The Fat Girls Club

Chapter 2

The fire alarm is blaring through the walls and I am frozen. This cannot be happening right now. I must be dreaming. A few heartbeats pass, and I decide that this in fact not some freak nightmare. I have to move.

I spring to my feet and slam my entire body weight against the door, trying to get it to open but a few attempts later my shoulder is on fire and the door still has not budged. This is it. I am going to die in this forsaken building that I was so hellbent on leaving. And to think I came down here to escape, how ironic.

I am about to lay on the floor and let nature run its course when in the corner of my eye I see something that I had never noticed before, a window. I rush towards it but my excitement fades when I near the window and realize how small it is. My left boob alone wouldn’t be able to fit in that window. However, if I could just reach my arm out far enough, I might be able to get a signal from outside.

I quickly get a chair and climb up on it, making sure to steady my stance because breaking a leg would just be the icing on top of the cake. I grab my phone and slowly start to extend my arm out the window, its actually not as small as I had envisioned but my thick figure would still not be able to completely fit through.

My phone still has no service even with half my arm hanging out, so I stand on my toes and carefully slide my head through the opening, making sure there’s enough space for me to get it out again. The few extra inches I’ve gained help immensely because my phone goes from no bars to two in an instant.

“Yes!” I exclaim excitedly and do my best to dial the number of the only person I can think of right now, my mother. I put the phone on speaker and by the fourth ring I’m starting to regret calling her knowing full well that she hardly ever has her phone on her at the restaurant.

When the call goes to voicemail, I struggle to dial my dad’s number because if feels as though the fire alarm is just getting louder and together with my pounding heart, I can barely hear anything. He better answer.

I shift on my feet, starting to shake from the awkward position that I am standing in. The sudden movement causes me to lose my balance a little bit and wobble on the chair. My phone is now reduced to one bar. I am about to press dial when my phone is snatched out of my hands.

“What the hell!” I yelp, taken aback by the sudden loss.

“Oh look, sister,” a familiar voice announces, rising from crouching down to my level, “I think someone lost their phone,” Asher Turner says in a singsong voice, turning my phone over in his hands with a false guise of confusion. It doesn’t take long for Heather to appear not far behind the boy.

Unlike his twin sister, Asher is rather tall and lean where Heather is small and petite. He does, however, match his sisters honey blonde hair and standing next to each other they could make anyone cower with their superior aura.

“I wonder who it belongs to,” she mimics his tone and grabs the phone from him with her perfectly manicured hand before shrugging and dropping it in her blazer pocket.

“Dude, give me back my phone!” I flail my arm down by their feet, knowing full well that this is all an act. A lump forms in my throat and I can’t help but feel incredibly stupid.

“Please, Heather,” I whimper pathetically.

“Did you hear something, sister?” Asher asks his sister dramatically and she looks me dead in the eyes and winks, this time with a wicked grin playing on her features.

“Oh, I most certainly did not. We better get this to lost and found”

“What the hell is wrong with you!” My anger bubbles over, letting my frustration out.

“Hurry on now, we wouldn’t want to get caught in the fire,” Heather smirks while Ashton snickers and in a matter of seconds they are gone. All the frustration and anxiety of the day comes rushing back and the tears flow out of my eyes effortlessly. Painful sobs rack through my chest and I wince when the movement causes my arm to catch against the windowsill. The same arm I used to try and bust open the door.

The door. It is my only hope. I can conjure up all my anger and adrenaline and bust that door open, I have no other option. I think I might remember a tutorial from YouTube on how to bust open a door and I’m sure they kicked it instead of rammed into it. I am thankful that the room has not filled with smoke yet; surprised actually. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I smell any smoke. It must be on the higher floors. Good, I have time.

I take a deep breath and move my head back slowly to get it out from the tight space and when it’s almost back inside, it stops at a certain point. That’s odd. I try to instead take my arm out first, making sure not to hurt my already bruised shoulder, that doesn’t work. Panic sets in and my breathing picks up drastically. Countless tugs later I reach the conclusion that I am stuck in the damn window. I am not sure what I must have caught on, but it is most likely the window latch that has imprisoned me here further than I already was.

“Cora, are you in there?” Kallum's voice booms over the fire alarm.

I curse and hurriedly wipe my tears the best I can’t whist hanging out of a window. He calls out again, much louder this time. Its either he comes in here and sees me like this or I perish in a fire. He calls out for me again. Damnit.

“In here!” I screech, panic clearly evident in my voice.

The next few moments go by so fast that I barely register the door bursting open and he is by my side in an instant. I feel the cool breeze snake up my skirt from when he opens the door and I mentally thank myself for at least wearing cute underwear. That is the least of my problems right now, but I'd rather be embarrassed while looking cute then not.

“Are you hurt,” he asks hurriedly.

“No, I’m just a bit stuck,” I murmur and shift in the window uncomfortably knowing full well that he has a full view of my behind right now and remembering how unflattering this blue and white checkered skirt is, I flush even further. My face involuntarily heats, and I think to myself that I should have never listened to this boy in the first place. I would take being the laughingstock at my locker while standing upright then stuck in a basement window in this position with Kallum Taylor looking at my derriere.

