Don't Call Me Fat (COMPLETED)

Built This Way by Samantha Ronson

 There happen to be two factors when it comes to high school seating that can throw a kid off. 

One, if you're too tall, the desks are never going to fit you. You knees are going to continuously clunk and grind and bang into something, whether it's the desk in front of you or beside you.  You're never comfortable. You can't prop you feet up like the other kids do, because you can't retract your knees that far into your chest.  

And two, if you have any extra weight, you're going to feel like someone has tried to squeeze you like a sausage into an unnecessarily small hole. I always feel that I'm hanging out somewhere. From my knees touching the desks in front of me, to my gut pressing against the desk board, class time is generally spent with me not paying attention to anything but my physical sphere. 

I'm sucking in, breathing very little, and sweating hoping that no one will notice how much effort goes into me trying to look effortless. Or at least normal. 

Take right now, for instance. Mr Casick is droning on and on about something ridiculously complicated, Mags is twisting her red ends into braids, and one kid in the front playing bean sack with himself keeps bouncing the bean bag from foot to foot. I'm not sure how Mr Casick doesn't hear the repetitive ball crinkle every time this kid misses, but that's what I'm concentrating on.  Not what's going on up there.  But how my stomach feels back here.

I take a deep breath, and try for the millionth time to flatten my belly a little deeper against my rib cage. They say posture is everything, and the taller I seem to sit, the less oxygen seems to hit my brain, making me less aware of my surroundings. When I feel myself start to feel a little faint, I let the tummy sag out momentarily, hoping no one notices that it looks like I instantly gained another 10 pounds back.

Settling into my seat, shifting to get a little more comfortable, I was determined to focus on what was happening on the board.  I did not need another miserable semester feeling like an i***t because of math class. Mr. Casick's chalk was scratching a million miles a minute on the board, his voice barely carrying to the back of the class, when the door from the hall swung wide open.

I'm dutifully writing some thoughts into my notebook when I heard the audible sigh of about 12 girls sounded off simultaneously. Picking up on the energy in the room, I twisted my head up to the doorway to see what the heck had happened--and that's when I saw him. 

All 6ft of his male perfection standing casually beside Principal Roland. I know my mouth had to be gaping at this point, because suddenly it felt dry. I snapped it closed and went back to scribbling into my sheets, knowing at this point there weren't any actual words being written. It was straight nonsense. But there was NO WAY I was going to embarrass myself getting caught looking at someone as gorgeous as that. 

Principal Roland took the opportunity to address the classroom, motioning to our new classmate. "Hello, class! I'd like you all to welcome in our newest student, Michael Morgan." He waved a hand in the new kid's direction. 

"Michael will be joining 11th grade Roster B, so if there are any kids on the school council present..." His voice trails off, eyeing the room to see who in the world he can pin committee detail on. I sunk as low into my seat as I could, hoping he'd pick Maggie, or even, I don't know.  Someone that wasn't me!

"Ah, yes, Ophelia. You won't mind showing Michael around, will you dear?" He smiles at me while I feel the whole world turn upside down. 

Why me? Why did he and my father have to be "friends?"

Why me today? 

Why me EVER?

Feeling my body go limp for 0.2 seconds, I seem to somehow regain consciousness long enough to push out a stiff, "Yeah, sure." 

I look at Michael to gauge his reaction of what has transpired. 

His face was literally impassable. 

I feel relief wash over me that he probably didn't realize what the principal just did. Social suicide on the first day of a new school is more than any kid should have to ask for. I make a mental note to pass him off to Jen outside of English Lit. 

I can't take him around the school! What will people say?? I might as well start writing jokes about myself and handing them out.  At least I'd be ahead of the game at that point.

Gulping, I struggle to steady my shaky breaths. The nerves have taken over my body. I cast a long sideways glance at him, again amazed at the handsomeness of his physique. He looked athletic. Crap.

I looked up to see if Mags had comprehended what had happened. She was piercing a hole through my body with her wide eyes when I finally meet her gaze. Her lips were making a perfect O, and her body was shaking with mirth at the humorous situation. She knew what t*****e I was going through right then, and was having a good time heaping the heat onto my already flaming face. "What a friend," I mouthed. 

I made an expression that should clearly convey that I wanted her to shut up and give the situation the proper respect it deserved, but she was not having it. This was the moment Kelly decided to slide around in her desk to take an angled look at Michael, flipping her dark hair over her shoulder. Revealing her beautiful everything from underneath the curtain of her hair for admirers everywhere, I watched Kelly as she fluffed herself, smoothing her tank, and l*****g her lips. 

Now, Kelly has never been as mean as Bethany, but she's never been nice either. I tensed, ready for her to strike.  There's no way she won't just sit and talk to him without making a dig at me.

She watched him take a vacant seat in the back of the class before speaking. "We haven't had new blood in this class for a while. Too bad you're stuck with Opie, because I'd have loved to have shown you around." She bats her long fake lashes at him, her babyish charm oozing from her creamy pores. Before turning her long spidery legs back around in her seat, she whipped her head to look at me,  giving me a dirty, pointed look. 

Geeze, it's not like I threw myself at him.  To my surprise, he doesn't even look up at her.  Maybe he didn't hear her?

The room is buzzing with Michael's arrival, and all I could think to myself right then was why in the world did I think it a good decision to help with Student Council this year? Does it look that good on College Applications? 

And this hair today? Why, God, why did I not at least try for a ponytail? Or a braid? I try to pat down the lumps around the top of my bun, knowing full well that those tiny corkscrew curls looked like a destroyed cotton ball by then.

Class time seemed to fly, and before I knew it, the bell was ringing for break for us to head to next period. Gathering my workbooks and pencils, I was surprised when I turned to stand, and Michael was right beside my desk. 

