From Dare To Desire:The Hockey Captain’s Chubby Obsession

Harriet "Move it, fat-butt, some of us actually want to go down before Christmas!" I was seven years old, wedged halfway down the yellow plastic slide at Crestfield Park, my hips jammed against the sides like I'd been poured into a mould two sizes too small. Behind me, a line of kids had formed, and Tyler Grissom, missing two front teeth and proud of it, was cupping his hands around his mouth so the whole playground could hear him. "She's stuck! She's stuck!" I remember the heat that crawled up my neck first, before the tears even came. I remember trying to wiggle forward, my sneakers squeaking uselessly. A girl grinned widely. “Fatty's stuck, fatty's stuck," and within seconds it wasn't just her. The others wasted no time in joining in. I finally slid free when Mrs Darla, the yard supervisor, hauled me out by the armpits, and I landed on my knees when she got me out. No one bothered to help me up; they only whispered among themselves the story they would tell at lunch, the day the slide almost ate Harriet Avery. I never went back to that slide. My mother thought I'd just grown out of playgrounds early. I hadn't. I'd just learned, at seven years old, exactly how much space I was allowed to take up in the world, and that the number was smaller than me. That was ten years ago. I raised my top, staring at my stomach rolls in the mirror and then raised my eyes to stare back at my face and my hair that I had tried to throw into a neat ponytail but still terribly failed. I sighed, pulling back down my top. Maybe I should just stay home today. The thought was short-lived as my mother knocked on my door. “Harriet! Come down for breakfast, or you’ll be late!” she said, not waiting a second before going back down the stairs and leaving me back with my thoughts that made my mind feel grey. I stared back at myself and just turned away before I burst out crying at how I was a disgrace to my parents. How could I have been born to a supermodel-looking mum and a former star athlete father only to look like a lump of flesh? No matter how much I starved myself, nothing seemed to reduce the rolls I had on my back and stomach, and I hated myself so, so much. I grabbed my bag off my bed and went down the stairs to the dining room. My father was absent, as usual, but my mother stood over the stove, flipping pancakes and eggs. The morning was the only time I got to see my accountant mother, who was more married to her job than my father, and I couldn't blame her. After my father had his accident and dropped out of his football team, he was unbearable to live with. From alcohol to drugs to whatever substance he could lay his hands on. “Harriet, I packed your lunch,” she called, turning over her shoulder a bit. “You’re already late.” She shoved a brown bag in my hands and went back to flipping pancakes on the stove. How do I tell her I never eat it? That I can’t eat it. Because lunch at school means putting myself on the spot for them… Letting them see me eat. Letting Chloe and her evil clones whisper, “No wonder she looks like that.” Most days, I tossed it in the dumpster or left it “accidentally” on the bus. Sometimes, the janitor got lucky. I just smiled, took the bag, and muttered a thank you before heading out. Usually, Zoe picked me up; she had a car, a convertible, and way too much energy before 8 a.m., but today she had early cheer practice. I didn’t want to stress her out, so I hitched a ride with my neighbour, who was so excited to have me ride with them to befriend her nerdy son, Michael, who also didn't want to be seen with me. Which was crazy because he got bullied for having brains too, but he probably thought he was better than me since he was Chloe’s Thursday boyfriend who also does her Chemistry practicals and assignments. “Thank you so much, Mrs Davon.” I was already halfway towards the school doors when she got out of the driver's seat and yelled out my name. “Wait, Harriet, your lunch!” Crap. There went that plan. I spun back around, pasted on a tight smile, and took the brown bag from her outstretched hand. “Thanks, Mrs Davon.” She gave me a small wave and then drove off. And I stood there, bag in hand, fake smile fading as I stood at the front doors of Crestfield. I took in a breath, accepting that it was another day for me in this hellhole, and walked in. I passed the trophy case, the stairwell where Chloe once “accidentally” shoved me into a trash bin, and the vending machine that hadn’t worked since sophomore year. I kept my head