Fat Girl

"So, anything new on the James front?" Stella asks while siddling up beside Monica, a grin plastered across her face and her eyes coasting to the oblivious blond at the front of the class.

The girl sighs as if she's annoyed but her face betrays her as a smile cracks onto her lips, a blush crawling up her neck. "Stella," she warns lightly, gaze averting onto the tile underneath her.

"What?" Her face displays innocence. "It's been a legit two weeks and you've done nothing."

Monica doesn't want to correct her that it's been much longer. That she's had her eye on him for so much longer. That, to be honest, she's not quite sure if she's crushing on him or if she simply wants to put a face to her fantasies. That it all seems that much more real if there's an actual name on her lips and there's more of a chance that if one day, when she's skinny, he'll give her another look. One that's happy to lay eyes on her. It's nice thinking about these sort of things.

It gives her some sort of hope, she realizes.

Maybe one day Fat Girl won't be so fat.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

Why was her life so filled with maybe? Why was she so dependent on this unreliable maybe?

"Maybe I don't want to do anything?" Monica offers, picking up her pencil and tarnishing the paper in front of her with useless scrawl.

Everyday now, it seems, Stella has thrown a couple sentences her way. It's only in that class but it's enough. It's enough for Monica to feel a little bit more special, just a tad more important. Like if she was gone not only Hilary would care. One more person was so little and somehow it seemed like so much more.

Another one of those things that's nice to think about.

"Yeah," Stella scoffs, unconvinced. "You totally want in on that, and I happen to know that he's no longer having a thing with Larissa."

"So?"

There is a moment of silence and a devilish grin touches Stella's lips, Monica knows what's coming. She can feel the tips of her ears burn at the thought and her lips part slightly to spill out any feeble protests.

"James-y boy!" A voice sings.

"Oh my god," Monica hisses under her breath, watching as the boy advances towards them. "I can't believe you."

To be honest, she can, really. While her mind does a wonderful job of vividly imaging the boy, right now he is very much real, and very much in front of her.

"Yeah?" he asks, his voice lazy and hands are stuffed into his pockets.

"What's more of Monica's colour, green or blue?"

A cherry tint burns onto Monica's chubby cheeks as his eyes meet hers. He doesn't seem as if he cares, much.

"How do you even talk to her?" A smile smears across his face as he rolls her eyes, directing this at Monica, ignoring the gasp rolling off Stella's lips.

"I don't know?" A shrug.

Then he's walking away. Stella has cast some glares in his direction but quickly recovers and continues on to something else.

In that moment though, Monica can feel something inside of her. It's something she's familiar with, yes, but it's odd that there aren't any chips in her hand or no sugary treats resting on her tongue.

Chase and Bianca and all those seem to be so far away because right now, in that moment, she's happy. Just happy with herself.