They Mocked My Fatness, I’m a Supermodel Now

Chapter 2

I was jolted awake bright and early the next morning by the constant buzz of pings from the group chat.

Someone had turned the screenshot of that ridiculous bet into a meme.

Lucy bets she can squeeze through the hotel entrance, the caption read.

Everyone in the chat was cracking up under it.

Classmate A: If she's actually hit 300 pounds, does that count as over the load limit?

Classmate B: Does the hotel have a freight elevator? Don't let her crush a regular one mid-ride.

Classmate C: Dominic, better keep your promise. And write a will before you try to hug her, yeah?

Dominic finally popped up in the chat.

Dominic: Quit talking nonsense. I only agreed to a quick, polite hug. Besides, my girlfriend's going to be there too. Lucy should know to keep things appropriate.

Helena immediately tagged me.

Helena: Lucy, don't get the wrong idea, okay? Dominic just feels bad you had a crush on him back in high school. He's just trying to make it up to you.

That one line ripped open the old memory of my crush on Dominic and tossed it out for the whole group to mock. Right after that, she sent a photo. It was once again that old sweatshirt I'd worn in high school, hanging loose as a burlap sack, that stupid note stuck right on the back: NO FOOD FOR FAT PIGS.

A digital scale was sitting right next to it.

Helena: I brought a little souvenir from our youth! Lucy, why don't you put it on again tonight for old times' sake? And hop on the scale while you're at it, so we can see how much you've packed on over the years.

The group chat was instantly flooded with "SUPPORT" messages. Someone even sent a GIF of a pig waddling onto a weighing scale.

I stared at that sweatshirt, my fingers going ice-cold. Five years earlier, they'd forced me to wear that exact thing and stand on the classroom podium. Helena had held a megaphone and led the whole class in chanting, "One hundred and ninety-eight pounds! New school record!"

I'd run for the door sobbing. But Dominic stuck his foot out and tripped me, grinning as he said, "Easy there! You'll bring the whole building down!"

Now they wanted me to put that stupid thing on again.

Helena's call came through almost immediately. "You're actually coming?" she asked as soon as I answered. There was none of that fake sweetness she'd used in the group chat, just raw, unmasked scorn in her voice. "Lucy, don't say I didn't warn you. Dominic's girlfriend is a dance teacher now. Her waist is smaller than your thighs were back in high school."

I asked her calmly, "Did you dig that sweatshirt out for tonight?"

"Duh." She snickered. "Gotta have some fun at the reunion, right? Back then, we only bothered with you because you were fat and made everyone laugh."

A snort of laughter bubbled out of me all of a sudden. "Relax, I'll definitely be there."

There was a beat of silence on the other end, then Helena said, "Suit yourself. Just make sure you wear something loose, yeah? Don't go crushing one of the hotel chairs and end up having to pay for it."

As soon as the call was cut out, I saved the recording to my phone.

Right then, my manager, Megan, pushed the door open and tossed a sleek black velvet gown straight into my arms. She held out a tablet to me next. On the screen was the official teaser poster for Muse.

Muse Global Spokesperson. Coming Soon. Every step she takes is a storm.

The only thing featured in the visual was a pair of legs in black stiletto heels, long, perfectly straight, lean and sharply sculpted, with shockingly slim ankles.

The comment section was already blowing up.

A: [Are those legs even real?]

B: [Look at those proportions, that's definitely a supermodel.]

C: [Wait, could that be Lucy? She just walked Paris Haute Couture Week a little while ago!]

The reveal was scheduled for 8 p.m. sharp that night. Half an hour apart. The class reunion started at 7:30 p.m.

Megan glanced at the photo of the old sweatshirt in the group chat, then snorted, equal parts furious and amused. "They're still holding out to see the 180-pound version of you?"

I shut my phone off and picked up the velvet gown. "Let them wait."

Thirty minutes. That was exactly enough time for them to spew every last one of their gross, nasty comments.