Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Meal Time Trickery
There was nothing special about Thursday morning. I'd walked to school, same as usual, my packed lunch thrown in the bin as I went.
I had promised myself one meal a day. I mean, that was all right. It wasn't like I was self harming or anything. I just wasn't eating very much.
You can't call Amnesty International and say, "Hey guys, there's a girl in England who's abusing her body -she's not eating lunch!"
If you did, they'd laugh down the phone at you. Definitely. Not that I've tried.
It was harder at lunchtimes obviously. On Tuesday I said my mum had forgotten to make me any lunch. This had back fired because Izzie lent me two pounds. I hadn't even asked! She just gave it to me without batting an eyelid. As I bought a can of diet coke and a roll of bread (no butter) I couldn't help wondering if the two pounds had been Izzie's lunch money.
On Wednesday, I said I'd lost it somewhere. This was better because I went 'to go and find it' and just didn't reappear until registration. When asked where I'd been, I just said I'd left it in the French Block and that Madame Papail had made me stay to look over my homework.
Today, it's harder. Bridget buys a mini pizza with chips on the side. Izzie gets a chicken salad. They're already sitting down in the canteen when I sit down next to them.
"Where's your lunch?" asks Bridget, popping a chip into her mouth as though it was no big deal at all.
"Not really that hungry," I lie, getting out my phone and pretending to be busy.
I am sort of busy. I'm checking to see if Marcus has texted me. He hasn't. He hasn't texted or phoned me since Monday. I'm starting to get a little concerned that he wasn't serious about meeting up. I wouldn't be surprised but I would be bitterly disappointed.
"I had a lot at break time," I add, hoping that they will leave it at that and carry on eating their own wonderful, delicious food. The salad looks great.
"What, that bag of Monster Munch you mean?" Bridget raises her eyebrows.
Izzie is pouring the sachet of sauce onto her croutons. She's even sprinkled bits of grated cheese on it.
"Ella?"
I realise I'm just staring at Izzie's plate. Bridget is looking at me closely. God, I can't have her looking at me. She'll realise!
"Yeah, I think the spicyness went to my stomach," I say quickly. "It's aching a little."
They have no idea the sacrifice I made eating that in front of them. They also have no idea how horrible it was to arrive late to Chemistry because I'd been trying to claw it back out of my stomach.
It hadn't worked. I still hadn't been able to successfully make myself sick once. I was beginning to think I was a complete cretin. I mean, who can't make themselves sick?!
"Oh, sorry, honey," sympathises Bridget, smiling kindly at me. "I didn't realise."
Her pizza looks mouthwatering. The school ones are always greasy, with lots of flavour. And the cheese is always slightly overcooked, which I like. I can't stand stringy cheese. And, obviously, cheese strings are just out of the question.
Luckily for me, Izzie changes the subject then. She's going on about 'Andy' and where they went last night.
"We went on this really romantic moonlit walk and there were all these leaves and we found this bench and for ages we were just counting stars."
Izzie smiles smugly round at us and my tummy goes all tight. I know she's just talking about Luddy Lane, which everyone calls Lucky Lane because it's where guys take girls when they went to get lucky. And that there's a hell of a lot of smog in the air around there because it's right next to a factory. But it's still more exciting than what I did last night. Which was to watch TV with my Mum after doing my homework.
Tell you what, the worst time is always at dinner time. Breakfast is easy to avoid because my Mum leaves before me in the morning. If you pour a little milk down the sink, take a handful of cereal or a slice of bread and chuck it into someone's bin down the road, it's stupidly easy to make it look like you've eaten something.
But at dinner, my Mum is there. She'll make pasta or lasagne or shephards pie and we'll sit round the table to eat it. Or sometimes in front of the TV if there's something on. She'll notice if I don't eat anything though. So, I have to eat something. At least half. The last thing I want is for my Mum to get suspicious.
"Ella! Are you in there?" Izzie is clicking her fingers in front of my face, laughing at me.
"Sorry," I giggle. Well I don't really giggle. I make myself giggle.
"Are you up for it?"
It turns out Izzie wants us to go around to her house tonight to watch The Exorcist.
"I thought your Dad wasn't going to let you watch it," I remind her, feeling slightly pleased because my Mum wouldn't let me watch it either.
"Oh no he won't," says Izzie airily, putting the last leaf from her salad into her mouth. "Serena's getting it for me. She said not to tell my Dad."
"That's really nice of her," nods Bridget. "How are you getting on with her?"
Izzie makes a face. "She's all right. She's only doing it to try and get me to like her."
"You still not really feeling her then?" I ask, twiddling my thumbs to stop myself reaching out for one of Bridget's chips.
"It's not that, it's just that I don't really know what my Dad sees in her."
"You'll get used to her, I suppose," says Bridget, checking her watch.
"There are worse people than Serena for your Dad to go out with!" I remind Izzie, to which Izzie nods in half hearted agreement.
When I first met Serena I thought she was lovely. She's got really dark hair that she keeps really short and she wears a lot of black. She seems to wear a lot of designer labels, like Vivienne Westwood and Patrick Cox and Gucci. I can see exactly what Dominic sees in her - she's gorgeous and also really nice.
It's the kind of person I'd want my Dad to go out with. If he wasn't still married to my Mum. And, you know, missing.
