Seven Days (4 page)

“I knocked but no one answered.” She is seriously fed up now, glaring at me. “But you were on Facebook earlier and you said nothing about calling it off. Then Hannah tells me you were at Marnie’s.”

How would Hannah know?

Marnie looks at me, obviously seeing my confused expression. “Her mum drinks at the pub. You know what my mum’s like for gossip.”

I feel so angry I want to scream, yet I can’t let myself because I’m getting death stares from Lois – who really is the last person I want to annoy.

“I’m sorry. It was a last-minute change of plan. I didn’t think.” I say.

Lois looks so sad. She shakes her head. “You should’ve just said. You could’ve come to mine. I’m on the next road, after all.”

I can’t answer that, because no answer would sound right. How can I tell her that I could never feel comfortable in her house? It’s difficult to explain why, because her family are so lovely, but I just struggle to relax. Her house mirrors mine in the inside; same layout, similar smells. In some respects her life even seems the same as mine, but it’s not. It never will be.

“It was my idea. I’m sorry, Lois, I should’ve included you,” says Marnie quickly. She raises an eyebrow at me, a kind of “what’s the big deal?” look.

Lois shrugs. “Well, it’s done now. I’m just kind of … I feel a bit, well…”

She seems to be struggling for the words but I know what she wants to say. Squeezed out. Unwanted. Left behind. None of these things are good. For a second, I squeeze my eyes shut to try and relieve the pressure that’s building. I hate seeing her upset. I hate myself for screwing things up, but I just couldn’t face going home. I didn’t want to be anywhere near there.

I open my mouth to say I’m sorry again, that I can make it up to her, but I’m stopped by Marnie jumping in front of me.

“Oh my God, get a look of that!”

I turn to see what she is pointing at and it takes a few moments for my mind to register the sight. Jess Pearson is running – if you could call it running – up the road towards us. She looks demented. Her arms are flapping around in the air, her thick legs seem to bending the wrong way – struggling under her weight – and her face is just a red, sweaty lump. Even her hair, which is usually scraped back, has forced its way out of its tight ponytail and is swinging round her face in wet, mousey strands. She looks hilarious.

We usually call her the stig, because in all honesty she is the most trampiest girl in school. If there was a competition for that category she would win first prize, no problem. Her clothes are old and ratty, her hair is greasy, it’s really that bad. But today she looks even more gross than usual, and that’s saying something. I really don’t know why some people are nice to her. She is beyond help.

She approaches us, panting, coughing and choking. I step back, actually worried that’s she’s going to gob on my shoe. Or worse.

“Nice look,” I say. I can’t help myself. I’d die if I looked like that.

She glares at us and then passes me quickly. I know she hates us, it’s written all over her face. But it doesn’t bother me; she should take better care of herself. Doesn’t she have mirrors in her house, or does she just not give a toss?

“Errgh, did the stig just touch you?” Marnie says in disgust.

I spin round quickly to face Jess. Did she just brush past me? Because if she did, that is rank – she is dripping with sweat and I don’t want it on me. I stare at this breathless lump of a person, who is too frightened even to answer Marnie back. It’s so pathetic. If she hates her so much, why doesn’t she say something back? I can feel the pressure building again, but this time it’s giving me a different kind of feeling. The burning, hot sensation in my head is now buzzing through the rest of my body.

So pathetic. How can you be so pathetic?

“Haven’t you got something to say to me?” I ask. The words come out calm, despite my thoughts. I want her to bite back at me. I want to see some fire in that floppy belly of hers.

But she just looks at me, her mouth hanging open slightly. So I continue, “You shoved past me. I think you should say something.” I’m pushing her. I know I’m pushing her. I can see the tears pooling in her eyes making them look even more glassy than ever.

She says that she didn’t touch me. She protests, weakly. She looks like she’s going to sob hysterically. I can feel the rage burning even more. Why can’t she stick up for herself? Why is she such a victim?

“On your knees and say it,” says Marnie.

For a split second I’m shocked. Surely that’s going too far. I see Lois’s face and I don’t think she’s impressed. She turns around and starts playing on her phone again. But I know Marnie expects me to support her. She is staring at me now, makes a slight nod in my direction; it’s my turn.

“Yeah, go on,” I say, sucking hard on my cigarette and hating the taste. “In the dirt where you belong.” But as I say it I’m thinking – nobody would do that, would they? No one would get on their knees? Not if you had any dignity anyway.

Which just proves that Jess Pearson has none, not one tiny bit, because she willingly gets down on the floor and begs for our forgiveness. She looks at the ground the entire time. It just proves to me she is a sad little freak.

So because of that we leave her where she belongs.

And I don’t feel guilty.

I don’t.

Kez Walker: Just got to keep smiling. Lots to look forward to ;o)

2 hours ago.

Marnie: Feelin better then?

