Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 73425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
The girl crew scoffs and rolls their eyes. Their plates are a far cry from mine, consisting of nothing but small bits of salad and glasses of water. I’ve seen them around enough times to realize they don’t eat carbs, sugar, gluten, fat, and definitely not salad dressing.
And while I don’t understand that, I respect their choice to put what they want in their bodies. But I don’t understand why they can’t extend the same courtesy to me.
Cindy looks at me with disgust in her eyes.
“It’s called having self-control, Mira. Maybe you should get some.”
What is she talking about? Self-control what? I eat because I’m hungry, not because I don’t have any self-control. That’s a myth when it comes to weight gain. People think that curvy girls have no self-control and stuff themselves with donuts when they should be working out. But it’s not true. Everyone in my family is chubby, and I’m no exception. It’s genetic, but I guess Cindy doesn’t realize that.
Moreover, with each passing second, I’m more and more uncomfortable. The stress of this encounter is weighing down on my shoulders, and pushing the air out of my lungs, making me feel nauseous.
Before I can fashion a reply, a few football players swagger over. One of them, Jet McCall, is a big man on campus with a pristine white letter jacket and charcoal black hair. But he’s got a mean glint to his eyes, and he walks straight up to Cindy and whispers something in her ear. She giggles before looking back at me and making me squirm. What they say to my face is already horrible, so what they say in secret is probably worse. But then again, I’m so irrelevant that it might have nothing to do with me at all.
“Well, it’s been nice helping the less fortunate, but now it’s time for me to get back to my much better life. Toodles,” she wiggles her fingers goodbye. “Don’t eat too much because it’s disgusting to see you stuff your face, Mira. And totally unnecessary, seeing that you already have plenty of extra padding.”
Her little crew giggles and follows her to another side of the cafeteria, a pack of football guys trailing behind them like lapdogs. God. I hate my life and wish I could sink into the floor. Why am I being bullied, even at age eighteen? I’m too old for this, right?
The worst part is that Cindy is really beautiful. She’s got long, golden-blonde hair that swishes left and right while she walks, and clear, cerulean blue eyes that look so innocent. I’ve always wanted to look like her, but it’s impossible. With my curly brown hair, mud-color eyes, and curvy figure, I’m just cast from a different mold.
As I watch Cindy’s crew walk away, I notice that Jessie has come into the cafeteria. Her tray looks similar to mine. We both have similar appetites and have bonded over our relationship with food, but at least Jessie makes me feel like I’m not wholly defined by it. Plus, she’s also had struggles with her body image, the way many women do.
Jessie scurries over, head down, and takes the seat across from me.
“Hey,” she says.
“Hey.”
We sit in silence for a little bit, neither one of us doing or saying anything. The look on her face tells me she probably heard every last word of what Cindy said. I squirm with shame, my cheeks flushing red. It feels like it’s getting harder and harder to deal with the mean words thrown at me. I thought ignoring it would work, but the words are burrowing deeper into my brain.
“Cindy’s a real bitch, you know that?” Jessie offers finally. I know what she’s trying to do, play off what just happened as nothing. And I nod because I know what she’s saying is true. Obviously, Cindy is a class A asshole. I mean anyone who goes around making fun of people is a total piece of crap. That doesn’t make what she said sting any less.
Because it’s not fair. It’s not like I’m the only big girl at this school. There are a lot of different people here, and we’re also smack dab in the middle of New York City, with all kinds of folks out and about every day. But somehow, Cindy was able to pick up on my insecurities. She zeroed in on me and started poking, making me squirm with pain.
After all, my weight has always been a problem for me. My mom put me on my first diet in the sixth grade. I was eleven. Eleven! Then my parents actually sent me to a fat camp one summer. It worked, sort-of. I lost fifteen pounds over three months, but I was so hungry the entire time. And when I got back, I put on twenty pounds within the space of six months. What a waste of money.