Skinny Jeans Have No Place On These Thighs
Lift In The Rain
When I come to school on Friday the first thing I hear when I come into the form room in the morning is Bridget telling a funny story to pretty Matthew Bryer and some of his friends.
"I hear that before every girl finds the guy she's supposed to be with, she has to go out with three types of guys; the serial killer, the priest and the gay guy."
Matthew Bryer bursts out laughing and so do his friends.
I envy Bridget so much right then. Why is it she can be friends with boys like that? Be their equal and not be nervous or shaky and have actual things to say whereas I never do. Before I didn't mind as much - I made up for it by being really nice to everyone. But you don't get the same recognition for being nice as you do for being charismatic and funny. At least Izzie wasn't either. She's good at getting people to like her though because she's...I remember the exact word from English last week but I can't remember exactly what Mr Burnham said now but it described Izzie perfectly. Maybe I'll remember it later.
I try not to pay attention to Bridget and her new friends but unfortunately I'm never invisible to Bridget. In hindsight, this probably is a nice thing but it also means I'm never off her radar, even at times like these when I want to be.
"You still not speaking to me then?" asks Bridget suddenly, looking across at me, waving a little. She's not quite herself, she's a little ruder than usual. Bridget would not normally wave like that.
My eyes dart up for a moment but as I can't think of anything to say, I remain button lipped, my thoughts lurking somewhere between my hair and my collar.
Bridget keeps looking at me for a whole moment but then rolls her eyes and sighs half regretfully before turning back to Matthew Bryer. To my surprise, I catch Matthew Bryer looking at me too then.
I imagine after form time he might run to catch up to me. Say that Bridget really misses me and that he thinks we should start talking again. Maybe let me join their group too, with me and Bridget as the Queens and he and his friends as...equals...? Kings!
Needless to say, Matthew Bryer does nothing of the sort. After the bell has gone he and Bridget walk off together in the direction of the science block while I head on up to French. At least I've done my homework again and it's pretty good.
We had to write up a translation about a badly run holiday resort in Vire and then say how it could be improved. I got to practice my past and future tenses and yes, I'm aware that the fact I'm pleased about this makes me a colossal loser. But you try having nothing to do for a fourth night running and then you'll see how thrilling your French homework might be.
The French lesson passes with little excitement. The only difference is that I'm following it a little more than usual. A technique that helps is watching episodes of Friends in french, or anything that you've seen a lot of. You don't always get the best grasp of past tense but you will get to grips on more informal conversation and stuff.
I hand in my homework at the end of the lesson, say au revoir to Madame Papail before going to the library. You're not allowed food in the library but me and my bottle of water are more than welcome. The two boys from the year below aren't here when I get there but there's another boy sitting at the table.
He's got braces, light brown glasses and dark brown frizzy hair with a big nose to top off his pizza complexion. I don't know his name but I know he's in my year. I don't want him to talk to me so I don't make eye contact at all for the whole twenty minutes.
He's there again when I come back at lunch time. I have to sit in the seat beside him this time because lunch times in the library are busier than break times. I glance at the cover of his book. I don't see the title but the author's name is John Grisham who I've never heard of.
I get out my history books - I always seem to carry them with me these days - and settle down to read more about the Crusades. I've only been reading for about ten minutes, maybe shorter, when my stomach starts to make noises. The boy looks up from his book and gives me a surprised glance. I lean forward, letting my hair fall over my face so no one will see how red it is.
It keeps happening though. No matter what I do, the rumbling continues. I don't know whether to freeze my body or move around a bit. Why do stomachs have to rumble anyway?
I'm telling you, your body does nothing to help you out in social situations. When you're trying to get thinner and therefore more attractive, it rumbles immediately making you look greedy and therefore pig-like and henceforth unattractive. When you're making the effort to do a bit of exercise, your cheeks go red, you pant and, worst of all, you sweat, which is disgustingly smelly and doesn't seem to be fixed by spray or perfume.
It's getting so bad that I'm about to move when a stick of chewing gum is chucked across the table and lands in front of me. I look up and see a girl two years above me, also with a brace, grinning widely and muttering to me, "There, that'll help you! Don't forget to eat next time! Silly girl!" before returning to her art history books.
Her friend in the seat next to her giggles and then also goes back to her work.
