Rebel with a Cupcake

by Anna Mainwaring

  She turns to Humphrey Bogart. He’s quizzing the bad guy. Life looks more glamorous and less complicated in black and white. I wonder if Bogart would text back straight away or would he keep a girl waiting?

  “The whiskey helps,” she says.

  “You do know I’m too young to drink, and that you drink too much?” I say. My phone goes. Sounds fair. Wait … Did you hear that?

  “Pish, I was at parties every week when I was your age. Started going to protests then, too. Got a bit tipsy from time to time. It wasn’t the drink that was bad for me, it was the marriage.”

  What should I have heard? I know I should be giving Gran my full attention as she’s giving me all this insight into her life, but I’m currently squirming with joy.

  Her eyes go bright for a moment and I feel terrible for texting when I should be listening. “I don’t know what they mean by drinking too much. I’m an old lady with few pleasures. And two of them are in the room at the moment.” She strokes my hair again. That almost feels as good as seeing Matt’s name on my phone.

  “There’s so much I don’t know about your life, Gran,” I say.

  “You can’t even guess.” She smiles. “But I’ll tell you one secret if you like.”

  “Go on,” I say. She nods toward her bureau. “Third drawer down,” she says, holding out a small key with her ancient hands.

  I carefully take the key from her, unlock the drawer and pull it open. I take out an old photo, all curled and yellow round the edges. A cool-looking brunette with clever eyes smiles out from it. She’s wearing denim and her arm is around a younger version of Gran. This almost distracts me from my dead phone.

  “That’s the only person I ever really loved,” she says.

  “But …” I splutter. “But …”

  “Yes, I know she’s a woman. But that’s where my heart led me. For a time.”

  She smiles at my open mouth.

  “So, your silly old gran isn’t quite what you thought. You have no idea, really, my darling, about what my life’s been like. One day we need to have a proper talk. For now, pour me another drink and get yourself one while you’re at it.”

  My phone comes to life again and so do I. Did you hear that sound? That was my mankini ripping when I put it on.

  “Jesobel, are you ill? You’re suddenly gone all flushed. You’re not shocked, are you?” Gran peers at me with concern.

  “Not shocked, just surprised.” I think Gran would be shocked if I told her I was bright red due to the rather glorious mental image of Matt in hardly any clothes, so I keep that to myself and pour her another drink. My hand trembles as I pour. The thought of Matt in ripped, flimsy Lycra is making me tremble all over. Does he think like that when I text him?

  Despite all Gran’s wise words about relationships, one thought grabs hold of me.

  I wonder what sort of wedding dress would suit me?

  CHAPTER

  THIRTEEN

  Invisible Rule #13:

  Never tell the truth. I mean, really, don’t. No one ever really wants to hear it. Just tell yourself the truth.

  After a restless night where I kept waking up with all kinds of hot thoughts boiling round my brain, I try to think of something that will cool me down. School. Yup, that will do it. What’s my first lesson? PE. Yup, that will pretty much kill off any flirty thoughts that I might be having.

  And before I know it, there I am. Getting ready for Physical Education. You might think that as a larger person, I might hate PE, but I do like to confound and confuse if I can.

  See, normally PE can be fun. Stay with me. Cos it’s fun to see how serious some people can be about an activity that is essentially moving a ball around. Let’s think about that for a moment — sport is usually about moving a spherical object from one location to the next while making it as complicated as possible. This is true for football, rugby, netball, cricket and golf, to name but a few. It’s similar with track and field. How can we move from one place to the next as quickly as possible, often placing irrelevant obstacles in the way to make it harder? Some call this challenging yourself. I call it stupid.

  I find PE amusing for these reasons and because this is when all the various elements of the school come together in a context that involves direct rather than indirect competition. The sporty, the fashion conscious, the swots and the geeks — all present, and all worlds collide. Often literally.

  But currently, I’m not thinking about that. All I can think about are my texts. I’ve read through the exchange so many times I know it off by heart. If only there was an exam in memorizing messages from attractive guys.

