like Russell and Greg.”
“Russell
isn’t
silly,” I protest.
“Greg is,” says Magda. “He might have learnt how to kiss but he’s still useless at conversation— whereas Ellis says the most
amazing
things.”
“I’ll bet!”
“No, lovely romantic things, Ellie. He really
communicates
with Nadine. His messages are just like poetry.”
“When I logged on this morning he said he’s actually writing a poem about me,” Nadine says proudly. “He’s calling it ‘My Xanadu Girl.’ ”
“What are you
playing
at, Nadine? He’ll be fantasizing that
you’re
wearing a black bikini and thigh-high boots, like some pervy creep.”
“Don’t you dare call him a pervy creep!” says Nadine, blushing. “And so what if he does? It’s just harmless fantasy.”
“I’d die if I thought some bloke was getting off on the thought of me like that,” I say.
“Yeah, well, it’s not very likely, is it, Ellie? I mean, you’re so fat you’d look plain ridiculous in a bikini and big boots,” says Nadine.
Magda gasps. There’s a little silence. I can’t believe she’s said it. OK, it’s
true
—but it’s so hateful of her. I feel the tears stinging my eyes. I stand up shakily.
“Oh, sit back down, Ellie, please,” says Magda. “Don’t go all huffy again.”
“You heard what she said!”
“Yeah, but she didn’t mean it.”
“She called Ellis a pervy creep!” says Nadine.
“She didn’t mean that, either!” says Magda.
Nadine and I look at each other. We
did
mean it. This isn’t just a silly squabble, over in five minutes. This is a serious argument. This is us almost breaking friends. In fact there’s no almost about it.
“Bye,” I say, marching off, holding my head high. So high that I trip going up the steps and give my shin a crack. It hurts a lot. Maybe that’s why the tears are pouring down my cheeks.
when they quarrel with their friends
I sniff fiercely, not wanting to wipe my eyes while Nadine and Magda can still see me.
Nadine and Magda. There’s no sound of footsteps behind me, no arm round my waist, no word in my ear. Magda’s chosen to stay with Nadine.
They’re
the best friends now. Yet Nadine’s always been my friend, back since we were in nursery school together. When we went to Anderson High School I was the one who made friends with Magda. Nadine didn’t like her much for ages. I always had to negotiate between them, piggy-in-the-middle.
Now I’m just Piggy.
Fat Piggy.
I can’t bear it. How can she be so mean? She
knows
how self-conscious I am about the way I look. She knows I was almost anorexic last term. Does she want me to regress right back and start dieting obsessively all over again?
I’m not going to let her get to me. I’m not going to take it to heart.
But as I sit stiffly by myself all afternoon at school I feel as if Nadine has written FAT in big block capitals all over my back. It hurts so. Literally. I have to keep rubbing it. And my stomach starts hurting too. It’s bigger than ever, a hateful huge watermelon stretching my skirt. I pummel it under my desk. The pain is getting worse. It’s grimly familiar now, that sick squeezing feeling. I’m starting my period.
I need to charge home the second the bell goes for the end of school. I hesitate just for a moment, wondering whether Nadine might look in my direction. She’s been studiedly ignoring me ever since lunch, even though we sit so near each other. But she’s calmly packing her bag, chatting to Magda. Magda glances round at me, looking anxious. She smiles at me—but she stays by Nadine’s side.
Well, I’m not going to hang around hoping they’ll make friends with me. I can’t, anyway. I need to get to the bathroom at home to sort myself out. I give the back of my skirt one quick check and rush off.
“Ellie? Wait!” Magda calls. And then she adds, “Don’t be so childish!”
How dare she! I’m not being childish in the slightest. I’m the one acting like a responsible
“Russell
isn’t
silly,” I protest.
“Greg is,” says Magda. “He might have learnt how to kiss but he’s still useless at conversation— whereas Ellis says the most
amazing
things.”
“I’ll bet!”
“No, lovely romantic things, Ellie. He really
communicates
with Nadine. His messages are just like poetry.”
“When I logged on this morning he said he’s actually writing a poem about me,” Nadine says proudly. “He’s calling it ‘My Xanadu Girl.’ ”
“What are you
playing
at, Nadine? He’ll be fantasizing that
you’re
wearing a black bikini and thigh-high boots, like some pervy creep.”
“Don’t you dare call him a pervy creep!” says Nadine, blushing. “And so what if he does? It’s just harmless fantasy.”
“I’d die if I thought some bloke was getting off on the thought of me like that,” I say.
“Yeah, well, it’s not very likely, is it, Ellie? I mean, you’re so fat you’d look plain ridiculous in a bikini and big boots,” says Nadine.
Magda gasps. There’s a little silence. I can’t believe she’s said it. OK, it’s
true
—but it’s so hateful of her. I feel the tears stinging my eyes. I stand up shakily.
“Oh, sit back down, Ellie, please,” says Magda. “Don’t go all huffy again.”
“You heard what she said!”
“Yeah, but she didn’t mean it.”
“She called Ellis a pervy creep!” says Nadine.
“She didn’t mean that, either!” says Magda.
Nadine and I look at each other. We
did
mean it. This isn’t just a silly squabble, over in five minutes. This is a serious argument. This is us almost breaking friends. In fact there’s no almost about it.
“Bye,” I say, marching off, holding my head high. So high that I trip going up the steps and give my shin a crack. It hurts a lot. Maybe that’s why the tears are pouring down my cheeks.
when they quarrel with their friends
I sniff fiercely, not wanting to wipe my eyes while Nadine and Magda can still see me.
Nadine and Magda. There’s no sound of footsteps behind me, no arm round my waist, no word in my ear. Magda’s chosen to stay with Nadine.
They’re
the best friends now. Yet Nadine’s always been my friend, back since we were in nursery school together. When we went to Anderson High School I was the one who made friends with Magda. Nadine didn’t like her much for ages. I always had to negotiate between them, piggy-in-the-middle.
Now I’m just Piggy.
Fat Piggy.
I can’t bear it. How can she be so mean? She
knows
how self-conscious I am about the way I look. She knows I was almost anorexic last term. Does she want me to regress right back and start dieting obsessively all over again?
I’m not going to let her get to me. I’m not going to take it to heart.
But as I sit stiffly by myself all afternoon at school I feel as if Nadine has written FAT in big block capitals all over my back. It hurts so. Literally. I have to keep rubbing it. And my stomach starts hurting too. It’s bigger than ever, a hateful huge watermelon stretching my skirt. I pummel it under my desk. The pain is getting worse. It’s grimly familiar now, that sick squeezing feeling. I’m starting my period.
I need to charge home the second the bell goes for the end of school. I hesitate just for a moment, wondering whether Nadine might look in my direction. She’s been studiedly ignoring me ever since lunch, even though we sit so near each other. But she’s calmly packing her bag, chatting to Magda. Magda glances round at me, looking anxious. She smiles at me—but she stays by Nadine’s side.
Well, I’m not going to hang around hoping they’ll make friends with me. I can’t, anyway. I need to get to the bathroom at home to sort myself out. I give the back of my skirt one quick check and rush off.
“Ellie? Wait!” Magda calls. And then she adds, “Don’t be so childish!”
How dare she! I’m not being childish in the slightest. I’m the one acting like a responsible
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