I take the chewing gum discreetly, unwrapping under the table as we're not allowed gum in school and then pop it in my mouth. I try to catch her eyes to say thank you but she doesn't look at me again.
"It won't help," says a voice beside me. It's the boy with braces and spots and big nose. I shake my head slightly to indicate I have no idea what he's talking about. "See, when you chew and don't swallow anything, it makes your stomach think it's getting nutrients. So it releases acids into your stomach but because they don't break anything down they just sit there, dormant."
He says all this very quietly and when he's finished he looks really embarrassed. He goes back to his book then and doesn't say another word. Thank God.
Like I need someone like him telling me what's good for me.
Although...something he's said does spark something off...when you chew and don't swallow anything, it makes your stomach think it's getting nutrients. Something to put with my tequila idea...
The last lesson of the day comes and goes and then I'm on the way home again. Back to a room of despair and boredom. I need something to do. At this rate I'm not going to be able to have a birthday party in three weeks. I'm going to be sixteen. And also much, much slimmer.
As Mum won't be back for ages, I decide to go into town and window shop for clothes. I hate shopping with a passion but seeing something I like will give me an incentive to keep up the new non-eating regime.
So I walk into town by myself, trying not to mind that everyone else is walking with their friends, and wander around the shopping centre. Some of the stuff in the shops is expensive and some of it could never fit me, even if I didn't eat another bite for the rest of my life.
But there was hope. I have to admit, unsurprisingly, I was looking forward to eating breakfast tomorrow. But then, I haven't eaten since Tuesday night.
I get tired quite quickly because of the lack of food so after buying a Red Bull I walk back home, past Luddy Lane, and Madingley Park (mine and Izzie's side of the park, not the one near Mersey Avenue. I never want to go to Mersey Avenue again, even though Kitch was all right).
I get quite near to Izzie's house but walk on without going to see her. I've never gone this long without speaking to her before, or Bridget come to that. It's not a nice feeling.
It's starting to rain now so I quicken my pace slightly. I tip the remnants of the Red Bull down the back of my throat before throwing the can into a passing bin. My folder is covering my head but this does little to stem the flow of water coming from the sky.
There's a quick crack followed after a few seconds by a rolling roar of thunder. I squeal slightly, in spite of myself and start to go a little quicker. And then the heavens open.
Within moments, I am soaked beyond belief.
I hear a car horn in front of me, beeping a few times. Up ahead of me, a car has parked by the pavement, still honking. When I'm beside it, I realise it's Seb, Bridget's older brother.
He opens the door on my side and says, "Get in, I'll give you a lift." I'm surprised because Seb has never given me a lift before without Bridget in the car but I don't dither about.
I get in the car, trying not to notice how the seat material squeaks against my wet skirt.
"Wait, sit on this," Seb hands me a copy of Kerrang! and I stick it underneath me.
I hope that Seb doesn't mind that there still might be a wet patch on the seat. I try and think of something cool to say like, 'how's the band going' or something but, same as with Marcus, I just don't know Seb well enough to talk like that.
I can still have manners though. "Thanks for stopping. It's really nice of you." That sounded fine, fully appropriate and covered everything I wanted to say.
Seb nods and replies, "It's OK. I was hoping to catch you at home anyway."
"Oh?" I'm suddenly rather anxious.
"Yeah. Bridget lent you one of my DVDs and I wanted to show it to my girlfriend."
I don't know why but when I hear Seb has a girlfriend my heart leaps slightly. I have no idea why. Maybe I thought we'd have a Mia and Michael relationship like in The Princess Diaries but that's highly unlikely. Despite what Mia said, she had a lot going for her. She had morals, long legs and I don't think the Princess thing did her as much harm as she made out. Whereas I'm short, my legs have immense flabby bits and I'm middle class and boring.
Even being common as muck would be better.
"Besides, the storm's coming tonight, it's not really safe to walk around in it."
It's strange how he says 'the' storm, rather than 'a'. It's strange how he's talking to me at all. Maybe he's nervous too, about leaving gaps in conversation. It's a shame we can't celebrate our silence and how good we are at making it come in conversations, the same way people like Marcus and Bridget are brilliant at talking to people and creating dialogue out of the vaguest reference. Although Seb always struck me as someone who had a lot to say but just couldn't be bothered to waste it on people unless he thought they were worthy or something.
Whereas I'm the other way around. Nothing to say but anyone's welcome to hear it.