  All of this means that I’m just sitting in my gray uniform thinking colorful thoughts when I should be getting changed. “Come on, Jess. Stop dawdling,” Hannah nags as she puts on her sports top over her school shirt. We all do this and then shuffle out of our uniforms without ever revealing bras or more than an inch or two of flesh. It strikes me as it never really has before that this is all very silly. I mean — look at them all! If the worst crime a girl can commit is to be fat, then I’m the only one who should be sent to jail. Why should anyone else hide away? Tara is tall and leggy like a model. Hannah is all curves and hair. Izzie has the most amazing ankles. You can’t diet and get ankles like that — you have to be born with them. The futility of the whole eating-less thing gets to me. Or maybe I’ve just not been eating and lack of breakfast is stopping me from thinking rationally?

  Lara — I think, but to be honest it could be any of them — takes issue with even my quick glance. “Jess, stop looking. Are you a pervert as well as a freak?”

  I have broken the first rule of the girls’ changing room, which is never look at each other’s bodies. Lara won’t shut up. “Tilly, she was looking at my boobs.”

  Okay, she’s not playing nice so I don’t see why I should.

  Deep breath, Jess, and attack. “I have no interest in your boobs. In fact, now you’ve mentioned them, I’m struggling to locate them. Do you in fact have any at all?” What makes the difference between my friends and Zara’s is that Hannah and Izzie just maintain a respectful silence rather than take part in a group attack.

  Lara’s face begins to crumple, but I’m tired of being made to feel less when I am more. So I find myself unbuttoning my shirt. “Now I may be fat. But these are boobs.” I jiggle the aforementioned body parts for full effect. I might be going too far but it’s strangely liberating. Lara is edging away. “Good idea, Lara. I mean, if I turn around too quickly with these girls, I could quite possibly knock you out. These are my boobs of mass destruction.” At this point, Lara just squeals and runs away.

  “Jess,” says Hannah with a tone of strained patience, “can you put your boobs away and behave like a normal person. What the hell is going on?” That is a very good question. In my defense, I do think lack of food is beginning to affect my judgment, so I do as I’m told and put on my sports kit. Mass destruction averted.

  “Come on, ladies, let’s get lively!” Our PE teacher bounces up and down like a hyperactive terrier. “Jess, at least I won’t have to send you to the Head today for uniform infringement.” She looks at my regulation PE skirt and laughs. I don’t crack a smile. Though part of my brain — the bit that’s still capable of thought — does process this. Two days ago, my short skirt = rebellion and chaos. Now my short skirt = uniform. Context is everything.

  While she witters on about rules and technique, I think about calories. I was going to have a run this morning but, what with the sleep deprivation, that went out the window. This is a good opportunity to burn some fat.

  And then we’re off. Thirty girls, some of whom really don’t like each other, are armed with lethal pieces of wood and let loose. There’s a TV series to be made here. Put us in more skimpy outfits and we’d be TV gold. Sporty Amy plays as if every kitten in the world will be impaled upon spikes unless she gives it her a
ll. But she’s not alone today. As I count up how many calories I could burn, I suddenly find myself running around like a crazy person, too. Because I am.

  Forty minutes later, I am feeling wobbly. My stomach hurts, my brain’s numb and my hands are shaking. This is only Day Two. How will I ever make the next three weeks and one day? I tell myself that these feelings are good. That it’s working. I am supposed to be hungry.

  “Are you okay?” Hannah says, as I prop myself up on the hockey stick.

  “Yes. Just might be going down with a bug,” I say. I’m getting bored of this same old lie.

  I don’t think that she quite believes me but she’s too good a friend to disagree. I stagger off the field and get changed.

  The rest of the day is a blur. Then form room at lunchtime. Normally, I would be tucking in to my home-prepared lunch. No mass-produced crap pretending to be healthy for me. Only now I’m not eating anything.

  Hannah looks closely at me. “Where’s your lunch?”