I had promised myself one meal a day. I mean, that was all right. It wasn't like I was self harming or anything. I just wasn't eating very much.
You can't call Amnesty International and say, "Hey guys, there's a girl in England who's abusing her body -she's not eating lunch!"
If you did, they'd laugh down the phone at you. Definitely. Not that I've tried.
It was harder at lunchtimes obviously. On Tuesday I said my mum had forgotten to make me any lunch. This had back fired because Izzie lent me two pounds. I hadn't even asked! She just gave it to me without batting an eyelid. As I bought a can of diet coke and a roll of bread (no butter) I couldn't help wondering if the two pounds had been Izzie's lunch money.
On Wednesday, I said I'd lost it somewhere. This was better because I went 'to go and find it' and just didn't reappear until registration. When asked where I'd been, I just said I'd left it in the French Block and that Madame Papail had made me stay to look over my homework.
Today, it's harder. Bridget buys a mini pizza with chips on the side. Izzie gets a chicken salad. They're already sitting down in the canteen when I sit down next to them.
"Where's your lunch?" asks Bridget, popping a chip into her mouth as though it was no big deal at all.
"Not really that hungry," I lie, getting out my phone and pretending to be busy.
I am sort of busy. I'm checking to see if Marcus has texted me. He hasn't. He hasn't texted or phoned me since Monday. I'm starting to get a little concerned that he wasn't serious about meeting up. I wouldn't be surprised but I would be bitterly disappointed.
"I had a lot at break time," I add, hoping that they will leave it at that and carry on eating their own wonderful, delicious food. The salad looks great.
"What, that bag of Monster Munch you mean?" Bridget raises her eyebrows.
Izzie is pouring the sachet of sauce onto her croutons. She's even sprinkled bits of grated cheese on it.
"Ella?"
I realise I'm just staring at Izzie's plate. Bridget is looking at me closely. God, I can't have her looking at me. She'll realise!
"Yeah, I think the spicyness went to my stomach," I say quickly. "It's aching a little."
They have no idea the sacrifice I made eating that in front of them. They also have no idea how horrible it was to arrive late to Chemistry because I'd been trying to claw it back out of my stomach.
It hadn't worked. I still hadn't been able to successfully make myself sick once. I was beginning to think I was a complete cretin. I mean, who can't make themselves sick?!
"Oh, sorry, honey," sympathises Bridget, smiling kindly at me. "I didn't realise."
Her pizza looks mouthwatering. The school ones are always greasy, with lots of flavour. And the cheese is always slightly overcooked, which I like. I can't stand stringy cheese. And, obviously, cheese strings are just out of the question.
Luckily for me, Izzie changes the subject then. She's going on about 'Andy' and where they went last night.
"We went on this really romantic moonlit walk and there were all these leaves and we found this bench and for ages we were just counting stars."
Izzie smiles smugly round at us and my tummy goes all tight. I know she's just talking about Luddy Lane, which everyone calls Lucky Lane because it's where guys take girls when they went to get lucky. And that there's a hell of a lot of smog in the air around there because it's right next to a factory. But it's still more exciting than what I did last night. Which was to watch TV with my Mum after doing my homework.
Tell you what, the worst time is always at dinner time. Breakfast is easy to avoid because my Mum leaves before me in the morning. If you pour a little milk down the sink, take a handful of cereal or a slice of bread and chuck it into someone's bin down the road, it's stupidly easy to make it look like you've eaten something.
But at dinner, my Mum is there. She'll make pasta or lasagne or shephards pie and we'll sit round the table to eat it. Or sometimes in front of the TV if there's something on. She'll notice if I don't eat anything though. So, I have to eat something. At least half. The last thing I want is for my Mum to get suspicious.
"Ella! Are you in there?" Izzie is clicking her fingers in front of my face, laughing at me.
"Sorry," I giggle. Well I don't really giggle. I make myself giggle.
"Are you up for it?"
It turns out Izzie wants us to go around to her house tonight to watch The Exorcist.
"I thought your Dad wasn't going to let you watch it," I remind her, feeling slightly pleased because my Mum wouldn't let me watch it either.
"Oh no he won't," says Izzie airily, putting the last leaf from her salad into her mouth. "Serena's getting it for me. She said not to tell my Dad."
"That's really nice of her," nods Bridget. "How are you getting on with her?"
Izzie makes a face. "She's all right. She's only doing it to try and get me to like her."
"You still not really feeling her then?" I ask, twiddling my thumbs to stop myself reaching out for one of Bridget's chips.
"It's not that, it's just that I don't really know what my Dad sees in her."
"You'll get used to her, I suppose," says Bridget, checking her watch.
"There are worse people than Serena for your Dad to go out with!" I remind Izzie, to which Izzie nods in half hearted agreement.
When I first met Serena I thought she was lovely. She's got really dark hair that she keeps really short and she wears a lot of black. She seems to wear a lot of designer labels, like Vivienne Westwood and Patrick Cox and Gucci. I can see exactly what Dominic sees in her - she's gorgeous and also really nice.
It's the kind of person I'd want my Dad to go out with. If he wasn't still married to my Mum. And, you know, missing.
♠ ♠ ♠
Thanks for reading and especially thanks to the people who commented on the story, it was really nice of you = )More please? he he