"I hear that before every girl finds the guy she's supposed to be with, she has to go out with three types of guys; the serial killer, the priest and the gay guy."
Matthew Bryer bursts out laughing and so do his friends.
I envy Bridget so much right then. Why is it she can be friends with boys like that? Be their equal and not be nervous or shaky and have actual things to say whereas I never do. Before I didn't mind as much - I made up for it by being really nice to everyone. But you don't get the same recognition for being nice as you do for being charismatic and funny. At least Izzie wasn't either. She's good at getting people to like her though because she's...I remember the exact word from English last week but I can't remember exactly what Mr Burnham said now but it described Izzie perfectly. Maybe I'll remember it later.
I try not to pay attention to Bridget and her new friends but unfortunately I'm never invisible to Bridget. In hindsight, this probably is a nice thing but it also means I'm never off her radar, even at times like these when I want to be.
"You still not speaking to me then?" asks Bridget suddenly, looking across at me, waving a little. She's not quite herself, she's a little ruder than usual. Bridget would not normally wave like that.
My eyes dart up for a moment but as I can't think of anything to say, I remain button lipped, my thoughts lurking somewhere between my hair and my collar.
Bridget keeps looking at me for a whole moment but then rolls her eyes and sighs half regretfully before turning back to Matthew Bryer. To my surprise, I catch Matthew Bryer looking at me too then.
I imagine after form time he might run to catch up to me. Say that Bridget really misses me and that he thinks we should start talking again. Maybe let me join their group too, with me and Bridget as the Queens and he and his friends as...equals...? Kings!
Needless to say, Matthew Bryer does nothing of the sort. After the bell has gone he and Bridget walk off together in the direction of the science block while I head on up to French. At least I've done my homework again and it's pretty good.
We had to write up a translation about a badly run holiday resort in Vire and then say how it could be improved. I got to practice my past and future tenses and yes, I'm aware that the fact I'm pleased about this makes me a colossal loser. But you try having nothing to do for a fourth night running and then you'll see how thrilling your French homework might be.
The French lesson passes with little excitement. The only difference is that I'm following it a little more than usual. A technique that helps is watching episodes of Friends in french, or anything that you've seen a lot of. You don't always get the best grasp of past tense but you will get to grips on more informal conversation and stuff.
I hand in my homework at the end of the lesson, say au revoir to Madame Papail before going to the library. You're not allowed food in the library but me and my bottle of water are more than welcome. The two boys from the year below aren't here when I get there but there's another boy sitting at the table.
He's got braces, light brown glasses and dark brown frizzy hair with a big nose to top off his pizza complexion. I don't know his name but I know he's in my year. I don't want him to talk to me so I don't make eye contact at all for the whole twenty minutes.
He's there again when I come back at lunch time. I have to sit in the seat beside him this time because lunch times in the library are busier than break times. I glance at the cover of his book. I don't see the title but the author's name is John Grisham who I've never heard of.
I get out my history books - I always seem to carry them with me these days - and settle down to read more about the Crusades. I've only been reading for about ten minutes, maybe shorter, when my stomach starts to make noises. The boy looks up from his book and gives me a surprised glance. I lean forward, letting my hair fall over my face so no one will see how red it is.
It keeps happening though. No matter what I do, the rumbling continues. I don't know whether to freeze my body or move around a bit. Why do stomachs have to rumble anyway?
I'm telling you, your body does nothing to help you out in social situations. When you're trying to get thinner and therefore more attractive, it rumbles immediately making you look greedy and therefore pig-like and henceforth unattractive. When you're making the effort to do a bit of exercise, your cheeks go red, you pant and, worst of all, you sweat, which is disgustingly smelly and doesn't seem to be fixed by spray or perfume.
It's getting so bad that I'm about to move when a stick of chewing gum is chucked across the table and lands in front of me. I look up and see a girl two years above me, also with a brace, grinning widely and muttering to me, "There, that'll help you! Don't forget to eat next time! Silly girl!" before returning to her art history books.
Her friend in the seat next to her giggles and then also goes back to her work.
I take the chewing gum discreetly, unwrapping under the table as we're not allowed gum in school and then pop it in my mouth. I try to catch her eyes to say thank you but she doesn't look at me again.