  I have put some thought into how to answer this question. I need to be vaguely plausible. “With all the stress this morning, I forgot. I’ll pick up something later.”

  Izzie looks so shocked that she stops reapplying her mascara for a second.

  I give her the stare. “I refuse to eat anything that this school makes. It’s a matter of principle. Anyway,” I say with a shrug, “I’m hardly going to waste away.”

  Then an animated expression takes hold of her. She stares at me. “You do look odd, you know. And you’ve not really been eating much. OMG. She’s doing some weird spell on you.”

  “What are you talking about?” I say.

  “Zara, of course. She hates you, we all know that. Maybe she’s hired someone to put a curse on you. I mean, you not eating is just not normal. You have to admit that.”

  I’m about to say, No, I am eating — just not very much, but then this would be admitting that I’m not eating. Me. Who has mocked every single girl in this school who has ever said this.

  I can explain this, or I can let Izzie continue with this madness that I am affected by an evil spirit. To be honest, it’s all a bit much.

  And that’s when I black out.

  What happens next? Well …

  I come around, they take me to the nurse, she asks me lots of questions, I tell lots of lies. Dad comes to pick me up. He looks worried, but not worried enough to stop winking at the nurse and signing an autograph for her. Turns out, she’s a fan of his best-known song.

  We go home. I don’t eat dinner.

  I go to bed but I can’t sleep cos I’m hungry, so I eat a small green salad and some fruit.

  I get up for school the next day. I don’t eat much.

  My head hurts, my stomach hurts, I feel like I want to die.

  Zara puts a copy of my apology letter on her Instagram feed. Matt likes it. My heart breaks a bit when he does that. Alex doesn’t and calls her out for being snide.

  The dress hangs in the corner of my room. It smiles at me. I don’t smile back. But I still don’t eat.

  Hannah takes down the clip. But not before the blogger behind Fat Girl with Attitude gets in touch. Yes, Imogen, my fave-ever blogger, wants to do an interview with me. I’ve got her personal email. She’s just a few taps of the keyboard away. But I don’t reply. Why? Well, the girl in the video clip is not me at the moment. Not sure when normal service will be resumed. It’s just three weeks now. I can do this.

  But can I?

  At school, I just go through the motions. Gossip wafts around me. Head down, I just take notes in class and try to make sure that I have everything I need to review.

  At lunch, I refuse to go to the dining hall. “I’ve got something yummy left over from last night,” I lie. “I’ll eat it in the form room.” I tell so many lies now. I’m exhausted just thinking about them.

  Izzie puts one hand on my left shoulder, Hannah puts another on my right. “Okay, this is crisis time. Form room, now!” And I’m marched back there to be joined by Sana, Suzie and Bex. Once there, Bex puts the chairs into a circle and I find myself sitting down facing a ring of friendly but concerned faces.

  “Circle time?” I ask. “Like when we were five?”

  Hannah snorts. “Shut it, Jess. Now, we, your friends, are worried about you.” I try to interrupt but she keeps on going. “Firstly, you do not appear to be eating. The Jess we know and love always says that eating is her biggest pleasure. Secondly, you blacked out in PE. Thirdly, a blogger who you admire wants to talk to you. But you won’t. As you will see, we have a range of opinions on what the matter is.”

  “You would make a good lawyer, you know,” I point out. She ignores me in a way that makes my point.

  “Izzie thinks that you have been cursed. Bex thinks that you are subject to alien influence. Suzie thinks that you are having a meltdown.” Hannah pauses for dramatic effect. “I, however, having reviewed all the evidence, have come to a different decision. I think that you, Jesobel Jones, are trying to lose weight for reasons unknown.”

  Busted.

  So much for all my lies.

  I feel tears pricking in my eyes. These are my friends who just want the best for me. And I’m lying to them because I feel stupid about what I’m doing. Generally, I’m the strong one, the one who goes her own way, the one who doesn’t care about what other people think. And yet here I am counting calories like the girls I’ve always laughed at. I’ve never felt so weak.

