is published every week, while being the sole costume designer for the drama club, and a very active member at her Southern Baptist church. Needless to say, Mags is who You want to look up to even though you're the same age. She has her whole life planned out, ensuring her every move propels her forward to fulfilling her dream. And I'm over here just happy I didn't die in my sleep last night. "I'll catch up!" I shout after her as I heard the warning bell sound. There was no hurry in this body to get to that next class. I would rather shave a brick with a dull razor. Mags like to sit in the first row of the class, which I find absurd. Nobody needs to sit that closely to the teacher. I go the last desk in the last row with conviction, and that's where I go today. Always second row from the door, whichever side the door is on. Close enough to escape if there's a fire, and far enough away from the wall that I don't feel suffocated by all the people in the room. I fixed my desk, setting my belongings carefully within reach. Sitting in these tiny desks is the worst for someone like me. I can feel every inch of myself like I'm exposed to the whole world, n***d. Placement of my accessories, bag, and books are important from class to class. I don't want to have to bend over and get stuck, or make noises in my desk that someone can tease me about. Fixing my eyes on my paper, waiting for Mr Casick to start lecturing and throwing out review problems, I let my mind wander. I wanted to know who the new boy was, and if he'd be in our class. I wanted this year to be different so badly, but I wasn't sure how to do anything about it. I wanted to feel something other that dead inside, and actually participate in life. It's funny how we can be so quiet and oblivious, not knowing how sometimes, the next fifteen minutes in a day can change a life forever. Unbeknownst to me, today was my day. I was about to embark on one of the greatest adventures of my life. {If you want to watch the trailer I've made for this book for inspiration, Check out https://youtu.be/vm7d88qUGyw -- just copy and paste into your web browser! Hope you enjoy!} {Thank you for reading the intro to this book! I hope you love reading it, just like I love writing it. Opie is very close to my heart, she's a special soul. Comment what you feel and want to see!} {Thanks! --J.L. Smith}

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