FALL 2005 SHORT FICTION CONTEST

THIRD PLACE WINNER

The Fat Girl

by Janet Gurtler

“Look out. Whale on the beach.”

“Have another cupcake, Chubb.”

Chantal can’t actually hear comments from the boys gathered at the water fountain. But she knows insults by heart. Most she calls herself every day of the week. 

Chantal's eyes lower. A sigh of relief escapes when no mocking shouts about the size of her butt follow her as she hurries her cumbersome body past the tardy boys. She refuses to wear jeans anymore, instead she opts for loose linen pants and super sized shirts, hoping baggy material will camouflage the gross silhouette of her body.

Clutching her schoolbooks, Chantal staggers to class. She wishes she moved gracefully, instead of like an elephant. Her breathing is heavy from the exertion of rushing to class.

She’s late. The door is shut. Class has begun.

Chantal reaches out and touches the doorknob. She can’t skip again, there’re too many unexplained absences from trying to avoid how different she is from the thin, pretty girls. The entire unruly tenth grade class glances up when she opens the door. Mr. Harrison is at the chalkboard, writing out an equation. He looks at her and pointedly glances at the clock on the wall. He shakes his head, but doesn’t bother saying anything and goes back to his work.

A few girls giggle as Chantal ambles to her seat at the back. She hears silent accusations in Mr. Harrison’s head, the words he’s not allowed to say out loud.

“Fat Girl. Sloppy child. Have some pride. Can’t even get to class on time. Stop eating so much. Aren’t you ashamed?”

She’s such a loser; he doesn’t bother to reprimand her. She places her book on her desk and lowers herself on the seat.

“She is such a freak,” whispers a girl to her friend.

The friend doesn’t answer, but Chantal feels their eyes on her. She senses disgust as they judge her body.

“Shut up,” Danielle says from a row over. “You don’t even know her.”

Chantal wants to look over and smile at Danielle, but she doesn’t. Danielle is stunning. Chantal is terrified of her.

Instead, Chantal’s eyes stay fixed on her desk. Brandon, the boy in front of her turns around. Her eyes dart up. He smiles. His eyes are light blue, like the sparkling stone of her Auntie’s ring. She doesn’t know the gem, but it’s beautiful. Chantal grimaces and looks away.

He’s one of the popular boys, so she knows he wants to torment her, tease her about her weight. His eyes remain on her, and unable to help herself, she glances up again. He places a folded up piece of paper on her desktop and then turns his back.

Startled, Chantal reaches across the desk. Her chubby fingers grab the square paper. She tucks it into the palm of her hand and squeezes tight, making a fist. She studies the back of Brandon’s head. It has to be mean. What if she cries? In public! Chantal gazes at his black curls, the way they touch his t-shirt. Even from the back he is handsome.

Her stomach grumbles. Chantal hopes he doesn’t hear. Hunger again. She’s always hungry, as if she’s a bottomless pit that can never be filled up. She dreams of pizza and doughnuts and Smarty Blizzards, and hates herself for dwelling on food.

Barely breathing, Chantal sits still for the entire class. When the bell finally rings to signal the end of the period, Chantal waits at her desk for everyone to clear out. Brandon stands, turns toward her. Chantal doesn’t blink, willing herself to keep her expression blank, preferring to let him think she’s read his insulting words, isn’t upset by them.

He looks disappointed, as if he’d hoped for a reaction. He shrugs, tilts his head a little, and walks out. The class cleared, Chantal dares to pry herself out of her desk.  

She unclenches her fist and glares at the crumpled white paper. She wants to throw it in the trash, but knows she’ll look at it in private. Her fingers tighten around it again.

“Everything okay, Chantal?” Mr. Harrison calls from the front of the class. He’s at his desk grading papers stacked in front of him. Concern wrinkles his oddly child-like features.

“Fine, Mr. Harrison.”

“You’re sure?” he asks. “Things are going okay? Tough to be the new kid sometimes?”

She shrugs.

“Tough to be the new kid when you look like me,” she wants to add, but she says nothing.