"It won't help," says a voice beside me. It's the boy with braces and spots and big nose. I shake my head slightly to indicate I have no idea what he's talking about. "See, when you chew and don't swallow anything, it makes your stomach think it's getting nutrients. So it releases acids into your stomach but because they don't break anything down they just sit there, dormant."
He says all this very quietly and when he's finished he looks really embarrassed. He goes back to his book then and doesn't say another word. Thank God.
Like I need someone like him telling me what's good for me.
Although...something he's said does spark something off...when you chew and don't swallow anything, it makes your stomach think it's getting nutrients. Something to put with my tequila idea...
The last lesson of the day comes and goes and then I'm on the way home again. Back to a room of despair and boredom. I need something to do. At this rate I'm not going to be able to have a birthday party in three weeks. I'm going to be sixteen. And also much, much slimmer.
As Mum won't be back for ages, I decide to go into town and window shop for clothes. I hate shopping with a passion but seeing something I like will give me an incentive to keep up the new non-eating regime.
So I walk into town by myself, trying not to mind that everyone else is walking with their friends, and wander around the shopping centre. Some of the stuff in the shops is expensive and some of it could never fit me, even if I didn't eat another bite for the rest of my life.
But there was hope. I have to admit, unsurprisingly, I was looking forward to eating breakfast tomorrow. But then, I haven't eaten since Tuesday night.
I get tired quite quickly because of the lack of food so after buying a Red Bull I walk back home, past Luddy Lane, and Madingley Park (mine and Izzie's side of the park, not the one near Mersey Avenue. I never want to go to Mersey Avenue again, even though Kitch was all right).
I get quite near to Izzie's house but walk on without going to see her. I've never gone this long without speaking to her before, or Bridget come to that. It's not a nice feeling.
It's starting to rain now so I quicken my pace slightly. I tip the remnants of the Red Bull down the back of my throat before throwing the can into a passing bin. My folder is covering my head but this does little to stem the flow of water coming from the sky.
There's a quick crack followed after a few seconds by a rolling roar of thunder. I squeal slightly, in spite of myself and start to go a little quicker. And then the heavens open.
Within moments, I am soaked beyond belief.
I hear a car horn in front of me, beeping a few times. Up ahead of me, a car has parked by the pavement, still honking. When I'm beside it, I realise it's Seb, Bridget's older brother.
He opens the door on my side and says, "Get in, I'll give you a lift." I'm surprised because Seb has never given me a lift before without Bridget in the car but I don't dither about.
I get in the car, trying not to notice how the seat material squeaks against my wet skirt.
"Wait, sit on this," Seb hands me a copy of Kerrang! and I stick it underneath me.
I hope that Seb doesn't mind that there still might be a wet patch on the seat. I try and think of something cool to say like, 'how's the band going' or something but, same as with Marcus, I just don't know Seb well enough to talk like that.
I can still have manners though. "Thanks for stopping. It's really nice of you." That sounded fine, fully appropriate and covered everything I wanted to say.
Seb nods and replies, "It's OK. I was hoping to catch you at home anyway."
"Oh?" I'm suddenly rather anxious.
"Yeah. Bridget lent you one of my DVDs and I wanted to show it to my girlfriend."
I don't know why but when I hear Seb has a girlfriend my heart leaps slightly. I have no idea why. Maybe I thought we'd have a Mia and Michael relationship like in The Princess Diaries but that's highly unlikely. Despite what Mia said, she had a lot going for her. She had morals, long legs and I don't think the Princess thing did her as much harm as she made out. Whereas I'm short, my legs have immense flabby bits and I'm middle class and boring.
Even being common as muck would be better.
"Besides, the storm's coming tonight, it's not really safe to walk around in it."
It's strange how he says 'the' storm, rather than 'a'. It's strange how he's talking to me at all. Maybe he's nervous too, about leaving gaps in conversation. It's a shame we can't celebrate our silence and how good we are at making it come in conversations, the same way people like Marcus and Bridget are brilliant at talking to people and creating dialogue out of the vaguest reference. Although Seb always struck me as someone who had a lot to say but just couldn't be bothered to waste it on people unless he thought they were worthy or something.
Whereas I'm the other way around. Nothing to say but anyone's welcome to hear it.
♠ ♠ ♠
Izzie is ''sycophantic'In Seb's car, he leaves old copies of magazines. He hasn't read Kerrang! in a long time.