Not Pretty Enough (13 page)

“Thank you for reminding me.”

“Come on, Chess. It’s quite
funny when you think about it.”

“No, it’s not, it’s—”

I’m interrupted by the sound of
the buzzer going off to indicate the end of breaktime and the beginning of
Welsh class. At least Lloyd is right at the other end of the room from me in
this class. Usually I wish he sat a bit closer, but today I’d be quite happy if
I never saw him again. He’s never going to like me now. He’s seen my wet,
bloody sanitary towel floating across the pool straight towards him. That kind
of thing squicks fifteen-year-old boys out. It was like a scene from
Jaws
.

Debs and I join the back of the
line outside Welsh as quietly as we can. I just want to not be noticed for the
next, I don’t know, seventy years.

But I’m not that lucky.

Ewan is right up the front and
he waves to us. Leigh, Lloyd and Darren are talking to him, and so immediately
turn to see who he is waving at.

Leigh gives me a disapproving
look and snorts. Lloyd doesn’t even acknowledge me as he continues his
conversation with Darren.

A few other kids in the line
turn and look, and I see a few of the boys grinning or outright giggling, and
most of the girls look at me with a sympathetic smile on their faces.

They understand, I think. They
know how uncomfortable it is to go through this every month. It’s not my fault
I fell in the pool.

It is damn embarrassing though.

And I look so bad in this shirt,
with my tight trousers and wet hair that is already starting to frizz out.

I just want this day to be over.

CHAPTER 22

November.

Leigh hit me with her bag as we were getting off the bus
this morning. Debs and I were just getting out of our seats when Leigh decided
to throw her bag onto her shoulder, and it hit me square in the stomach. She
said it was an accident. I don’t think it was an accident, I think she’d put
some bloody bricks in there just for the occasion.

Then she said it didn’t matter
because I had so much fat on me it was like a protective suit of armour.

That didn’t make me feel better.

The blow winded me a bit but I
didn’t realise how bad things were until lunchtime. I could feel that I was
bruised, and I could feel my stomach getting stiff after sitting for two
lessons this morning. It was only when I went to the bathroom at lunchtime and
pulled my shirt up in front of the mirror that I realised just how bruised I
am. I don’t think there’s any permanent damage, but it’s an ugly mass of blue
and purple bruising.

By the time last lesson comes, I
have to admit things are getting downright painful. Leigh gave me a hell of a whack
with that bag and the evidence is gradually spreading across my stomach. My
whole front feels bruised and fragile. The next lesson is PE and I don’t know
how I’m going to manage it. It has been painful enough to sit down so far
today. Doing anything strenuous is a no go.

I just hope we’ll have
cross-country running or something, where Debs and I can just lag behind and
walk at a leisurely pace, and only pretend to be running when a teacher comes
past.

“Basketball today, girls,” Miss
Raine announces when we get to the changing rooms.

Basketball? All that running and
jumping when it’s a struggle to walk? You have got to be kidding me.

Oh God. Basketball means mixed
teams. Lloyd Layton will be in that gym.

Then I do something I never do.
Well, almost never. I lie to a teacher.

“Miss Raine, I forgot my kit.”

I’m well aware that I will get a
lunchtime detention for this, a rule that was imposed after anyone who felt
lazy on any particular day decided to start ‘forgetting’ their kit. No kit
means instant detention the next day.

“Don’t worry about it, Chessie,”
Miss Raine says sweetly. “It’s okay.”

Wow, I think. It is? She must be
in a really good mood today.

“We have a spare one right
here,” she continues. “It was lost property, but nobody claimed it. We loan it
out whenever one of you girls forget your kit.”

Oh, bugger. Also, yuck. I hope
they wash it. If not, how many girls have been sweating in it before me? Ugh.

“But, Miss, I…” What? I can’t
exactly say that I actually have my own kit and I just lied about it to get out
of basketball, can I? “Nothing,” I finish lamely.

“That’s good, I’ll just get it
for you.”

She starts rooting around in the
supplies cupboard. “Oh dear.”

That can’t be good.

“What’s the matter?”

“I think it might be a little small
for you, Chessie.”

“How small?”

She holds it up.

Oh dear. It looks like it might
fit a five-year-old. A small one.

“Well, it’s too bad,” she says.
“You’ll have to wear it anyway. You’ll only be in the gym, it’s not like you’ll
go outside and get cold. Maybe it will encourage you to be a little less
forgetful next time.”

She can’t seriously expect me to
wear that. It’s ridiculous.

I go up and try to have a word
with her quietly, without the rest of the class listening in.

“With all due respect, Miss, I
can’t wear that,” I say politely. “Have you seen my boobs lately? They’ll never
fit in that shirt.”

