I walk to my locker. Everybody who passes me gives me these uncomfortable stares. Just some friendly reminders to me that I look nothing like most of California’s population. When I open my locker, a piece of paper falls loose, but it wasn’t in there yesterday. It’s a liposuction advertisement. And in a familiar pink sharpie, there are words that hurt worse than any physical pain you could imagine. “I would look into it if I were you” I’m shot out of my haze by the bell. I walk into health and all eyes fix on me. “Late” Mr. Well says, dropping a handout onto my desk.  He looks me straight in the eye. “Now that everyone is here, we can begin” he says starting his lesson. We learn about healthy eating and weight management. I feel as if it’s all directed at me.  “Between the ages of 12-19, almost 46% of teenagers will develop an eating disorder.” He reads from our health text book. Nobody pays attention to him, assuming that they won’t be included in that 46%. Including me. I sit there counting down the clock. Finally the bell rings.

 “Hey chubs” Brittany says glaring at me then laughing with her friends. I say nothing. I just stare at the ground praying that they will go away. “Her cheeks are so fat she can’t even reply!” They snicker about me again, and then walk in front of me, leaving this tiny space left in the hallway for me to walk through. I turn an extreme shade of red, knowing I can’t fit through the tiny space.