Diana (Z.M.)

Chapter One: Fat

Chapter One

Diana's P.O.V. 2009

        The surrounding people thrust me into the metal lockers, sending a shot of searing pain through my side. Not noticing, they continue to surge forward, 'upstream' as I like to say. Sighing, I tuck a piece of my chestnut hair behind my ear and bow my head slightly to conceal my face from the onlookers. There is no need in being seen. I don't need the added attention.

        Attempting to weave through the mob, I duck around the tall, lanky bodies. I misstep, a big mistake. I fall, barreling into a large eighth grader, knocking both of us over. A dry squeal escapes my throat when I collide with the linoleum floor. My hands sting from the impact as I push myself up into a sitting position. The eighth grader, the one who looks like a basketball player with a square jaw and swooping brown hair, sends me a glare as he looks me up and down.

        "I'm sorry," I squeak, averting my eyes and picking myself up.

        The boy stands and readjusts his bag, scoffing. "Watch where you're going next time, fat ass." I can't say anything as he turns and returns to his laughing friends. They stalk off, no longer paying any attention to me. Biting my lip, I tremble with  painful emotions coursing through me. I am used to it. Rude comments like this one are spewed at me every day, now. However, each time gradually becomes more hurtful. It is all I hear anymore.

        I continue forward to my initial destination, the lunchroom. Sitting down, I pull my lunch box out of my back pack. Unwrapping my peanut butter sandwich, I eat silently and wait for someone to sit with me. After fifteen minutes of avoiding awkward looks, a girl sits down. She's tall for a sixth grader, probably around 5'3. She's extremely thin. I'm jealous of her long spindly legs and lack of a double chin. The girl sends me a shy smile as she takes a seat.

        "You looked a little lonely," she speaks, taking a bite of her pizza. She chews for a moment before taking a sip out of her chocolate milk carton.

        "I'm Renae, by the way. What's your name?" she questions looking sincerely interested. I try to keep from seeming surprised. She is the first person to do this all year and it is almost the end of the first semester. I am not used to this.

        "I'm Diana," I state with a slight stutter. She nods with a grin.

        "That's such a pretty name."

        I can't help but smile. I haven't been complemented in a long time. It's different and nice.

        "Thanks," I say, hiding my face in fear of looking like a moronic, smiling idiot.

        "No problem."

        Still grinning, I finish up my orange. As I chew, my eyes wander around the lunch room. Lake Stone Middle School is large; everything except the lunch room. It is cramped in here and every table overflows with chatting students: except mine. But that's okay, because this time I actually have someone sitting with me.

        A group of girls spot me from across the room and start pointing and laughing. Confused, I wipe my napkin against my face checking for any food residue. There is nothing there. Why are they laughing?

        "Why is she eating?" A dark headed girl laughs as she sets her tray down at a table across from me. "She is already fat enough," the girl finishes as the rest of the table erupts in heart shattering laughter.

        "Hey, Renae! Why don't you sit over here with us?" a red head questions. Renae agrees excitedly before sending me and apologetic look, and takes her lunch tray to their table. The girl who called me fat sends a smirk in my direction, flicking her beautiful hair over her shoulder. So much for making a new friend. I am alone, again.

        Stuffing my sandwich back into its packaging, I stand up and toss it in the trash can. I don't feel like eating, anymore.

                                                                                ***

        School passes by grudgingly after that. When the final bell rings I nearly jump out of my seat and bolt through the door. I just want to be home and away from all these eyes that constantly judge me.

        Now, I sit at the car ramp. School's been out for an hour and my mom still isn't here. She's always late. She says it's because Geico always works her overtime. Deep down I think it's because she forgets about me. I will never tell her this, though. Finally, I see her car pull into the parking lot and I rise, adjusting my shoulder bag. The tires grind against the pavement as she brakes the rusting truck.

        "There's my chunky monkey!" She greets me with a smile.

       I cringe, my stomach reminding me of the amount of food sitting in it. I wonder if she knows that I hate that name? She probably doesn't or else she wouldn't call me that on purpose. Ignoring it, I toss my bag into the back and climb into the front seat. Her short brown hair is up in a ponytail and she has on a pair of navy sweat pants. I wish I looked like her. She's slender and toned and absolutely beautiful. She's everything I'm not.

        "Hey baby, I got you a milkshake."

        She hands me a Styrofoam cup filled with a dark sludge. I'm not hungry, but I don't want to waste her money. I take it, sucking down the chocolate goodness.

        "Thanks, mama." I force out a thank you, not wanting to seem ungrateful.

        "Of course, so, how was my girl's day?" She asks poking the fat spilling over my pants. If I answer truthfully and tell her about that jerk guy and the group of girls she would only say that I am over exaggerating. That I am being so dramatic. She always does that when I try to tell her about something bad. That's why I stopped talking to her. It saves both of us a lot of hassle. So, I answer with a simple , "Good."

        She takes it and doesn't pry anymore. We continue the shaky ride in silence. Occasionally, she messes with my fatty stomach, poking and pinching at the excess that hangs over my jeans.

        "You're chub is so cute!" she gushes.

        Sighing, I lower myself into my seat, tugging my shirt down over the roll. I was wrong. Home is not a way to escape from judgement. I don't want to go home, anymore. Disappearing sounds a whole lot better.