Miss Raine turns around and
smiles at me with a very clear
you’re-trying-my-patience
look on her face. “Miss Clemenfield, I don’t know why you want to get out of
physical education today, but I’m guessing that it has something to do with not
wanting to break a nail. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t expect it from
you, Chessie. You’re a good student, but there are a few things you need to
learn. One of them is that when you’re going to tell people you’ve forgotten
your gym kit, you should make sure that it’s not sticking out of your bag.”

She points to the bench where
I’ve left my bag, and sure enough, my white polo shirt is poking right out the
top of it.

How could I not have noticed
that?

“So, now you’ve delayed the
inevitable, perhaps you could change quickly into the borrowed uniform and join
us in the gym when you’re ready. Everybody else is waiting to start.”

“But, Miss…” I call after her.

“I don’t want to hear it,
Chessie.”

Oh, crap. How could I have been
so stupid?

I change quickly. The skirt is a
wraparound thing so it fits, but the top is ridiculous. I squeeze into it, but
I fear that if I breathe too deeply it will split. The worst is yet to come. By
the time I’ve got my boobs battened down into it, it comes to just a little bit
lower than where my bra ends. My entire stomach is on display for the whole
class to see. Including Lloyd Layton.

Won’t he be impressed by the
dark blue and purple, yellow-edged bruising?

I wonder what will happen if I
just sit out here in the changing room and wait until the class is over or
until a teacher comes to get me. Surely no teacher would see this and still
make me play basketball. But in waiting for them, I’d get the whole class
detention. That’s what our teachers do here – one kid messes up, everybody
loses their breaktime.

I do the only thing I can do.

I walk into the gym.

When Miss Raine said everyone is
waiting to start, I didn’t assume that she meant they were all leaning against
the back wall, literally waiting for me. I push the gym doors open, and
immediately have thirty pairs of very unfriendly-looking eyes on me.

Leigh lets out a whoop and
covers it by pretending to cough.

“Finally, Miss Clemenfield has
decided to grace us with her… oh.” She catches sight of my stomach. “Care to
tell us what happened, Chessie?”

I shrug. Now I either stand here
and tell the entire class that I’m weak enough to let Leigh bully me, or I make
up some lie, probably get caught out, and look like a complete idiot either
way. I can’t tell anyone about Leigh. She’s never really been physical with me
before, and who knows, maybe the bag hit was an accident. Besides, even if I
stand here and tell the entire class how much of a bully that horrible little
cow is, what happens? A teacher pulls her aside and tells her not to do it
again, and she comes back tomorrow with an even bigger chip on her shoulder, an
even bigger hatred of me
and
a desire for
revenge.

“Any time this week, Chessie.”
Miss Raine is tapping her foot at me now.

“It’s nothing,” I say,
eventually.

“It doesn’t look like nothing.
Are you okay to play?”

“Not really.”

“You had better tell me what
happened then.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I swallow hard, feeling more and more stupid by the minute.

“In that case, you can play as
normal. I’m sorry, Chessie, but we don’t have time for nonsense, and you’ve
already wasted fifteen minutes of this lesson.”

“Why don’t you keep her behind
afterwards, Miss?” Leigh pipes up.

Bitch.

“Thank you, Leigh, but I think
we should get on with the lesson. Everybody line up. Captains, pick your
teams.”

I slink off to the side and try
to sink into the wall. Debs comes up and asks what happened. She knew what
happened on the bus this morning but didn’t actually see it. I didn’t tell her
anything about the damage. I mumble something vague to her, and Lloyd calls her
for his team before she has a chance to question me any further.

Surprise, surprise, no one wants
me on their team. Eventually I’m the last one left, and Miss Raine says, “Well,
go and join Cole’s team then.”

Cole lets out an audible groan,
and I’m pretty sure that Lloyd is breathing a sigh of relief that he didn’t get
stuck with me on his team. Did I mention that I suck at basketball at the best
of times?

I try to run over to the team,
but end up almost doubled over in pain. At least, I would be if I could double
over.

I just want this game, this
lesson to end. At least I can go and get straight on the bus afterwards and not
have to face anyone.

Stupid crop top of a t-shirt.

I suppose I should learn my
lesson that lying never gets you anywhere other than playing basketball in a
crop top on the team opposing your object of affection.

It’ll be a miracle if this shirt
doesn’t burst.

CHAPTER 23

It doesn’t. Obviously some force out there has decided that
I’ve had my share of embarrassment for today.

“Hey!” I hear someone yell at me
as I hurry out of the gym and towards the school buses. “Hey, Chessie, wait
up!”

I spin around only to see Lloyd
Layton himself sprinting across the playground to catch up with me. I don’t
believe it. I start looking around, as if there is going to be some other
Chessie nearby. I can’t believe that he would actually want to catch up with
me.

“Hey, you walk fast for someone
who could barely stand up in the gym.” He slows down and walks beside me.
“Besides, it’s usually you following me across the yard, not the other way
around.”

