I'm a bit early, as usual, and I see the other early birds milling about, some gathered around their favorite hangout spots, talking and goofing around. I see mostly familiar faces and a few new ones, but I'm surprised to see how much people are staring at me. Mainly guys. Hot guys. The type of guys that would never look at me twice.
Is there something wrong with my outfit? I wonder, pausing to look down at my skirt. I'd chosen the outfit before I left home because, one, it was new, and two, I thought I looked good in it. Not too slutty, but not too chaste. It makes my legs look long by riding the line on SLHS's dress code on skirt length, and the flare makes my waist look smaller than it is. I also have on a white blouse with a few pearl highlights, but it's nothing to get excited about.
After a moment, I continue on. I can't find anything wrong with my outfit, and I have no idea why I’m all of a sudden getting so much heat, but I swear one guy's head almost turns like the exorcist to keep his eyes on me as I walk by. If he'd snapped around any harder, I think he would have broken his neck. Actually, I remember him, and I think the world might be a better place if he does break his neck.
I ignore him and continue on my way through campus. I've almost made it to the building that contains my locker when I cross by The Fountain, a beautiful construction made of marble with an exquisitely crafted owl at the top that is surrounded by two of the main academic buildings and the cafeteria, completing a quad. The Fountain is Silver Lake High's most popular hangout spot and a place I often like to avoid because of the annoyance factor. I don't know why I'd walked right into it, but I suppose I hadn't been looking.
Not surprisingly, a group of jocks are crowded around The Fountain, laughing and telling stupid jokes. They're practically a pack of wolves, and more than once, I've compared them to what Mr. Cashion showed us in tenth grade science when he'd pulled out National Geographic videos. I try to sneak past them with my head down, hoping no one will notice me. Fat chance. All they have the mental capacity to do is crack jokes and notice people.
“God damn, Whitney!” A popular athlete named Cory Dunham exclaims as I walk by. Cory is one of the more competent ballers on the school's football team and is also one of the biggest manwhores on the planet. If you have a pulse and a vagina, he would come sniffing around at some point, I'm sure. “What have you been eating? You got thick as hell!”
“Fuck yeah,” says Gabe Hackman, another douche jock who was just as much of a manwhore, biting his lip as if he's looking at a quarter pounder with cheese. “She's got an ass fatter than Kim Kardashian now. The good type, too.”
I blush furiously, not sure how to respond. In a way, I feel insulted to be compared to a Kardashian, and in another, I’m flattered. But I can't figure out the sudden interest in me. None of these guys ever noticed me before, outside of insulting my appearance, and now, they’re practically drooling over me? Something must be in the air.
Instead of engaging them, I continue on, ignoring their catcalls.
“Hey!” Cory yells, waving with his arms. “Get your sexy ass back here!”
Sexy ass? What is that guy smoking? I've never been accused of being sexy in my life. I'm the girl who disappears, remember, guys?
I make it inside the school building and find my way to the locker hallways when what they were saying about me registers, and realization washes over me in a wave of awesomeness. It's the weight. I'd often been told by guys and girls alike that I was too skinny, so over the summer, I'd been a little more liberal when it came to eating. It's not like I went all out, but I also let go of my stupid fear of anything with carbs in it. I think my absolute favorite discovery, though, was pasta. Mom could make some mean spaghetti, especially when she paired it with a tomato and Italian sausage sauce.
Who knew that stuffing my face with food would have resulted in my becoming more desirable?
Walking through the hallways, I receive more stares and guys ogling me, but I ignore them and make it to my locker. It's new and a bit unsettling to get this much attention, and I'm not sure if this is all just some sort of fluke.
I’m fumbling with my locker combination when I hear the sound of footsteps to my right, but I put my head down, hoping they'll not make another wisecrack. I've hit my limit this morning.
“Hey, Chica,” a familiar, cheery voice chirps instead, and my mood lifts immediately. “Long time no see.”
I look up into the smiling face of my childhood best friend, Danielle Vaughn, and crack a huge grin. She looks cute today with her two blonde side ponytails and red skirt topped by a white blouse. Her legs are long and sexy, and the red heels she’s wearing only further accent them. I’m happy to see her since I haven't seen her all summer due to her family vacation.
Before I can respond, her eyes widen, her mouth dropping open in surprised admiration. “Good God, did you inflate those things or something?” she demands, staring at my chest. “Stuffed your bra with golf balls?”
I glance down at my breasts and then let out a laugh. “No,” I say. "Besides, golf balls? I'd hoped for at least oranges."