Call Me, Miss Piggy

Chapter 2

Cassandra

Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing at my arm, pulling me up from the ground. I look up to see who my rescuer is, and it's none other than Crayvin Smith himself.

I'm never washing this arm again. Or at least not till my next shower tonight; but I'll have no problem reliving the feeling that coursed through my body the second he touched me.

"Th...Thank you," I stutter. Great, the first time I actually speak to the guy that consumes my thoughts, I barely manage to get out a simple thank you.

"Sure, not a problem. Can I walk you to class? We have chemistry together, right?" I nod, not believing my ears. His beautifully soft, yet deep voice is harmonizing and for once it's directed at me. He's the teacher aide in my chemistry class, and I never knew he noticed I was in the same room.

I wipe off the debris from my pants and turn around to get my books out of my locker. My fingers fumble to get the combination right to open the locker. When I finally get it right, the door clicks open and I grab my book before I begin walking to chemistry; with Crayvin alongside me. As if my heart couldn't beat any faster, my breath falters as I feel his hand rest against my upper back. I pray he can't feel how outrageously crazy my heart is reacting to his contact. His warm touch is such a subtle gesture, but it's maddening and the effect it has on me is shocking.

For the rest of the class, I remain completely silent. Trying to listen to the teacher go on and on about whatever he was talking about has been extremely difficult. My thoughts have indefinitely left the room, having been consumed by my crush that has grown significantly by one little touch.

I look over my shoulder to glance at Crayvin and his ocean-like eyes are smiling at me. My heart flutters in my chest, and I pretend to rub my chin against my shoulder. My pencil falls from my hand while turning back around. Leaning down to retrieve it from the floor, my cheeks warm as I force myself not to look back again in case he was still looking my way.

Was he admiring me the way I did him?

By the time lunch came around, my stomach was growling. My appetite must have built up after fawning over Crayvin all morning. Since seniors and freshmen share the same lunch hour, I usually sat with my sister every day. I grab a tray, stand in line, and wait to be served the brown gooey stuff the cafeteria workers were claiming to be goulash.

Mystery meat is what they should call it.

I feel someone poke the back of my shoulder and I turn around to see two girls snickering behind me. "Is Miss Piggy your favorite ice cream flavor, or is that the nickname you prefer?" The skinny brunette remarks, laughing with her blonde friend.

"Uh, no. It's not my favorite," I answer shyly. Knowing what they are trying to do, I turn back around and refuse to let them provoke me.

I get picked on daily for being fat and I never fight back, it's just not worth the effort. Though, I use bullying as an excuse for my excessive appetite. I keep saying that I'm going to start working out with Tarra and lose weight to be happier with myself, but all motivation is lost on me when I constantly get put down.

What's the point if no one believes in me anyways?

"They should just call her Oompa Loompa. That fits her short, fat ass better," I hear one of them say. My fingers grip the tray harder at the edges as I slowly move up with the line, biting my lower lip to distract myself from crying.

"Fits? Doesn't look like anything fits her. Her everyday outfit has to consist of elastic bands," the other girl says before their high pitch laughter burns through my ears.

I pay for my lunch and stand momentarily, looking out for Tarra. I spot her sitting at our usual table, and begin to take a step forward when I hear another comment from behind me, "I think the nickname Crayvin picked is much better. Miss Piggy! She has like some creepy obsession over him. In fact, she'd probably eat our Crayvin. He's a stud muffin after all."

"Cray...vin," I mutter.

I lose all train of thought as I trip over something, someone's leg. I fall to the ground the second time today, only this time my face goes right into the middle of the brown gooey stuff on my tray. I peel my face from the tray and stand up, noticing that a circle of students has formed around me. The laughter rippled through my eardrums and made my heart plummet. Everyone is laughing, including Crayvin. He leans over his waist, holding his stomach, laughing hard and uncontrollably.

"Back off!" Tarra yells, breaking the tortuous treatment I'm receiving. She comes to my side and kicks the tray over to where some of the group is standing.

"Are you okay?" She whispers and the room falls silent. I can't move, instead, I stand frozen with my head down. Tarra goes to rub my back and a rustling noise emits from the back of my sweatshirt. I feel her peel something off of my back, and to my horror, she shows me a piece of paper that has been taped to my back that says 'Miss Piggy.'

"Who did this?" Tarra yells out.

No one answers, but all eyes focus on Crayvin.

I feel my pulse stop and a sensation of the blood draining from my face, causing me to go pale. Sharp, stabbing pains radiate through my body, as if I got stuck in a barbed-wire fence, the wires cutting through me and strangling my neck. The most sobering reaction is how much I welcome the burning as if I have done something to deserve this.

Crayvin's blue eyes glimmer mischievously as he stands straight up, folding his toned arms over his broad chest.

"Crayvin, why would you do this to my sister? What has she ever done to you?" Tarra begins to question him. I look up at him, wondering the same thing, and I wish I hadn't. There is absolutely zero remorse upon his facial features as he answers.

"Why? Because I see how your sister stares at me every day. She looks at me like I'm another one of those dishes she probably devours. Almost like she wants to eat me. It's creepy," he scoffs. As I try to drain out the noise coming from around me, the quiet taunting of my peers, his words cut through me like a knife.

Crayvin shrugs his shoulders, opens his mouth again, and mocks me with, "Besides, Miss Piggy is a cute nickname. It's better than Oompa Loompa or chubby bunny." The entire circle of students begins laughing again, including Crayvin. Their laughter roars through the cafeteria while tears burn my face.

Just as I always have, I stay silent but swear that my insides feel like they want to fall out of me. My sister was right; Crayvin is a tool. My eyes lift back to him and watch as he continues to laugh.

He just needs a pitchfork and horns to match his red shirt; the bloody devil.

"I told you he was an ass," Tarra says. "Let's get out of here, I'll take you home," she adds quietly, and I nod in response.

My words are frozen as I turn to start walking away, leaving my dignity and crumbled heart on the ground before Crayvin. Some students move, allowing me to exit the vicious circle when I hear Crayvin's voice.

"What the f**k, Tarra?"

I turn around and see his hair covered in chocolate milk, the brown liquid dripping over his face. Usually, this would have been a fantasy. To see the guy I liked covered in chocolate, but now it brings some satisfaction I never knew I needed until this very moment.

My crush on Crayvin Smith blinded me from seeing who he truly was. Though, I think a part of me, buried deep down inside, always knew how he was. He's a player, he has probably slept with half of the girls in that circle. He's self-absorbed, insensitive, and after today, evil. This entire time I was so captivated by those eyes and that perfect smile, that I didn't see the horns and the cruel, ugly soul inside.

I guess our hearts just need more time to accept what our minds already know. Today, I learned that not only was my crush a monster in disguise, but I also realized I need to change my appearance. Not for his satisfaction, or anyone else's for that matter, but me.

That's one thing about me that I did get from my late mother that helps me; once my mind is set, there's little to no chance of changing it. I can't continue to be this big punching bag and be too soft to stand up for myself. My mom died of cancer three years ago and she was fighting on her deathbed. My body and health need to change.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and my breath catches behind my throat. The reflection staring back at me damn well made me cringe with the threat of bile pleading to escape my turning stomach. Drawing my face nearer to the mirror, I assume a look of pensive bitterness as my fists curl tightly at my sides. Tears full of shame and disappointment fall from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, and blur my vision enough to where my reflection looks like a big blob standing in the mirror. That was the last thing I saw before my fist drove straight into the glass, causing my knuckles to bleed as shards of glass fell to the floor.

It's time I change and learn to fight my own battles. To fight as she did. Like my mother always did before she lost her battle.

And so...

I did.