Oops. He’s not supposed to know
about that.

“What do you want?” I ask
huffily. I am aware that this is not the best way to speak to someone you like,
but I’m so embarrassed and shocked right now that I’m lucky that sentence
didn’t come out as a string of grunts.

He doesn’t seem to notice my
tone of voice. Maybe I should be glad that boys are so oblivious sometimes.

“I just wanted to see if you
were okay.” He smiles at me. “Your stomach looks really painful.”

“It is.”

“What happened?”

I can’t tell him about Leigh any
more than I can tell anyone else. He’ll laugh and walk away. Probably tell me
to grow some balls and stand up for myself.

“It’s nothing. It’ll heal in a
couple of days, I’m sure.”

“I just wanted to say that you
shouldn’t let them get away with it. You need to report it to a teacher now, before
it gets any worse.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your parents, right? They’re
beating you up, aren’t they? I can tell. You have all the signs, you know, the
being embarrassed and not wanting to talk about it in front of the whole class.
It’s all right there. But you should definitely tell a teacher before it gets
any worse. I’ll come with you, if you want.”

I’m just about to deny it, thank
him for his kindness and tell him he’s got the wrong end of the stick
completely, when I realise something. Lloyd Layton is talking to me because he
thinks my mother is beating me up. If I stand here and tell him that he’s
completely and utterly wrong, he will walk away from me right now, get in his
taxi, and we will be back to square one. This is my chance to show him that I’m
the girl he wants but just doesn’t know it yet. He just initiated a
conversation with me. An actual conversation. What harm can it do if I tell
this one teeny tiny little white lie? It’s not even lying, not really, it’s
just not setting him straight. He seems pretty convinced that I am a victim of
domestic violence, and I really wouldn’t want to make him feel bad about being
wrong, and you never know, maybe he likes the whole victim thing. Maybe he
wants to be all protective and rescue me from my evil parents. Maybe he needs
to feel important in a relationship.

The point is that what he
doesn’t know won’t hurt him, and will benefit me.

“Ewan said your real dad is
dead. Is it your stepfather who’s doing it?”

I nod. My imaginary stepfather
is beating me up.

Lloyd nods knowledgably. “It
usually is. I guess it’s a power trip. How long has it been going on?”

“Um… a while,” I lie, unsure of
what else to say. “What do you know about it anyway?” I’m suddenly curious. I
wonder if he’s a victim himself or something. Oh God, what if all this time
I’ve been envying him his big house and money and taxi rides to school when
actually he goes home and gets plates thrown at his head or something?

“Oh, I knew this kid in primary
school who was always coming in with bruises all over him and stuff, and he
would always say that he was just really clumsy but everyone knew it was his
parents. One day he didn’t come in, and the teacher said he was in hospital,
but he never came back after that. I’d love to know what happened to him.
Anyway, ever since then I’ve been campaigning for the NSPCC and trying to help
them raise money. Oh, do you have their number? Wait a sec.” He starts digging
around in his school bag, and eventually pulls out his wallet and produces a
green card from it. He hands it to me. “Here you go. It’s the number for the
NSPCC, they’re really good, and it’s completely confidential and it won’t show
up on your phone bill or anything.”

Wow. That is so nice. Lloyd
Layton just gave
me
something. Actually gave me
something. Okay, so it’s the phone number of a charity and not his own personal
home number, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

This is such a different side of
Lloyd. He’s a charity campaigner to stop child abuse. I knew there was more to
him than cars and football. I just knew he was deeper than that. I bet none of
his sports obsessed mates know he cares about kids being beaten up.

“Thanks,” I mumble. We’ve
reached the buses by now, and I know this conversation has to end soon, which
is probably a good thing because I have no idea what else to say to him.

“You’re welcome. You can always
come and talk to me, if you want. About anything, you know.”

If I
want
? Are you kidding me?

“And I mean what I said, if you
want me to come with you as a bit of moral support when you report it to a
teacher then I will.”

“Okay, thanks.” I swallow. I
can’t believe how nice he is, and I can’t believe how easy it was to get him to
talk to me. If I had known that, I’d have started bruising myself up years ago.

“Well, this is my bus,” I say,
standing next to the blue one that looks like it might fall apart at any
moment. “Thanks for your help.”

That sounded a bit stiff, didn’t
it? I say that to shop assistants.

“I mean, thank you for being so
nice. I thought people would just laugh at me.”

“You’re welcome, Chessie. Take
care of yourself, okay?”

“Thanks.” I smile. “You too.”

He waves as he walks away then I
turn around and walk straight into the open door of the bus. Ouch. At least I
don’t think he saw that.

“What was that all about?” Ewan
asks from the front seat.

“Nothing,” I say. “Nothing.”