"Hi," he shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. My eyes were bulging from my head. I felt my mind go blank.  Any, and all words that I had ever known seemed to have flown right out the door. 

I just needed to speak one sentence.

One.

Literally anything.

Eternity seemed to pass before I grasped desperately for some wits, barking out a hearty, "Nice to meet you, partner." And then,

guys,

I proceeded to Stick. Out. My. Hand. For. Him. To. Shake. 

Oh my God. Could the ground open and swallow me whole, right now?

Was that a line from the Western on the TV last night??

I was dying inside.

Taken back by my abrupt, and slightly gruff greeting, Michael paused before accepting my hand shake. "Nice to meet you too, I guess." His eyes lit up, and I can tell that he'd noticed that my skin has caught on fire. He didn't comment on it, and I wasn't about to draw attention to it.  I needed to distract him from my face.  And from me. 

Like, now.

Wow, he was handsome. He was drool inducing.  It was hard to peel my eyes away from him, and trust me, THAT WAS NOT SOMETHING I USUALLY STRUGGLED WITH.

 I observed that he was about 3 inches taller than me, which was a rarity in my small circle. I'm usually about the same height as every boy in my grade.  I stand tall at a little over 5'9"... Dang, I mean... Why him? Turning on my heel, I go straight into tour mode, so as to not let him, and his perfect Greek-god good looks, see how completely mortified I am. I shouldn't even be thinking about him. 

I led the way down the hall, making a serpentine pattern to show him how I managed to dodge all of the body traffic in our small hallways. I remember telling him about our founder, Bryant Kingsway and his vision for the school to remain a center of academic excellence. 

You know, likes that's what cool people talk about. I literally wanted to kick myself.

AND THEN I TOLD HIM OUR STATISTICS FOR THE STATE.  WHY COULDN'T I STOP TALKING?

My heart was beating so fast I felt my breath get away from me a couple of times. Making eye contact exactly twice to confirm that he was listening to what I was saying, I felt my voice trail off as we came upon the English Lit door. 

Of course Bethany would be standing there with her small army of brat dolls. 

Rolling my eyes, I moved to push past them into the classroom. "Not so fast, Ope." She stuck her arm across the doorway to block my entrance, leaning into my personal space. 

Great. 

Bethany Cross has had a very public vendetta against me for the last two years. And she wasn't wasting any time this semester asserting her dominance.

You see, it's all a misunderstanding. It was an accident! Really!  

I was in charge of line up at the Homecoming parade of 9th grade. I hadn't been feeling good, but was taking my Dad's advice to power through and work hard because I had made a commitment to the volunteer committee to help wherever I was needed. 

Lining all the girls up and having the flowers queued and ready to go, I was doing OK. As soon as the girls starting to walk by me for their bouquets, I felt a bubble in my stomach burst into a rampant bout of nausea. I choked down the burning sensation successfully two times, but low and behold, as soon as Bethany came to stand in front of me, everything inside of my stomach came lurching out like a rocket missile set to blow up enemy troops on foreign soil. 

I soaked her. 

It was dark out, so I tried assuring her that it wouldn't be that noticeable to every one in the stands that there was a giant stain down her front. I was furiously trying to dry everything out with the athletic towels in the locker room, but essentially her dress, her hair, and her night, was ruined. Like I said, it was totally an accident, but how Bethany remembers the entire affair, I might as well have been trying to sabotage her win right then and there.

I mean, she still won. She had to have pictures retaken the next day with a different dress for the year book. I don't know how many times I apologized, but nothing ever seemed to quite meet her thirst for revenge in my life. She is one of the reasons my school existence has been a living hell these past couple of years.

And to top it off, if Bethany had a superpower, it would be hitting below the belt in thousands of different ways. She's the one who first started publicly tormenting me about my weight. So seeing her in this moment, right here right now, all I can do is brace for impact. I wait for her to throw a barb, not disappointed when her cat like eyes turn up. 

"Aww, were they trying to give you your daily dose of human interaction?" She sneered, her face coming in close to mine. "That's sweet of them to try and include the 'bigger' people of our school into normal society. Sorry, Ope, but your encounter ends here." She said the last part low enough so only I could hear her. Looking down, I bit my lips. She gets under my skin so badly.  Can't she just leave me alone?

I scrutinize her outfit, looking for a c***k in her armor that I might call attention to. I mean...She does happen to look like she's wearing a costume from Hustlers. But I kick myself for even stooping to her petty level for five seconds. That's not how I'll finally stand up to her.  

Pulling my chin up, I scrambled to take control of the situation. "Actually, I was wondering if Jen was here. I think she would be our best tour guide option for our new student, considering you don't volunteer for anything. Especially not Student Council. I didn't know your heart was so set on tour guiding!  I'll be sure to let Mz. McGregor know." I plaster on the snarkiest smile in my repertoire. The black look she projects is enough to send me sailing.

Wincing, I offer a weak smile to Michael, who's been patiently waiting for our small tiff to subside. 

"Sorry," I whisper.  Skirting around to Jen's desk, I make the introductions between her and Michael, asking her to take over the rest of the day for me. She wastes no time in accepting. Obviously. Why would she?  She gets to play arm candy to the most attractive guy any of us had ever seen!

I slink away to my desk, in the last row, second from from the door. I'm ready to mentally admonish myself for the next hundred years as I shrink into my too small desk.

I chance looking up. Why? Not sure.  But for a fleeting moment, I could have sworn his eyes were on me. It was like I could feel them, trained on me or something. 

Not able to shake the feeling, I cautioned a peek out of the side of my eyes.

Michael Morgan was staring AT ME!