“How did you know I was down here?”

He ignores my question, and I can hear him shuffling around probably trying to figure out a way to get me out of this damned window.

“Okay, I’m going to try and gently pull you out,” he says calmly. “Just try and relax.” He positions himself behind me from what I can tell in my compromised state. I immediately tense up when I feel his hands find their place on my hips and he must sense my discomfort because he takes them off in an instant.

“Is that okay? I don’t see any other way to get you out.”

“Just do it,” I sigh and mentally add this to a list of horrifying things that happened to me in high school that I will probably never forget.

His hands delicately find their way back to my waist and I can feel the cool metal of what I presume to be rings through the light material of my shirt and before I can react, he is pulling harder than I expected and by the third yank I land on the basement floor, hard. He’s standing over me looking down and I’m about to thank him when I see the dark look in his eyes before he promptly turns around. When he turns, I have full view of the window I was just jerked out of and there on the little latch is a patch of light material blowing peacefully in the wind.

My shirt is ripped straight through the middle, all the buttons scattered on the floor beside me.

My hands fly up to cover my exposed chest and the shirt that is barely holding on by a thread. I try my best to hold the two pieces together enough to cover my chest but it’s no use and instead I end up tearing it even further. The fire alarm is getting insistently louder and my anxiety levels have just doubled. Kallum must sense the panic in my voice from the audible gasp that I let out because in one swift motion he takes off his white shirt and throws it at me without turning around. 

My absolute shame stops me from protesting. His shirt is still warm when I pull it over my head, and it has a subtle masculine aroma that makes me dizzy for a moment. I don’t want to think about how much he could have seen. I'm thankful that the shirt actually fits me. I am not surprised though, with all the training he has been doing these past few years to get into the fire academy, he has gotten pretty muscular. I don’t even need to ask to know that his father, Captain Taylor, has been laying it hard on him hoping that his last born will be an exceptional firefighter straight out of high school. Especially because his other two sons chose to peruse art and science respectively rather than following in their father’s footsteps. I can only imagine the pressure put on Kallum over these past three years.

“You good?” He rasps then clears his throat and turns back to me when I give him the okay. Any sign of emotion that was there before has completely vanished and in its place is his usual bored look. Without any more assurance needed from me, he strolls right out the door, not even bothering to look back if I am following behind him. If it weren’t for the fire alarm, I would have stayed down there and wallowed in my shame until the embarrassment subsided which, if I am being honest, is probably never.

Our walk to the courtyard and short and swift leaving no time in-between for any chit-chat. I am grateful that he is walking a little bit ahead of me because I don’t think I would be able to calm myself if he were any closer. I can't stop thinking of that look in his eyes back there. His bare back muscles twist and contract as he walks and before I get too lost in the movements, I stop myself. This is Kallum I am looking at, the same Kallum that would not stop crying when his father got him a firetruck toy for Christmas instead of a soft plushie like me. From what I can tell, he grew out of that sweet, sensitive and caring boy that I used to know. Instead, now it seems that he has become a clone of his father, disinterested in anything that does not have to do with the fire academy.

Most of the students are idling around in the courtyard, buzzing with excitement from missing class. Kallum has not looked back at me since the basement and the way that girls are so obviously gawking at his topless body stirs up a feeling in me that I am not comfortable with, but I chalk it up to him saving me from quite a traumatic event. Most of them probably don’t recognize him as the geeky kid who was friend with the chubby girl in middle school. Following him with my gaze I notice a miniscule nod he gives to the principal before going to join the rest of the fire academy kids who stand in a line like soldiers with their hands folded clutched their backs. I mentally roll my eyes, why am I not surprised he that he has already fitted right in with them.

The firefighter kids are a small group of students who are known at school for being the sons and daughters of the firefighters in our small town. It is almost a rite of passage for them to join the academy as soon as they graduate and so they spend most of the time in the school gym or running fire drills on occasion. They have this aura of superiority that gets on my last nerve, walking around school with their chest constantly puffed out and their egos constantly inflated. Their parents might save lives for a living, but these kids have done nothing, absolutely nothing, to gain the right to look down on us as they do. 

Once their little moment of communication has passed, Principal. Turner steps up on one of the outside lunch tables, with help from her son of course, and announces that the fire was just a false alarm and that manipulating the fire system is a serious offense and there will be an investigation into the matter. I highly doubt that, knowing full well who pulled the alarm.

Respective teachers start ushering their students back to class and my eyes spot Heather in the crowds. I have to push through quite a number of disgruntled students before I stand before her and reach out my hand, palm facing up.

“Give me back my phone.” I snap, fuming when she just rolls her eyes and examines her manicured nails.

“What are you talking about?” she innocently batters her eyelashes.

“I know it’s in your pocket, just give it back and I won’t report you.” I smile, knowing that I’ve hit her where she cares the most. “I can just imagine the school newspaper headline, Golden girl, Heather Turner, caught stealing another students phone, not a good look on college applications, is it?” I continue smugly knowing that I just stole all her power.