Mr. Harrison watches her, as if he will say more. Everyone wants to talk about it. She doesn’t.

She struggles to travel quickly, but it’s hard to move at all these days. She toils to escape the classroom into the hallway full of kids hurrying to lockers and class. She hopes no one looks at her, or acknowledges her existence.

It’s not too far of a stretch. People rush around her, not paying attention. She’s almost amused that her grossness makes her nearly invisible. Like she’s non-existent.

She wonders if she started to scream, if anyone would pay attention. She walks with sluggish mechanical steps towards the washroom, to read the note.

Her head hums. She takes another step. Dizziness makes her stop. Breathe in. Out. She tries to shake out the fuzziness. Finally she steps again, but it’s no use. The world spins out of control. She feels incredibly sleepy and then her eyes close. For a brief second, she imagines a sonic boom as she falls to the ground, but she can’t stop herself. Chantal passes out cold.

***

“Is she okay?” Brandon stops and bends down, touching the slick forehead of the girl crumpled on the floor.

Kids stop rushing to class to stare down at her.

“Is she dead?” a boy asks. His voice is hopeful.

A circle forms behind him.

“Someone call a teacher,” Brandon demands.

Her chest moves up and down. She’s still breathing. But it’s faint.

Kids natter in the background, coming up with theories.

“Maybe she’s pregnant,” says one girl.

“Probably,” snipes another.

“Drugs,” a boy guesses. “Look at her skin.”

Brandon glances at her hand. It’s clutched in a fist. He blushes, guessing what she’s holding. He wonders if he can pry it out of her hand.

“All right, kids, out of the way, this is not a show,” Mr. Harrison shouts, running towards them. “Git. All of you.”

He grabs the girl closest to him. “Danielle, go get the school nurse. The rest of you, get to class. Brandon. You stay, I’ll need your help.”

Grudgingly kids start moving along, glancing back at the girl passed out on the cold tile floor of the school hallway. When the bell rings, the hallway is empty.

Mr. Harrison glances at Brandon as he gently shakes Chantal’s shoulder, trying to revive her. “You know Chantal?” he asks.

“Not very well. She just moved here,” Brandon admits.

“Looks like she could use a friend.”

They both watch her eyes flutter open, rolling around in her head, before focusing. Her hand opens, the note rolls to the floor. Brandon bites his lip.

She tries to sit up, but Mr. Harrison presses her down.

“Stay put. A nurse is coming.”

Brandon slides over to the note and scoops it up in his palm.

Footsteps pound in the hall. He turns to see Danielle and the nurse rushing towards them. The nurse reaches them first and Mr. Harrison and Brandon move away from Chantal.

The nurse bends down and leans in close. She picks up Chantal’s wrist and holds it firmly, glancing at her watch while she squeezes.

“You on anything?”

Chantal manages to shake her head back and forth.

“Pregnant?”

Brandon sees a blush creep up her face.

The nurse glances up at Mr. Harrison and then Brandon as she stands. “What’s her name?

“Chantal,” Brandon answers.

“Chantal,” the nurse says in a firm, loud voice, “When’s the last time you ate anything?”

Chantal squeezes her eyes shut, as if she’s been asked a humiliating question.

“Chantal, did you eat breakfast?” Her voice is accusing.

A single tear squeezes out of Chantal’s eye, but she doesn’t answer the question or try to sit up.

The nurse shakes her head. “Crazy girls today.” She stands straighter. “I’m sure she hasn’t eaten in days. She can’t weigh 90 pounds. She’s probably dehydrated.“

She leans in and speaks to Mr. Harrison, but Brandon overhears. “Anorexia. She needs to see a doctor.”

Brandon inhales. He thought she was thin, shy, but he didn’t guess she was sick.

“You can go now,” Mr. Harrison says.

“Is she going to be okay?”

“I hope so.”

Brandon nods and turns to leave. He looks back. Ignoring the disapproving look of the nurse, he bends down and slides the note to Chantal’s fingers. She glances at him, surprised but her thin fingers clutch the note tightly.

He wonders if she’ll call. He hopes so. More now. But somehow he doubts it.