Fragile

I tipped the scale at one hundred and sixty-seven pounds the morning of St. Patrick’s Day. My belly was beginning to hang slightly over my jeans and my shirts weren’t fitting as well as they were a month ago. My doctor told me the stress from my incident would cause differences in my hormones, or something like that.

Being that I’m part Irish, I wanted to wear something green, and the only thing that was fitting me correctly at the moment was a green t-shirt that I borrowed from my brother; a shirt that was a size bigger than what I would usually wear, which was a medium. My alarm was going off for a second time as I gathered my books for class and turned it off.

“Oh, big green shirt,” my friend Kelly pointed up and down at the shirt I was wearing. “Hun, I know its St. Patty’s Day and all, but that shirt looks terrible.”

“So I’ve noticed,” I sneered and continued the walk to class from my dorm. She sped her pace to catch up with me.

“Whoa, what’s with the attitude? I’m just saying,” she replied in defense. I rolled my eyes and proceeded to my first class of the day; English.

I’m Isabella Kent; yes, Kent like in Clark Kent. This is me.