Fat.

Chapter 11 - Kidding, Covering My Desperation, and Persuasions

A stupid week has passed. Every day for the last seven days I felt depressed.

I feel extremely stupid and extremely desperate. On Monday I texted James, and still got no reply. I'm in some chaotic state, torn between wondering if he either got my text and didn't bother to reply or thinking if he maybe lost his phone or he possibly died falling from a cliff.

I take a breath.

I'm over-thinking. "Stop it." I tell myself. I pause to think. Who am I kidding? "He probably just didn't reply because I'm fat.." And here it starts.

"I am not alone." That's what I keep telling myself anyway as I slam my locker door shut on a grey Monday morning.

I walk with my pencil case and books towards homeroom. As I turn around the corner, I see Mikey.

"Hello," He waves. "Bonjour, ça-va?" He rests his books against his chest. "Bien, merci." I respond tiredly.

The door of the classroom is closed. Students are huddled in clusters along the hallway waiting to get in.

"Listen," He calls me close. "Sally Witterson gave up her section for the St. Mary's Prophet for basketball and so I need a writer." He stops to look at me. "You're a writer." He stops again.

"Mikey," I begin. "You have it wrong. I am not cut out for the newspaper-" Mikey cuts me off. "Aimes. Listen. If anyone is cut out for the Prophet, it would be you." I roll my eyes in response. "Try it." He looks at me earnestly again.

I clutch my books tightly. I try to stay calm. "I can't Mikes. I have too many things going on." I say. He scowls. "Don't use that excuse. Aimes, you set a standard for the paper. You set a bar so high that I have't seen anyone ever even attempt to reach it."

I try to interrupt but it doesn't work. "Shh," he stops me.

"Anyway, since we were little kids I used to read what you wrote. You have a gift so innate, so natural that I would kill for it. You are the most honest and brash human being I know. Brutality is what the school needs. Not essays about pep-rallys, not basketball and student counsel meeting memos. Imagine what you could do." He stops. I look a him. "I don't know." I mutter.

He clutches his books to his chest. "Nonsense. You do know. Aimee, not once in my life have I seen you sugar-coat anything to anyone. You are real. Imagine what a piece would do." He finishes.

I let out a breath. "What would this masterful work I write be about, genius?" I ask bitterly.

Mikey smiles with an inferior air that says I've-already-got-all-this-figured-out. "Well..?" I ask, getting impatient. "Write about your weight."

My mouth is gaping. "What? How could -" Mikey stops me. "You know exactly what I mean. If you write something real Aimes, you'll give the paper something that's missing. You'll give the paper something that no number of advice-columns or book reviews could fill. You'd bring reality."

I look at him closely. His eyes are light green in the school's cheaply lighted hallway. "You are not setting me up for humiliation, are you?" I ask, testing him.

"No." He whispers softly. "Aimee, you need this."

The door opens and the students flood into the classroom. Everyone sits at their desks while a mousy, old teacher takes the roll. I take a seat beside Mikey.

When the teacher calls my name, I begin to feel eyes flitting towards me as I say "Present." The teacher gives me an odd look, probably because she is still in some awe regarding my extreme and recent weight gain.

We stand up to pledge our allegiance to America, then we sit down.

The teacher walks to the front of the room, near the chalk board. "Now," she announces. "In preparation of our new project on writing and nature, I would like you to brainstorm with a partner to find ideas for a short-story related to nature. I want a paragraph or two explaining your ideas. You can start now, keep the volume down a bit."

Immediately the class lives up. The room gets louder. Mikey looks at me. "We shall discuss ideas." He smiles placidly. I frown. "Mikey, I don't want to do this. I would be very uncomfortable sharing that kind of stuff." I face him with my chair towards his desk. Mikey plays with the spine of his notebook.

"We don't have to use your real name, Aimes. It would be like 'Ellis Bell' for Brönte or JK Rolling. You can explain all you want and nobody will know." Someone behind me sneezes. "But what about my story? There can't be that many fat kids in the school, can there? People will notice and find out." I say, staring at the white and black floor-tiles. Mikey stops to think. "Well, actually they won't. You don't have to explain everything clearly and the school has almost four-thousand pupils. You won't be alone. I can help you. I do write for the paper too. Maybe what I write isn't all that groundbreaking and stuff, but I do know what people like to read."

Mikey stares at me for a split-moment. "What?" I ask. He stops and looks at me again. "You seem kind of different today. You alright?" He asks. "Fine." I say back, wondering if he can tell.

"Now," Mikey says looking at his blank notebook. "Is it a deal?" He asks.

I shake my head. "No, sorry." I frown. "I wouldn't like people to read about it." I say honestly. "I wouldn't like you to read it either. Nobody else would get it." I play with my pencil.

I notice Mikey didn't reply. I look at him. "What?" I ask. He sighs. "Aimee. I think you forget things too easily. I think people will understand. In fact, would be great if insecure people could read an article about someone else with their shared imperfections. Their same flaws. Aimee, you're forgetting that I used to be fat too, and that other people in the school have the same problems as you do." He looks at me and leaves out a breath. "If you don't do this, I won't help you with your weight-loss plan."

I look at him. "What?" I ask. Mikey smirks. "You heard me." He then re-adjusts his glasses. My mouth is open. "Mikeeey," I groan. "You know this isn't fair." I rest my head on my hand, which is propped up on my elbow on my desk.

I try to play this out by not speaking for a few moments. The class is extremely noisy. Nobody is working at all and the teacher is sitting at her desk, engrossed in some erotic novel. I roll my eyes.

I think of this summer when I knew what I was doing by sbashing all that candy. How I was destroying myself. What if I had someone to stop me? If I had any inspiration or support in the beginning, maybe I wouldn't be as as sad as I am now. Maybe...?

"Mikey." I call, looking at him. The windows outside show a dark grey sky. The dimness of the room makes Mikey's eyes look dark. His hair looks brown. He looks at my hair before looking at me. "You'll do it?" He asks, his eyes earnest.

"No," I say. Mikey's posture depletes before I say, "No. Kidding. I'll do it."

-Note from Hula Hoop:

Hello. I don't want to get into the habit of extending my stories with authors notes, so I will try to keep it short. Yes, I am alive. I forgot my password, and remembered it again. I know. Sad, right?

Anyway, I will be updating every other day. I give you full permission to annoy me and pester me until I update again. I am horrible at keeping promises, but this story deserves my full and undivided attention. -Until next time...