Met Online

'Pling' Cassidy Mari Williams looked at her laptop that she had left opened on her desk. New Messages (1) was written across the screen, her hands started to shake as she clicked on the icon, while she debated wether or not she should close the browser window, while it loaded.

Hero56 is requesting your friendship - do you wish to accept or deny?

*****

She is shy and everything but popular.

He is the school jerk and nothing but popular.

They didn't know what they were looking for.

She didn't feel pretty at all.

He could have any girl he wanted.

They met online...

2381Likes
1956Comments
100945Views
AA

2. Chapter Two | Met Online

 

Chapter Two

Sometimes I wish I could disappear; vanish into nothing but dust and ashes or become an unnoticed fly on the wall. This is one of those times. But, like always, I’m as existing and noticeable as an elephant in a porcelain shop, and I hate it.

I’m counting down the seconds left of class, until the bell will dismiss us, and let us head back to the safe comfort of our regular clothes, when my teacher calls me to the front of the class to do handstands.

If there’s anything you should know about me, it is that I don’t like handstands and there are two reasons for it.

Firstly, there’s nothing right about human beings flopping upside down. If we were supposed to stand on our hands, God would have made us that way. But no, we’re walking on our feet because it’s the logic thing to do. Human beings aren’t made to be able to do handstands.

Secondly, there’s nothing more humiliating than trying and failing, over and over, to raise myself up on my hands and try to carry the full weight of my body on my arms, as all of my classmates wait for me to be done. But I don’t have the proper amount of strength in my arms to lift myself all the way up, without crashing to the floor and it reminds me of how fat and disgusting I am for not being able to do what everyone else can do.

I still haven’t been able to conduct the simple exercise properly, to much amusement for my classmates, by the time the bell finally rings, dismissing us from class, and saving me from any further embarrassment.

I’m the last one to leave the gym, and as I do I keep my eyes locked on the ground, for fear that anyone will catch sight of my embarrassment.

I’m lucky enough to have been assigned one of the old lockers, hidden away in the very back of the locker room. It makes it easier for me to hide from everyone when I’m changing and it takes off a bit of the pressure.

I turn my locker combination on the lock and dig out my sweatshirt, from where I’ve stashed it in the back. Exhausted and without hesitating I place my glasses on the lowest shelf in my locker, to protect them from any damage. I grab the hem of my gym shirt and yank it off my body in one movement, exposing my upper body, only covered slightly by an old sports bra, to the chilly air in the locker room. Half blind I fumble around the locker to find my sweatshirt. As I grace the material with my fingertips, it is snatched from underneath my hand.

“Look who we have here.”

If I squeeze my eyes together almost all the way I can make out the outline of a brunette leaning against the lockers next to mine. She’s wearing that same smirk that I’ve seen time after time, and although her outline is fuzzy, there’s no doubt in my mind: it’s Samantha.

I can feel her scrutinizing eyes on my body, scanning me from top to toe, and it makes me uncomfortable. I try to cover my upper body with my arms, to the best of my ability, but it’s impossible to cover all of my stomach and my sports bra at the same time.

“Nice underwear,” Samantha laughs and my confidence drops from zero to negative thirty in the blink of an eye. “I think you’re missing something,” she mocks me, gesturing towards something behind me.

Hannah, a skinny redhead with a pointy nose and a body to die for, is leaning against a locker behind me, holding my sweatshirt in her hands.

Reaching out for it in blinds, I try to grab it from her, but she’s too quick and before I have the chance to get ahold of it, she has dodged my hand and passed me.

Hannah takes a stand next to Samantha and I shrink to half my size in their presence. Even without proper sight the two girls still look like they have just stepped off of the cover of a magazine.

They exchange looks, some unspoken message hiding within it, before Hannah finally opens her mouth to speak: “If you want it, then come and get it,” she challenges me. Then she raises the hand that’s clutching my shirt as far up in the air as she can reach.

I can barely make out the fuzzy outline of the grey fabric and wanting nothing more than to retrieve it from them, I raise to the tip of my toes and stretch my arms as far as I can reach. I feel more exposed this way, but I find comfort in the fact that Samantha and Hannah are the only ones who gets to see me right now; although they are the worst people I could ever imagine seeing me like this.

It happens so fast that I barely have time to register it all in my head. The mechanical click of a camera fills the locker room. It’s followed by a victorious laughter and the sound of my sweatshirt falling to the ground.

“You know what they say,” Samantha smirks at me. “A picture lasts longer.” She tilts the screen so Hannah can see it, before she flashes it at me. There it is: the undeniable evidence of my flaws.

I don’t wait until they stop laughing or leave me alone; I don’t have time for it. Judging by the burning sensation in my eyes, I give it about five and a half seconds until I break down.

Without missing a beat, I reach for my glasses, replace them on the bridge of my nose, and drop to the floor to retrieve my sweatshirt. I could care less about them seeing me flustered and embarrassed, as long as I get out of here before the tears starts to roll. I won’t give them the satisfaction of witnessing me break down.

Without sparing them another glance I head for the door at the speed of lightening.

The hallways are surprisingly vacant, but I couldn’t care less at the moment. All I can think about is getting away as fast as I possible can, to whatever consequences it might have.

I don’t bother to sign out in the office before I barge out of the doors to the school, even though I know that it will only cause me more trouble than I’m already in.

I can feel the tears pressing at the back of my eyes, desperately seeking for some kind of release as I maneuver myself between the parked cars in the parking lot. To my own relief I manage to make it to my car before I finally allow myself to break down and let the tears fall. 

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...