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I’m not the best at math, but even I know that one out of two isn’t bad.
I hope you’ll keep using your voice to share your point of view. To show others what it’s like to walk in your shoes. And maybe they’ll feel empowered to stand up to their bullies.” Her words make me feel better. Today I faced my bullies. And maybe I can show other kids that it can be done.
But if Mom wants me to have it, she’ll find a way. I realize that today, with the articles she found about a twelve-year-old who had it, and—oh my gosh— even a five-year-old. And a two-year-old! Five years old. Two. Their bodies cut open and permanently, surgically altered. Just because they’re fat.
How could Mom risk putting me through all of that?
Sharks usually attack when a whale is alone or distressed.
I am a sea turtle on its back, trying to get out of the rubble, trying to get up, trying to will the earth to open up and swallow me whole. The sharks circle. Sink their teeth in. Take turns biting with laughter and words.
Metal and wood cut into and jab my stomach, sides, back, and legs. It hurts to breathe. “Help me. Somebody. Please.” They just keep laughing.
“And none of you were kind enough to help!”
What’s the probability of Marissa not being the one to tell Kortnee to do it?
My jaws clench so tight I think my teeth will crumble in my mouth like damp chalk.
Silence. Does that mean they agree or they’re afraid to defend me or they just don’t want more detention? I’ll never know. “I’m disappointed in all of you,” he says. “Even if you didn’t remove the chair bolts, you knew someone did, so you’re just as responsible for what happened. You should have spoken up. History books are full of horrible things happening because people sit back and do and say nothing. To you, what happened today’s okay because it wasn’t you being bullied. But one day, it could be. Remember that.”
Go home and have a good cry. When you come back on Monday, pretend like this never happened. Just ignore them.” “Mr. Harrington, you’re a math teacher. What’s the probability of that changing anything?” I start to walk away, but turn back. “And I hope you never tell your daughter to just have a good cry and ignore bullies. She deserves better.” “You’re right, Ellie,” Mr. Harrington calls out after me. “She does deserve better. And so do you. Maybe better advice might be to spend your energy focusing on what and who makes you happy, instead of focusing on the fools who don’t like you —for
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Me: Today can’t get any worse. Universe: Challenge accepted.
Like a passenger on a nose-diving plane, I brace for impact. But then I decide to speak up. I do know my worth. “It wasn’t like that, Liam, and you know it.”
“I’m sure you wish I’d never been born. Well, guess what? I wish that about you!”
Anaïs looks at me with sad puppy eyes. Pity. Perfect.
Just like a writer, I tell the story of what Marissa and Kortnee did —except I realize the story doesn’t have an end. Not yet.
“The school has got to put a stop to this bullying!
It’s like a tennis match when my parents lob words as they argue, except there’s no love.
“Oh no, Phillip! You ruined a plate!” Mom sounds more upset by the broken dish than by what’s happening to me.
“It’ll get worse if we make a big deal about it. If she lost weight, all of this would stop.” “You’re incredible, Miriam. You know that?” “And you’re ignoring the effect her weight has on everything.” “Miriam, someone hurt our child. Don’t you get that?” “What you don’t get, Phillip—” I’ve heard enough. I get up, and they don’t even notice when I leave.
“I don’t know what happened to you or why people are so mean, Ellie, but I do know whatever someone did is a reflection of them. Not you.”
We swim. We. You can pack a powerful punch in a two-letter word.
We’re mismatched in all kinds of ways, yet we found each other in the ocean of people on the planet and became friends.
“You never defend me when Mom or Liam insults me.” She hangs her head down. “I should.” The silence in the room’s heavy, like the air when one storm’s passed but another’s on the horizon. “I haven’t been the best sister,” Anaïs admits. “Or even a good one, for that matter.” I sit silently. Don’t disagree. “Okay, I suck as a sister,” she finally blurts out. “But I haven’t treated you as badly as Liam has.” “Oh, well then, that changes everything. I’ll go ahead and order your Sister of the Year Award. I’ll let you know when it arrives. Feel free to hold your breath until then.” I point to the
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I can’t help it. I want Anaïs to feel some of the hurt that I feel. So I let her have it.
“Don’t you dare cry, Anaïs! You don’t have a right to cry! You’re the reason everyone calls me Splash!”
