Odd One Out
By: Trisha Ghosh
Tags: Bullying, Short Story, Fiction Writing, Body Image, Fiction

Trigger warning: Bullying/Food/Body image

Credits — Anemone123 on Pixabay.com

Tuesday afternoon. I was sitting at the table in the kitchen, cutting fresh scarlet strawberries, waiting for my daughter Madison to come back from school. The buttery sunlight poured in through the window, filling the kitchen with warmth. It would have been a lovely day for Madison at school, perfect for running on the playground with her little friends, playing tag and hide-and-seek. In my school days, I loved being outdoors with my friends too.

The bright, happy thoughts in my head suddenly faded away, replaced with a fog of greyish memories.

***

2003

The sky was very cloudy when I approached the school gates on Tuesday morning. My mom was out of town for a week, so I had to spend fifteen minutes walking all the way here instead of her dropping me in the car, as she usually does. I was early: it was only 7:30 am, and classes were starting at 8:00 am. Moments like these are when I wish I could turn back and just go home.

I walked up the front steps and inside the building, heading straight to my homeroom class; aside from a few other students’ bags kept on the desks, there seemed to be no one else. Days like these, even a thirty-minute wait before the first class was painful; I sat anxiously chewing out my nails, peeking now and then at the hallway to see which students were coming today, my stomach churning uncomfortably. When Sabrine finally entered, it was five minutes past eight, and the class was already abuzz with all the chatter between classmates, waiting for the teacher to arrive. I shifted to the left as she approached my desk, motioning for her to take the empty seat next to me. She passed by without even glancing at me, staring straight ahead.

The first class was biology, probably the least interesting of all my seven courses in the second semester of sophomore year. Sabrine was with me too; I eyed her cautiously as she went to sit amongst the cluster of people at the back of the class who were chattering excitedly: Tavia, Vivian, Delia and a few other girls. I watched as her demeanor completely changed as she began participating in their conversation, all cheery and lively.

She just would not look at me. As if I were invisible, insignificant; like air. How many times had it been already? It wasn’t normal of her to be acting like this.

When it was lunchtime, I caught sight of her sitting with the back-benchers at one table; noticing an empty chair, I made my way over nervously.

“Hi, can I sit with you guys?” I asked, forcing a smile as I did.

Sabrine’s dark eyes darted away from me to look elsewhere; I thought I saw her scowl when Vivian suddenly dumped her bag on the empty chair in front of me, her arm across it. Nobody answered. I saw Jonas roll his eyes.

“What?” snapped Tavia, making me jump. My mouth moved awkwardly for a few seconds before I mumbled, “Nothing,” and walked away.

The next few days at school were nothing different from what they had been ever since the start of the semester. Sabrine would not pay me any mind, and neither would anyone from her clique. They would avoid me in classes, in the hallways, at lunch and all around the school.

One rainy day in late October, I was making my way through the noisy cafeteria to one of the tables at the back. All the girls I used to hang out with were seated at a table right in the middle. As I passed them, trying not to catch their eye, I felt an outstretched leg come into contact with mine; the next moment, I had hit the floor, my salad spilt all over my white shirt. The peals of laughter ringing from the tables all around were too much to bear; my breath hitched in my throat as I felt tears blurring my vision.

The only thing that hurt more was Tavia’s very loud comment: “So honey, what’s your excuse for being so clumsy?” Of course, that resulted in more raucous laughter.

After dropping my wasted food in the bin, I rushed to the bathroom to clean myself up; upon entering, the stares and muffled giggles I earned from people painfully pinched my insides. Once alone, I burst into tears, suppressed hiccups escaping my lips in breathy groans.

From then on and throughout sophomore and junior years, each snarky comment and remark I heard would cut through me like a knife. In a matter of time, the people I used to call my friends were no longer by my side. When I passed them in the hallway, they’d either look away, give me overtly nasty looks or snicker and start whispering. At lunchtime, I couldn’t bear to be around them because the dreadful feeling in my gut told me they’d be talking about me if I were around. I often ended up eating on the steps by the football field all alone, or sometimes skipped lunch altogether.

Classes, on the other hand, were torturous because I could not avoid them here. I made sure to sit as far from them as possible, but the nagging fear inside would often make my head twist around to see if they were glancing my way, ears perking up to catch any hints of whispering. Slowly but surely, others avoided sitting with me in class or talking to me. In biology class, I was alone while everyone else had lab partners. I was all alone in the library too.

It soon came to a point where I could bear it no longer, and I found myself skipping lunch to avoid the dreaded hallways and spend the remainder of the time in the bathroom, crying my eyes out where no one could see me.

I don’t remember home being a safe haven either. As a business consultant, mum never had the time for me that I would have liked her to have: she was always travelling. There was no one I could speak, no shoulder to cry on. Walks to school became extremely agonizing. Deep knots of anxiety churning dread in my gut: the dread of having to face the same people, my eyes burning from crying each morning, was something I had gotten used to. Typically, I would’ve had Sabrine with me, but I had learnt long ago she wasn’t any real friend. She seemed pretty happy with her new, relatively popular group.

It was Vivian who started the trend of poking fun at my appearance: I was too pale, next week too short, another day too fat.

I once had a packet of frosted strawberry doughnuts with me at lunch, but before I could take one bite, her shrill voice cut through the bliss as she spoke: “You don’t really wanna eat that, do you?”

It turns out she was right. I didn’t.

Once they realized this incident made me self-conscious, they’d stare at me on purpose if they ever spotted me eating anything too sweet or too salty. I stopped eating any of the snacks I liked to eat. Only a week after this began, I often found myself eyeing my body up and down in the mirror, both in school and at home. Found myself clutching at my belly — at the few inches of fat around the edges. My eyes would always avert from my body in shame.

After some time, I started to skip school. Days off were a momentary relief, but every other day I dreaded the prospect of having to face them in the hallways. My grades began to drop, especially in algebra and biology class. School was no longer fun like it used to be: I withdrew from class activities, parties and important events like the annual art competition, even though I loved sketching in my notebook.

It continued for the rest of the two years, on and off, like bouts of pain older people get sometimes. Sometimes it would stop, but the moment things began to look a little bit better, something would happen — some remark, some deliberate snicker — that would make me retreat into my shell of self-loathing again.

By the time we had prom in our final days of high school, a couple of them -like Vivian - had already left school, so things seemed a bit better.

Sabrine was still there, though. I was brought back to our days of freshman year together, where we’d sit and laugh in the cafeteria over lunch, hang around in the library and help each other out with homework.

Looking back, she wasn’t the friend I had thought her to be: she had no problem joining the same clique that ganged up against me. On prom night, when we accidentally caught each other’s eye, I turned away swiftly. She didn’t say anything, nor did she frown or scowl.

It was like I hadn’t ever really known her.

***

Present

The loud footsteps on the porch made me jump as I was shaken out of my reminiscence. Madison came stomping in, her little face twisted into an infuriated glower. “Mely tripped me!” she wailed, tugging up her shorts to show a small purplish bruise on her thigh. I gazed at her angry little face for a moment, then sighed and put down the knife in my hand.

“Come here, we’ll wash it,” I said, getting up. “And let’s talk about why Mely did it. I have some things to tell you too.”