Kez: Yeah. Guess so

Lyn: Ive ways of makin u smile…

Marnie: Lucky you

Kez: Things could be worse

Marnie: Yeah you could be Jessica Pearson!

Kez: OMG! Kill me now.

Marnie: I’m loading up the gun…

Kez: Plz do! I swear that would be the worst thing eva.

Marnie: I’d rather not.

Lyn: Nah … Jess is all right.

Marnie: Ah, give over Lyn she is rough.

Lyn: You girls are harsh.

Marnie: Trust me. We’re right.

Another day
…

I am thinking again about the messages I read last night. I can’t help it. I almost feel detached, not quite part of all of this. I don’t know, maybe I’m just becoming used to it. After all, people like me aren’t designed to be loved and respected by others. Do I blame Kez for not wanting to be me? No, not at all.

I
don’t want to be me.

I go into the bathroom to have a quick bath. I wish we had a shower, that way I wouldn’t have to look at my body so much. I run it so it’s only half full and pour in some of Hollie’s bubbles, as they’re great at hiding the flab. I pull off my nightshirt, still looking straight ahead – I try not to look down unless I have to. And then slowly, carefully, I ease myself into the warm water.

I really don’t know why I’m so fat. I don’t eat that much, I really don’t. Mum says it’s just because I eat the wrong things and maybe she’s right. I do try not to. I really do. But sometimes I wonder if it’s even worth debating; I’m obviously just weak, unable to resist the bite of chocolate or the temptation of crisps. If I was a stronger, better person I could say no. Mum buys treats for me and Hollie and then gets mad at me for eating them all. But I can’t help it. It makes me feel better.

If I was a better person I would be thinner. And then I would be popular.

The bubbles are floating about on the hill of my belly, sliding down the shiny slope. I arch up my back, exaggerating the size. It’s so large and white – I almost feel lost in it. Silvery marks, like tiny slug trails scar my hips. I run my fingernail across them, tracing the lines, the signs that my body is struggling. If I carry on eating, would these scars split open? Would my fat spill out like a slug’s innards?

I wonder if it’s actually possible to be trapped inside this flesh. Could delicate white bones be hiding under all this matter?

Help me! This blubber is keeping me prisoner. I’m trying to escape…

I pick up the pink razor that lies on the side of the bath. Carefully I skim it over the pale flesh of my belly. I’m sweaty and my head is pounding. I press harder and see a tiny bubble of red emerge under the blade.

I lift the razor, staring at it for a second. So sharp, so powerful. I can imagine drawing it across my skin, letting all the bad stuff out. Turning the water a deep, angry crimson.

I’m worthless. I deserve this…

I press it against myself again, holding my breath. Then I let go. The razor floats harmlessly among the bubbles, bouncing gently against my leg.

I can’t do this. I won’t hurt myself. I won’t…

The tears come before I can stop them. I cry silently, my hand pressed up hard against my mouth. I don’t want Hollie to hear me. I don’t want Mum to worry.

Mum is skinny. Hollie is skinny. I’m the odd one out. The spare part.

The mistake.

I’m not late today, which is good. I walk through the main entrance with no problems and have time to go the library before registration. It’s quiet there. I can chill out for a few minutes, read my book. Or some mornings I can meet up with Phillip.

Phillip is probably my best friend. I’m so glad he’s in a lot of my classes. Most people don’t get him; they avoid him or give him weird looks. The truth is even I wasn’t sure about him at first. Who would be? He dresses in a full blazer when no one else does, he wears the nerdiest glasses I’ve ever seen and he carries a bright orange rucksack.

Phillip seems to like being a bit different and I think that’s cool. I like the fact that his hair is neatly combed (and no one can touch it) and his uniform is perfect. I love it that he taught me how to play chess (even though I’m a hopeless). He’s so clever and is more interesting to talk to than most of the people in my year.

As I walk into the library, Phillip is sitting on the main table making a list. He looks up and then quickly away again. He rarely smiles.

“Hi, Jessica.”

I sit myself down next to him. “What’s that?”

“It’s my list of the all-time best Shakespeare quotes.” He pushes it towards me to show me. Some he has highlighted in yellow. “These are personal favourites.”

“Oh,” I nod, “looks great.”

Phillip goes a little red and shakes his head softly. “Well, it’s something to do.”

I can tell that he’s still deeply absorbed in the task, so I leave him to get on while I flick through my English book,
Wuthering Heights
. I’m still a little behind on it and am trying to catch up where I can.

Phillip looks up. “Not finished that yet, then?”

“No. I was hoping to, but Hollie hates me putting my lamp on at night and I don’t like reading in the living room.”

He looks at me blankly. Some things he will just never get, like the fact that I hate being on my own in the evening and will take myself off to bed as soon as Hollie does. That way I don’t feel half as lonely. Once Mum goes out, our flat turns into a wide expanding space full of strange sounds and looming shadows. I can’t help reminding myself that I’m only a brick width away from the outside.