The Year of April

Chapter 4

I was staring, and I couldn't help it.

The eccentric drama teacher had donned an electric blue feather boa, and was currently waltzing her way to the front of the room. I gazed intently, mesmerized, as loose feathers seemed to float in the air around her. For some reason, the effect of her swaying hips on her vibrant maxi skirt reminded me of hula dancers on a tropical beach, and I suddenly felt oddly tired.

My head drooped and my eyelids lowered dangerously, only to have them snap open a moment later at the screech of chalk on a chalkboard.

"Detention," Ms. Rosenberg read aloud, underlining the word with a flourish. "I don't really care what you do, so long as you don't break anything."

Ah yes, detention. The drawback of chauffeuring my younger siblings to school was that one of them- generally Kylie- almost invariably made me late.

My eyes drifted to meet Tray's and he shook his head a little in disgust. Kylie had been exempted from detention as she had a junior varsity volleyball game. His eyes silently promised retribution; practice would be half over by the time we were released, and neither of our coaches would take kindly to that.

I opened a textbook and began idly thumbing through, willing the clock to move faster.

After several failed attempts to begin the review questions, I shut the book and left quietly to use the restroom.

The halls were still clustered with small groups conversing about the all-consuming problems of an Arizonan high schooler, even forty-three minutes after school had been let out. It was curious, really, the number of kids with nothing better to do than voluntarily hang around the place they claimed to loathe.

As I turned the knob to enter the women's room, an all-too familiar pair of hazel eyes pierced into my cornflower gray ones, and my throat suddenly tightened. I'd forgotten about the ones who hung around to escape their home lives.

"Excuse me," Jule murmured, her gaze shifting downward to study her shoes.

"Right, my bad" my words garbled together unintelligibly as I stepped backwards to allow her to pass.

She slipped past me gracefully, but with her head bowed, and took off as fast as was possible to still be considered polite.

I didn't blame her though. Stabs of self-hatred still burst through me every time I heard her name, even now, two years later. I felt as I always did after a brief run in with her: close to tears and sick to my stomach.

Stepping inside the room, I surveyed the mirrors briefly before making my way to the most sanitary of the four.

I splashed tepid water on my face and looked up, spooked, when I made eye contact with myself.

I was still the same old April, with boring coffee hair and the occasional blemish marring my ivory skin. My once-blue eyes had long since been stripped of all color and mirth, left with only the muted gray one doesn't bother to take note of.

And yet, something was different.

I had gained weight. I was sure of it. My collarbones seemed less prominent, and when I poked at one, I could feel a disgusting layer of cushion over it.

Fat.

I whirled around to inspect my fleshy ass, my worst problem area. I pinched at it hysterically and was rewarded with an inch of blubber.

Disgusting.

Worthless.

Cut it off. Cut it off!

I released my cellulite to cover my mouth with my hand, to smother the scream that I knew was coming. I had grown gluttonous with my diet, eating whenever I thought I was hungry!

Bile was rising in my throat and threatening to surface. I ran to a stall and crashed on my knees, vomiting my shame.

I was disgusted with myself and with my body. Other people were, too. I could see it in their eyes as they tried to subtly look me up and down, and heard it in their muted tones as they commented about my "unhealthy weight."

Tears were pricking at my eyes, but I refused to let them fall; I did not deserve the luxury of wallowing. It was my own damn fault.

I released the quivering, vomit-stenched breath that I had been holding, and wiped angrily at a wayward tear that had fallen in spite of myself. I vowed silently to do anything and everything to achieve physical perfection. For perhaps, it would perfect my broken mind as well.