It was just another day in school for me. English has just started and Mrs. Finn started reading off her clipboard, starting the roll call.

“Tina Avernton.”

“Leanne Bainbridge.”

“Megan Brookehurst.”

When I heard my name, I muttered a soft ‘here’. A few girls snickered loudly and I ignored their immature behavior as they started whispering loudly among each other, glancing at me from time to time, as if to see whether I was listening to every insult they spew. Mrs. Finn continued with the roll call, oblivious to her surroundings.

“I mean…imagine how much…eats everyday.. ” my ear caught a few words of insults. Concentrating on the mindless scribbles on my table didn’t seem to help divert much of my attention away from their harsh words. I directed my eyes to focus on the whiteboard and their whispers came to me again.

“…such a pig. Like you know..” the words floated to me again.

After what seemed like hours, Mrs. Finn put away her clipboard and instructed us to get our books out. I did as told and the whispers slowly died down into the sound of books slamming onto the table, students rummaging their bags and chairs scraping the floor.

*

As soon as the bell rang, I packed up my books and rushed out of the class. The classroom had felt as if it was growing smaller by the minute and I could almost feel constricting atmosphere. Quickly moving my way through the throng of students hurrying out of the other classrooms along the hallway, I huffed loudly and made my way to my locker situated at the near end of the hallway.

‘483’, my mind repeated incessantly until I stood in front of Locker 483. There was a Post-It note stuck on the metal door.

‘FATSO’

It was double lined and written in bold with a red marker pen. Next to it was a round stick figure. I tore the note of my locker and crushed it in my hands before letting it fall to the floor. The hall monitor didn’t notice. Even if he did, I could care less about him at that moment. My heart was heavy with dread and I sighed loudly to contain my emotions. The locker unlocked with an unmistakable ‘tick’ and I shoved my books in, making sure I kept my head low in case any members of Rianna’s clique happened walk past.

It was becoming more and more of a challenge everyday since I entered Birchwood High three weeks ago. Mum had promised a better life here but things only steadfastly got worse. After the divorce, she doesn’t seem to mind so much about me anymore. Before this, she was always up my back about my weight issues and since dad divorced her, only to marry his secretary a month later, mum had literally been a walking zombie.

I guess she was shocked about the sudden turnover in her life but it has been more than three months now and nothing changed, besides the move. Mum had managed to gain the custody of me and my little brother, Tom. It wasn’t much of a custody battle anyway since Dad wanted a burden free life with his new prissy little wife.

I couldn’t understand why mum was still hanging onto her hopes that dad would realize his mistake one day. For Gods sake, the man had presented her with the divorce papers out of the blue during breakfast on a Sunday morning. Right in front of everyone!

Safe to say that my life was a literal mess. No one to talk to other than my fat old cat, Kid. The name might not suit him as he is hardly a kid anymore but it was the only name he would respond to. Mum was too busy downing alcohol down her throat to care with what I do with my life and I couldn’t see a change in the situation anytime in the near future. Friends. I can’t say that I don’t have any but none of them were ever close to me. If you were thinking about boyfriends, I have never ever kissed a guy much less have one. No one could ever look past my physical problems to really understand. No one.

I sighed in relief and dumped my bag beside my bed before flopping onto my bed. It creaked with every move I make and every creak never fails to remind me of my ever present problem. My weight.

Five foot six and 178 pounds.

Body Mass Index shows 28.7.

Overweight.

The memories of the endless name-calling, critics and torture came back to me, falling over me like a ton of bricks. I have been packing on the pounds since the death of Rover, my first dog that Dad got me for my 7th birthday at the age of 11. I decided that eating helped me get over the heartache of losing my precious dog. No one paid much attention to me until I hit 120 pounds when I was 12. The minor problem had evolved into a major problem by then. Mum would ban me from eating whatever unnecessary such as cookies and sweets. That never worked since I would always creep into the kitchen once everyone was asleep and steal some cookies and sometimes sweets to be kept for another day. Even the nutritionist and dieticians couldn’t help much. My craving for food was always stronger than my will. A large wall of strengthened cement built around my goal of losing weight.

Staring into the mirror on the dresser that mum insisted to buy for me last year, I brought my hand to my cheeks and pinched hard. A small lump of fat rested between my fingers. Then, I pressed my palms against my cheeks on either sides, only to see more fatty lumps and skin around it. I sucked in my cheeks, turning my head from side to side to get a better look at my face. I settle on the thought that if I were to lose all the weight, I wouldn’t look half bad at all. No more taunts and whispers behind my back. No more of Rianna and her snooty clique picking on me. Maybe mum would even snap out of her own little twisted world to notice. I could even finally land myself a boyfriend.

Tomorrow will be a whole new day.

No more fat, old Megan.

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