  “Of course not,” I start, but my voice betrays me and begins to wobble. “Maybe …” Now my voice disappears completely. I put my head in my hands and the tears really start now. God, what an idiot!

  But if I am an idiot, at least I’m not on my own. I feel but don’t see the hugs of Hannah and Izzie while Sana and Bex say soothing things. It takes a few minutes but slowly I begin to calm down until I can manage to speak. “Bex, alien influence? Really?”

  She looks ashamed. “It seemed more plausible than you just stopping eating for no reason.”

  Izzie says, “But are you sure that you’ve not been cursed? Have you experienced any strange phenomena when Mrs. Brown is near?”

  I look her in the eye. “I can promise you, hand on heart, that I’m not cursed.”

  She looks disappointed. “Shame, I have a really cool counter-curse that I was dying to use.”

  “Have you been binge-watching Buffy again?” I fire back. Now she’s the one who’s busted.

  “This is all well and fine,” Hannah says, “but it doesn’t clear up one thing. Why are you doing this?”

  I can’t answer. Whatever respect they’ve ever had for me will be gone.

  “I just …” My words run dry again.

  Somehow, Hannah knows. “Is it the party?”

  I nod.

  “Oh.”

  Bex looks at me with a slight squint. “You’re trying to lose weight for that Matt boy’s party?”

  I nod again. “I know. Pathetic.”

  Izzie says, “No, Jess, not pathetic. Just normal. That’s what lots of girls would do.”

  “But I don’t want to be normal,” I start to howl. “I want to be different.”

  Sana pats me on the knee. “And that’s why we like you. But it’s also very reassuring to know that even you have off days.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can be a bit intimidating sometimes, you know. Always waving cakes in people’s faces when they say that they’re watching what they eat.” It’s true. I do do that. Just think of those cupcakes a few days ago. “It’s nice to know that even you can feel insecure at times.”

  “All the time. I just try to fight it.”

  Izzie smiles her big daft smile. “You don’t need to fight all the time. It’s too exhausting. But there are other ways of fighting back. Just by sticking together. That’s what friends
do, right?”

  Now that’s the most magical thing that I think she’s ever said or done.

  CHAPTER

  FOURTEEN

  Observation #6:

  It gets tiring being judged all the time.

  I’m still thinking about that on the walk home. But at the moment, the walk seems beyond me. I have to walk about twenty minutes. Downhill. It’s not exactly like climbing Mount Everest or even rolling down Mount Everest, which I imagine is quite hard, what with all those rocky bits and the odd hungry yeti to deal with. But even walking down this hill seems like a marathon when you’re hungry. I’ve gone beyond actually feeling any hunger to just having a constant slight headache and a general sense of being Rather Unwell. I wonder if I lie down and roll, I could get home without any level of effort at all. Okay, it might look a bit crazy. I can imagine all Mum’s friends. “Is Jesobel all right? We’ve just seen her lying down in a road and rolling down a busy street. Thank goodness I’d just put down my almond decaf soy latte and was watching the road, or I’d have squashed her head like a watermelon.” Watermelon would be good — very refreshing and very low in calories. Is food all I think of? Er, yes, because I’m practically STARVING MYSELF.

  It is at this moment that I realize I am in a perilous situation. I am in desperate need of food and I am standing next to our nearest convenience store. It sells chocolate. It sells chips. It sells all manner of delicious, though processed, food that might give me enough energy to get home. Internal dilemma begins: Old Jess says, “You’ve eaten nothing all day. You fainted yesterday. This is not healthy.” New Jess whispers, “You’ll never look good on your wedding day to Matt unless you starve.”

  I don’t know what to do. I mean, I’m not really intending to get married until I’m in my twenties anyway, and that’s a very long time to go without eating. Maybe I’ll find one small snack with a teeny, tiny number of calories. There might be a miniscule pack of nuts, not salted, of course, because that would be too much like taste. Nuts are good for you, aren’t they? No one’s looking so …