Twelve Nights

Chapter Eight: Manchester High School, Home of the Tigers

The rest of the day was hell. I couldn't concentrate in any one of my classes and my ninth period teacher decided that it was ok to hold me after class. I stayed in my seat while the rest of the class went to their lockers and got out of prison for the day. I played with my fingers and suddenly the floor became the most interesting thing in the world.

"You're not in trouble Olive, so don't stress." Mr. Harris sat in the desk to my right. "I, uh heard what Tammy said to you and I also saw you throw away your lunch."

"I wasn't hungry." I lied. I was actually starving. Part of the reason I couldn't concentrate was because my stomach rumbled every five seconds, only reminding me that I practically threw away my happiness and I'd have to wait until next Tuesday to get it back.

"You know my nephew actually has an eating disorder-"

"I don't have an eating disorder! I just lost my appetite because of what she said." He says I have an eating disorder over the fact I didn't eat a taco?

"I'm not saying you have one. Eating disorders start because of the way we see ourselves and society doesn't help at all by setting its own body standards. You're either too fat, too skinny, too fake, too prudish, too slutty, too short, or too tall. Society makes you think they need to have the biggest butts and chests, or the best abs, but in reality no one really needs to look like that. You should be happy with yourself. Every girl in this whole school looks exactly the same. I mean, even their eyebrows are the same shape. You're different Olive. Don't take this the wrong way, but you're smart, pretty, and individual. That will get you far in life."

"I appreciate this, but why exactly are you telling me this? Shouldn't you be telling your nephew?"

"My nephew is in The Thunder Bowl. He's this big shot athlete and works out three times a day and has about four hour practices." My eyes widened. Was he a quarterback? Have I met him before, or will I meet him?

"Victor Downey, my nephew, is the quarterback for Manchester High. He thankfully hasn't passed out yet, but he will." How can this guy say this stuff about his nephew?

"How could you say that? You don't know what will happen to him. You're not a fortune teller."

"I know because the same thing happened to me in high school and I never played football again." Mr. Harris glanced at his hand and traced a faint, white line that resembled a scar. "I collapsed in the middle of chemistry class and I landed on a glass beaker. Back then people didn't understand about mental disorders and I was told I could never play again. I've tried to get through to Victor, but he won't listen to me."

"How do you get them to eat?"

He glanced at me. "Who?"

"The people with an eating disorder? How do you get them to eat?"

"Well, I started out with liquid foods through a tube to gain back some weight and then once I got to a good weight, my doctor put me back on a regular diet."

"What happens if they were to collapse? What do you do?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions." Mr. Harris cracked his knuckles. "You have to keep them calm and make sure their head is ok. I hit my head and had a panic attack. I couldn't breath and it was pretty frightening. Just like if anyone collapses, you talk them through it. You make sure they don't pass out by having them follow your voice and you keep the head elevated."

"Do you give them food?"

"Personally, if I had a granola bar or a quick snack on me, I'd give them that. However, I'm no doctor so I honestly don't know. I'm telling you how my instincts would tell me to act."