She narrows her eyes and slowly steps towards me, “You do not want to go there, Hall,” she warns in low voice.

“Girls, is there a problem?” The principal approaches with a raised eyebrow and her suit clad arms folded over her chest.

“Nothing, someone just dropped their phone and decided to blame me.” Heather’s voice immediately goes back to its light tone and she scoffs at my accusation.

My eyes drop and true to her words my phone is laying face down in the dirt right next to her feet. Before her and Principal. Turner can say anything else I grab the phone and stalk back into the school building.

                                                          --------------------------------

My walk back home is brisk and short and the throbbing pain in my shoulder has yet to ease up. I’ve had to carry all my books around for the rest of the day because I was not emotionally prepared to face what had been done to my locker. Somehow even without the trauma of witnessing that, this has been the worst first day of my entire school career.

As soon as I enter the front door of my house my senses are attacked by wafts of delicious aromas coming from the kitchen and so I do what any reasonable person would do. I dump all my stuff on the floor and follow the magical scents.

“I’m home!” I kick my shoes off at the door, not bothering o straighten them when they land haphazardly next to my dads much bigger ones.

“How was your day, honey.” My mom appears and kisses my cheek before disappearing back into the kitchen, hurriedly chopping and stirring things simultaneously. I plop myself on one of the bar stools and watch in awe as she navigates the kitchen with ease.

“It was okay,” I lie because the smile on her face is too pure for me to ruin with the reality of my day. I can’t tell her about Kallum being back, not yet. Not after she comforted me in bed for weeks when he moved away. She would make a bigger deal about it than it is because it isn’t a big deal. At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

She pauses her frantic movements and inspects my face for a while, trying to gage my feelings. Knowing I’m about to be called out, I swiftly change the subject.

“Hmm, it smells amazing in here,” I reach for one of the chopped carrots on the chopping board and my mom gives me one last scrutinizing look before deciding to let it go.

“Only the best for my angel,” she gushes and comes back around the kitchen counter to hug me, “I can’t believe you’re a senior already,” she pouts and I can tell that she’s trying her best not to cry but is obviously failing miserably.

“We’re crying already?” My dad saunters in flashing us a smile and joining in on our little huddle. A few moments of comfortable silence pass and my mom steps back and wipes her tears on her apron.

“Okay, I’m going to go finish getting ready,” she announces hurriedly and checks all of her pots before turning to my dad with a stern look, “All you have to do it watch them, Byron. Do not touch anything,” she emphasizes and glares at me when I laugh at my dad’s expense. The poor man looks petrified, but I don’t blame him, my mom takes her cooking very seriously especially on special occasions like their one and only daughter’s first day of senior year.

My parents have made it a tradition to celebrate every little milestone in my life because to them I am their “miracle baby” and was technically not supposed to happen. My father has told me countless stories of how they tried to conceive for years and years until one day they both looked at each other, physically exhausted and emotionally drained, and decided that maybe a baby was in their cards for this lifetime. And the next week they were looking at adoption pamphlets when my mom threw up at the whiff of her own cooking, and that was when my dad knew, she was pregnant with me.

My mom rushes past me and up the stairs to go finish her makeup and change out of her work clothes so I take the opportunity to go around the kitchen counter to the stove and steal a spoonful of mashed potatoes.

“Cora Amari Hall!” My dad grabs the spoon out of my hands and throws it in the sink like a mad man. “Are you trying to get me killed,” he whisper yells at me then ushers me out the kitchen as I cackle knowing full well my mom is going to notice that someone took a bite out of one of her masterpieces. Sweet revenge, that’s what he gets for tying all of my shoelaces together every single first day of school. I have hidden shoes in the most obscure places and he somehow always managers to find them. In fifth grade I was so frustrated that I just decided that I was going to go to school barefoot that day. Worst decision. I still don’t hear the end of it and the picture of me from that day hangs proudly in the hallway along with many other of my misfortunes that my parents find so endearing.

After changing my clothes to suitable dinner attire, I laze on the couch half watching an episode of The Vampire Diaries and half scrolling through my phone. My dad calls out for me and I make sure to smooth out and crinkles that could have formed on my skirt.

“Sweetie, will you please get the door for me?” My dad requests with an anxious smile playing on his face and I am confused because I didn’t realize that we were expecting anyone. I don’t question it though because knowing my father he probably burnt the chicken and is trying to get a take-out replacement before Mom notices, that would definitely not be the first time he has done that. I chuckle to myself remember the Thanksgiving of 2012. She noticed before she even tasted it and she has not let him forget it ‘til this day.

“Mom, Dad burnt the food!” I yell towards the stairs and swing the door open. I burst out into laughter when I hear him curse from the kitchen.

“Well, that sure is a shame,” a rough voice answers and when I turn to the delivery guy, there isn’t one. Instead, in front of me is Captain. Taylor, a woman that looks strangely familiar, and three sons including Kallum. Beyond that, what makes my jaw drop to the floor, is my principal in our driveway stepping out of her expensive car along with her husband and two of my personal tormentors, the Turner twins.