Fat Girl, No Different

Prologue

"Is there actually a difference between you and a hippopotamus?"

          I shrugged my shoulders without bothing to look at whoever asked me that --- my usual response when someone throws an insult at me. I mean, I have to have a way to contain the tears in me from rising to the surface of my eyes, right? I've said this once, but one more time; I will not admit defeat. One more month until I can get the hell out of this hellhole and surround myself with several more matured people who will gather with me for study groups rather than scorning me, trying to taunt the fuck out of me. Geez, I wonder if they even get sick of this sometimes.

          Please don't tell me you'd expected me to burst into tears at their verbal attack toward me. Like, you know when they say certain words aimed at you hurt a hell lot more than getting punched, or slapped, or kicked, or stabbed? Well, yeah. That's pretty much true. Everyday I'm given the same words to degrade myself and I'm actually getting really sick of it. The only possible thing that gets me going on and coping with these assholes is the fact that I'll be free in one month. Just one.

          One month is equivalent to one hugeass project that will take up like, oh, I don't know, a little over half of a hundred percent in the freaking finals results. Gah! Noooo! I hate projects! The last time I did a project with the class' smartest kid, it resulted in the both of us having our asses glued onto the chairs because those assholes were teasing me. I mean, why drag someone innocent into something so ugly? I don't see how it's worth pulling innocence into corruption; whereas the innocent would be that poor fellow, and the corruption being the way they're bullying me.

          It's getting out of hand. If this becomes a habit, trust me. Before they even reach the age of thirty, they'd be asked to live in the mental hospital. Geez. However, I must get this clear though. Sure, I'm fat. But I'm not the fattest. I'd count myself a little over the average, weighing over the slightly overweight side where I would fit in perfectly. And no, I am not pretty, so that makes everything worse than it already is. However, again, I've never given any thoughts about being slim --- or slimming down so I was as slim (or skinny) like the models you see on the television.

          Puh-lease, no. I don't want to be, oh my goodness me, skinny until the point where my ribcage and my bones everywhere are visible. Oh, God. That's not what you would call perfect. Size twelve is perfect isn't it? I must be size thirteen. And those models on those runways? Yeah, size-freaking-I'm-gonna-die-in-bones-seven. GOD. It disgusts me so bad to know that they'd starve themselves and stir up health problems upon them just to stay as models to earn a huge good-for-nothing sum of money. And, let me ask you this simple question: Would you really rather wrap your arms around a stick or something with enough fats to grab on to? Hm?

          First of all, if you choose 'Wrapping your arms around a stick', then something's seriously wrong with you. You must have an unstable mentality. From what I know, most people would rather choose 'Wrapping your arms around something with enough fats to grab on to'. That just makes so much more sense. Ew, just imagine sleeping with stick-like figures anywhere...ohhh, sweet baby Jesus. But hey, I'm just trying to make a point here; not trying to change your perspective or something. Anyway, if you choose the second one, then I must congratulate you for having a healthy mind, so congratulations, buddy.

          "Aw, is somebody daydreaming about being skinny?"

          When there were snickers bouncing around the room, I couldn't help pulling a face before  snapping my head up and staring at the person with my eyebrows raised, "Did you seriously, seriously just say that? Really?"

          "What, can't accept the truth?" He shot me back with a smirk. My lips pulled into a smirk as well, and I smirk back at him. Two can play at this game, Cameron. Two can play at this game. Bastard. I'll show you who's boss.

          "Well, just so you know, no. I was not." I turned back and faced the front, my smirk slowly fading as the feeling of hiding in bed and pulling the covers over my head washed over like a wave in the sea. Sometimes I just want a break from all these. Putting on a façade seemed tougher than I'd thought.

          Before Cameron could think of a false-witty remark to retort, the teacher walked in on cue and motioned for the class to settle down. "Well, I will be here for a short five minutes before leaving for a workshop. And in that five minutes, I'm sure you all are aware of the fact that there will obviously be a big project that will be counted in your finals result, taking up a good fifty-five percent of it, so I am going to read out your project buddies."

          "Bryce and Jordeen," she looked down on her clipboard again, "Cindy and Zach," she looked up from her clipboard and darted her eyes from the pair of people to me, before flashing me a sympathetic smile. Wait, what? "Cameron and Kristin."

          "WHAT?" When I bolted up from the seat to exclaim, I was pretty damn sure I wasn't alone. Which, clearly was a fact because the whole class roared into laughs, finding this hysterical. Trust me, if this was funny, I'd be laughing my fat fucking ass off one minute ago, rolling on the floor, still laughing my cheeks off. This wasn't fair!

          "This means this," she sternly said, heaving her glasses up the tip of her nose, shifting her gaze from me to Cameron alternately, "sit back down and allow the class to listen to their buddies."

          "Ha, bro. You're in for some deep shit," Mitchell, who was sitting next to Cameron, sneered, sending a playful nudge on Cameron's arm, "you're stuck with her for the rest of the month until we graduate. Fat damn, much?"

          I grounded my teeth together and waited to hear him answer. But he didn't. For the next few minutes, I continued listening but then I still didn't hear a thing. So when I finally gave up on trying to hear, he decided to speak up loudly and clearly, probably just so I could hear. "I'm much rather die and descend to hell than being paired up with a dinosaur."

          I hated the teacher for leaving the class already. I hated the whole class for laughing at everything harmful he said to me. I hated this. I hated life. But, you know, shit goes on and so do life. Be careful of what you wish for, Cameron, because you never know that they just might come true.