Maybe it’s from watching Anaïs cry. Maybe it’s from just thinking about all the years of being called Splash. But a wave of sadness hits. I surrender to the sadness. It’s so heavy, dark, and cold, it takes my breath away. Anaïs leans in and whispers, “I do care. I want to be here for you.” I let her wrap her arms around me, draw me close, hold me tight, tighter, while today’s dammed tears break free and we both can’t stop sobbing.
An oyster can turn something irritating into a rare and beautiful pearl. People can do that, too. Anaïs and I end up talking for hours. It’s as if we’re making up for lost time. She says seeing my bruises after the prank with the chair woke her up. “I just kept thinking, ‘I can’t believe they hurt Ellie. I mean, they really hurt her.’ ” I don’t tell her the bruises hurt less than the words they’ve said, that there are wounds she can’t see. I don’t say anything because I can only focus on one thing. She called me Ellie.
At first I think being ignored is better than being humiliated. But then I wonder. Because when people look right through you, it’s like you don’t even matter. Like you don’t exist. And everyone is fine with that.
I learn big girls, even obese ones, were once seen as normal, preferred, beautiful. I can’t imagine a world so . . . safe. As I flip through the pages, I start thinking that if I’d lived back then, it could have been me in the pictures, as sculptures, as art. My body seen as pretty.
“Ideas of beauty change with time. Who knows what people will think years from now about what we consider beautiful today.” After she leaves, I think about this. It would be great if people realized that we’re all different, in all kinds of ways, and different is okay. But I bet there will always be some who don’t get it. What’s important is that I do.
I’m not a fan because costumes never fit. It’s truly a night of horror.”
“You should be angry from all the bullying, but I don’t see you expressing that emotion.
“Patience is a virtue, Doc, but impatience is a gift. And I’m gifted.”
“That’s a perfect example of what happens when you bottle up anger. Whenever you do release it, it’s going to make a huge mess.”
“If that cart were a book character, it’d be Cartniss Everdeen. Quiet and stealthy,” I say, coming alongside her.
‘I’m only different to the people who see with the wrong eyes’
‘Take out the garbage. Stop junking up your mind with stinky things bullies have said to you. Toss them into the trash, then pick up a good thought to replace it.’
“Bruises are purple. Anger is red. Sadness is blue.” “And the black?” He starts sketching again. “That’s how you feel inside when you’ve been bullied.” I don’t even think before I speak. “How would you know what it feels like to be bullied? You are a bully.” His face turns red, as if I’ve smacked him. “You’re not the only one who doesn’t fit in around here, Splash,” he mumbles as he starts drawing and cutting the construction paper. Then I get it. Enemy Number 3’s not just a bully. People bully him because he’s poor and wears raggedy clothes. But I just don’t understand how someone who’s
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While she’s gone, I quickly stuff all the trash in her backpack. I know she’ll understand why I did it.
When someone comes to your house, it’s easy to forget that what’s normal to you can seem so strange to others. Catalina looks around my room. “I just noticed something. There’s not a mirror anywhere.” “You wouldn’t understand.” “I’m willing to try.”
And it hit me. That’s how people see me, as bits and pieces of fat. Not as a person.
“Sometimes I wonder why I even try. I mean, I’m not even sure being fat really bothers me. How people treat me because I’m fat bothers me.” “And her diets don’t help?” “Sometimes. For a while. But not really. It’s like I’ve gotten trapped in this maddening cycle. You’re a little overweight as a kid. People hurt your feelings about it. You eat to bury the shame. People hurt you more. You eat more. Infinite loop.” “Have you gotten teased since you were little?” “The word is bullied. And yes. People never leave me alone. Not at school. Not anywhere. Not even at home. I doubt it will ever stop.”
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“Journaling showed me I bury my feelings, so it seemed fitting.”
“I included the hurtful stuff I say to me, too. Fat Girl Rule: You need to bully yourself as much as, if not more than, everyone else bullies you.”
I used to think if I could just follow the rules, then people would stop being mean to me. But, duh, that didn’t happen.”
My dad gives the world’s best hugs, holding me without smothering and filling me with warmth and love.
Our hugs are like trying to make puzzle pieces fit in the wrong places.
Catalina’s family showed me food can bring you together instead of tear you apart. And I’m thankful.
