Too Big to Fit

　　Sydney

　　Being Sydney Walker had never been easy.

　　Not when I was little. Not now, as you're reading this.

　　At first, I was just that antisocial, nerdy girl who never put up her hand in class even when she knew an answer, who never looked anyone in the eye in the hallway, the girl who ran home the second the last bell rang.

　　Basically, it was just me. No one ever knew I existed at all.

　　Well, maybe a few people did—when they needed me to switch seats in class, or when the principal needed my attention to "discuss" another late school fee payment.

　　I was invisible to the entire school.

　　But then I clocked fourteen, and puberty grabbed the steering wheel of my life.

　　It happened one random summer. I just woke up and suddenly I needed bigger clothes, bigger underwear, bigger everything.

　　At school, the walls became too small for me. Every cloth I wore felt like I was exposed—too tight, too transparent.

　　My skin felt heavier than it used to, like I was carrying something I hadn't signed up for. And I couldn't explain why my body had expanded so suddenly.

　　Everyone stared.

　　Boys stared in mockery, girls giggled and whispered in disgust.

　　And when Chase Monroe, my boyfriend—or so I thought—released pictures of me in a bikini, I prayed I'd wake up one day and find myself on another planet. Or even better, heaven.

　　But then tragedy struck one rainy evening when my dad was found dead on a far away street.

　　I had to move.

　　And for a second, I thought maybe that was my escape. Maybe moving in with my wealthy mother and my half-sister Brooklyn would finally give me a new start.

　　A new start away from my small town. Away from that trashy school where the kids drew my face on balloons and called me fatty.

　　But that hope died the moment I walked into Lakeview High with Brooklyn, and she excitedly pulled me to go meet her childhood friend on the basketball court.

　　"Hey, Tyler!" Brooklyn yelled in her cheerleader uniform.

　　One boy turned.

　　"This is Sydney, my sister."

　　My chest flipped.

　　'Beautiful' was the only thing my head could cook up as our eyes met. And for a reckless second, I imagined my fingers tangled in his jet black hair.

　　But that only lasted for a minute as he walked up to me, skillfully spinning a basketball on his finger. One lazy smirk sitting perfectly on his face.

　　"Sydney Walker, huh?" His eyes moved over me slowly. He snickered. "Wow. Genetics really are wild."

　　The guys around roared with laughter, like they'd been holding it in. Each one of their voices bouncing off the walls of the almost empty court.

　　My heart emptied out right there. And I just stood there in my green hoodie that suddenly felt too tight and exposed under Tyler's gaze.

　　I wanted to let go of Brooklyn's hand and vanish into thin air.

　　But Brooklyn stepped forward glaring at him. "Cut it out, Tyler. I told you to be nice to her!"

　　"Relax," Tyler said, still smiling. "I'm just appreciating the scenery."

　　But his "appreciation" had hit a nerve.

　　I didn't like Lakeview at all.

　　"Ignore him," Brooklyn would say every morning while trying to subtly push me into more "fitting" clothes, and I'd decline.

　　"You're beautiful. You look like Mom. Like me."

　　But Brooklyn looked nothing like me—save for her dark hair.

　　And everyone at school agreed with that.

　　I mean, Brooklyn didn't have stretch marks drawn straight across her thighs, she didn't have to hide behind hoodies and bury her head in books in class to ignore stares.

　　She didn't have to choose her words carefully, or she'd have to live with being mocked for the rest of the week.

　　In fact, she was the head cheerleader, someone every girl tried to compete with—wealthy mother, perfectly beautiful, and most of all, slim in the right places.

　　She was everything I wasn't.

　　And people at school reminded me of that.

　　Especially Tyler. Tyler Sinclair.

　　Somehow I'd be come the subject of every joke that spilled from his lips.

　　He always had something to say about the slightest things I did. And even worse, he was friends with Brooklyn, and that meant I got to see him almost everywhere.

　　And each time he told me, "You need to cut down on sugar" or, "People like you don't rush to class. People will think it's a stampede." I felt like screaming, pulling my hair out, and maybe performing surgery on myself so I could get out of this body.

　　"Why don't you say something?" Brooklyn casually suggested at the dining table one morning. "I mean, maybe he'd stop if you say something back."

　　Her words had stuck with me all day, and I thought about it. But what could I possibly say to the one guy who made girls at school swoon?

　　And more importantly, the boy whose mom practically controlled the school.

　　Well, do you want to know what stupid Sydney did?

　　I waited.

　　I waited for the perfect moment, and I finally got the chance one day during the last period before lunch.

　　And God, I wish I hadn't.

　　"Alright, class, who can help us solve this?" Mrs Holloway, the algebra teacher, asked.

　　The class fell silent.

　　"Anyone? No one?" The woman said again.

　　I stared at it for some seconds, then copied it into my notebook, trying different formulas to solve it.

　　But before I could look back up, a pencil shot into the air.

　　I turned.

　　Tyler. And he was staring straight at me with that smile that exposed only his bunny teeth.

　　"Alright, Mr Sinclair. Come help us out."

　　He peeled his eyes away from me and walked towards the board.

　　But I kept staring, watching the way his broad shoulders moved, the way his brows drew together, the confidence in his fingers, his hair—

　　"Done!"

　　I blinked, my eyes making their way to his final answer.

　　I frowned, looking down at my own answer.

　　They were different.

　　I looked carefully through my formula, then the steps and found nothing wrong.

　　Tyler was wrong.

　　'This is my chance,' I'd thought—if only I'd known it was a trap.

　　Before I could stop myself, something pushed my hand up.

　　The class turned. The room turned cold.

　　Even Mrs Holloway shifted on one foot and forced a a smile. "Yes, Miss Walker—our new student."

　　My heart slammed hard against my ribs, but some kind of audacity had climbed into my hoodie and settled in my full chest.

　　I could feel every pair of eyes on my skin, every breath. But Tyler's was the most intense.

　　He looked relaxed where he stood—too relaxed.

　　"The answer is wrong," I said, my voice thinner than I wanted. "It should be 342.25. Not 322.25."

　　Silence.

　　Everyone just stared.

　　Goosebumps crawled up my spine, but I kept my eyes on the board.

　　'I'm correct. I know I am.'

　　Then the bell rang. Chairs scraped, voices rose, and everyone made for the door.

　　"Alright, class. We'll discuss that in the next class." The teacher called, though no one was listening.

　　I stayed glued to my seat, my head unable to process what had just happened.

　　Normally, I'd be glad everyone had just ignored me instead of making a fool of me. But this time, it stung.

　　This was my revenge plan to pinch Tyler back, and…nothing happened!

　　I wanted to cry.

　　My eyes met Tyler's as he walked out of the class. He wasn't embarrassed, wasn't annoyed.

　　He was smiling.

　　And in those steel-blue eyes of his, I could tell it was just the beginning.