down, eyes on my shoes, pretending not to hear the giggles behind me. My shirt felt tighter than it had ten minutes ago. The lunch bag was crumpling in my grip. “I heard she broke the nurse’s scale last week.” The voice wasn’t even whispered. Another one snorted, “They probably cast her as the stage.” Laughter. Always the laughter. I gritted my teeth and walked faster. I passed Chloe’s locker. She was leaning into her mirror, applying gloss which could have been the hundredth layer even. She saw me from the mirror, smirked and blew me a kiss. Bitch. The bell rang, and it was time for Drama Theory, and I was halfway through doodling knives into my notebook margins when the door slammed open, and my best friend strutted in. Late. As usual. Hair in a messy ponytail, in a multicoloured sweater and Neon Pink leggings and were those Ugg boots? She dropped into the seat next to me, whisper-yelling, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you auditioned for the play?” I blinked. “What?” Zoe narrowed her eyes. “Don’t mess with me. Your name’s on the board.” “What board?” She stared like I’d grown a second head. “The board. Auditorium hallway. They posted the cast list this morning. You got Roxanne!” I blinked at her and then threw my head backwards as I burst out laughing. She chose a joke to play this morning and chose this? “Zoe. I didn’t audition. That’s– No, that’s insane. Stop joking around and tell me how your practice went.” “I swear on my favourite Cherry bomb lip gloss, H. Your name is right on the list.” The blood drained from my face. Zoe’s expression changed from amused to worried. “Wait. You seriously didn’t—?” “No.” Her jaw clenched as it ticked with anger. We both already knew what had happened without saying a word. Chloe. The prank queen had officially outdone herself. Zoe grabbed my hands, and we rushed to the hallway right outside. On the bulletin board, there it was, right in front of me. The name that felt like a punch to the gut; Roxanne — Harriet Avery. In pink highlighter, the name stood out. They had even added a fat black circle around it, spotlighting my name. I found myself just staring at it, hoping, wishing for the universe to somehow intervene and fix the disaster or even do the world one better and swallow me whole. I kept waiting for someone, anyone, to laugh and say, “Just kidding! This is a prank!” I was positive that it had to be a joke, and any moment now someone would swing in and save me from this embarrassment. But nobody moved, and instead, the whispers started to grow louder and more insistent. People pulled out their phones, and in a flash, someone snapped a picture. My humiliation was captured for all eternity. And then came the laughter. “I mean, it makes sense,” a voice behind me chimed in, dripping with condescension. “Cyrano is supposed to be tragic, but like why will she okay Roxanne? We are so not going to sell any tickets with fatso on the flier.” As if that wasn’t bad enough. Another equally mean voice piped up, "Is she going to have to lose all that weight then? Mission impossible." She then burst out laughing, slapping her knee. Their words stung, each one feeling like a dagger aimed right at my already bruised ego. “Back off!” Zoe snapped at them, but the damage was done. I turned away, the world spinning around me, and walked as fast as I could. My heart raced as if it was trying to keep up with my pounding footsteps. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn't think straight. In that moment of panic, my bag slipped from my fingers, hitting the floor, but I didn’t stop to grab it and kept walking away. I barely made it into the girls’ bathroom before the tears started to fall. It was like turning on a faucet, and I didn’t even realise how much I was holding in until I was finally alone. I was sniffling when the doors pushed open, and some people walked in. My hand flew over to my mouth, trying to stay quiet. “You saw it, right? Harriet freaking Avery as Roxanne? Yeah, the drama teacher has no choice but to humiliate and change her out. I swear, Chloe is the queen of evil genius.” “She’s gonna cry, and I cannot wait for it. What if she breaks the stage?” They burst out laughing before walking out, their voices fading away. I didn't know how long I stayed there. “H? You in there?” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Yeah.” “Come on. Let’s go home. I told Coach I felt sick. I’ll say you’re throwing up.” I opened the door. Her eyes went sad when she saw me. She didn’t say anything and just pulled me into a hug.