I watched a few more people arrive and suddenly it clicked in my head. I knew why Mrs Savage had sent me here. And it had nothing to do with the stupid Brainiacs test next week. It all made perfect sense. Why we’d been measured and weighed on Monday. And why everyone sitting in the sports hall was wearing a blazer about the same size as mine.
I felt stupid and sad and angry all at once. But I didn’t say anything. I sat there on the cold floor, probably feeling the same as everyone else who’d also figured it out. In total silence, with my fingers crossed, even though I didn’t believe in crossing my fingers. Wishing and wishing and wishing that I was wrong.
Mrs Savage kept a smile plastered on her face, but shifted around on her feet like she was uncomfortable. Maybe she felt bad about what she was going to say. Or she had bunions. “Thank you for coming, everyone. I’ve brought you here to tell you about a very special programme of lessons that you’ll be taking part in this academic year. Think of it as a special club—”
Suddenly, the doors at the back of the sports hall were flung open and a group of boys burst in. They stood staring at us for a moment, as their laughter echoed off the walls.
“Close those doors and get to your form classes!” Mrs Savage’s voice reverberated around the sports hall.
“We’ve got PE in here now, miss,” one of them replied.
Mrs Savage sighed and shook her head. “Not yet! The bell for lessons hasn’t even rung! I’m using the hall for this special club so please leave!”
There was more laughing as they stumbled out.
Then one of them shouted, “FAT CLUB!” just before the doors slammed shut.
Heidi whispered something to Harry. He nodded, then looked around. Mrs Savage caught my eye for a second, then cleared her throat and moved her mouth into a smile so wide it looked like a Snapchat filter.
The atmosphere felt dense. A bit like the atmosphere on Mars. But that’s ninety-five per cent carbon dioxide. This was one hundred per cent humiliation, and I could feel it tightening my chest. I knew for sure now why we’d been weighed. And what Mrs Savage meant by “special club”.
This mystery meeting was Clifton Academy’s brand-new Fat Club. And it did not feel very special to be a member.
I sat on the floor of the sports hall with my legs crossed and my skirt covering them all the way to my shoes. My arms were folded over my belly and tears were forming in the corners of my eyes. I looked down at the floor and tried to blink them away. If I measured how it felt inside my heart right then on the Richter scale, it would be a 9.0: severe destruction.
Mrs Savage picked up a stack of letters from the table behind her. “Now, as I was saying, you are going to be part of a very exciting ‘Healthy Lifestyle’ programme that will be starting next week right here at Clifton Academy. We’ve selected you because we believe you will benefit from it the most.” A few people shifted around awkwardly. “The classes will be held on Friday lunchtimes and they will be lots of fun. You’ll learn all about nutrition, exercise, and I believe you’ll even do some cookery!” She paused to smile at each one of us, like we’d won some kind of fat lottery. Except it felt like the opposite: as though every centimetre of my skin had been stamped with a gigantic FAIL. And I felt more self-conscious than ever.
Dear Mr Small, my letter said at the top. Underneath was a graph where the x and y axes represented height and weight. A black line showed the norm for my age and, above it, a red cross represented me. In bold letters it said: Jemima’s result is in the Very Overweight range.
There were two pages of writing after that, but I didn’t read them properly. Tears were stinging my eyes and I had to swallow loads of times to stop them accidentally spilling over on to my cheeks. It wasn’t like I didn’t already know where I’d be on a graph like that. I’d just assumed it didn’t matter to my school. But there it was. Printed on special Clifton Academy paper with the school motto and the oak tree logo at the top. And a giant red cross to show how wrong I was.
As soon as Mrs Savage had finished talking, I stuffed the letter into my blazer pocket and headed outside. I blinked, screwing my eyes shut as tight as I could. There was no way I was going to cry on the way to geography.
From behind me, Heidi called, “Jemima! Are you okay?”
I turned around and nodded. Harry was looking down at his phone. A few more people came through the doors, and a girl I didn’t recognize was crying, saying she was going to call her mum. Another girl said the same, and linked arms with her. Brandon stood next to them looking over at me. I turned and headed towards the humanities block. The empty space in my heart felt like it was expanding at the rate of the universe, and the letter in my pocket made me want to disappear into it. I felt so stupid for thinking Mrs Savage wanted me to go on Brainiacs! This letter proved that was the last thing she’d want.
I reached the double doors near the geography corridor just as a class was coming out.
“Walk quietly!” a teacher shouted, as a line of green blazers barged past me.
I held the door open and the teacher smiled at me with a perfectly symmetrical face. As the last few people went through the door, someone muttered, “Jemima Big.” I didn’t look back to see who it was. It didn’t matter. They were only saying the truth. I was too big. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror. Or caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. Or compared my body to someone else’s. I even had a letter in my pocket with a special graph proving it. It’s what scientists call indisputable evidence.
But right then, standing on the grey concrete, with the September sun behind me, trying my best to swallow my tears, all I really felt was small.
In geography, Miki asked what the meeting was about, but I didn’t say. It’s hard to tell even your best friend something like that. Especially when Lottie Freeman is sitting in the chair behind, prodding your shoulder with her pencil and asking the exact same question. I whispered to Miki that I’d tell him at break.
“Tell him what at break, Jemima?” Lottie said, poking her pencil into my back again.
“Nothing, Lottie.” I tried to sound casual, but there was a lump in my throat the size of Uluru.
Miki said, “It’s nothing to do with you, Lottie.”
“I can find out what it was about anyway,” she said.
I looked at her over my shoulder. She smirked at me then laughed. There was definitely something rodenty about her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started typing. I felt my heart beating faster. If Lottie found out what the meeting was about, my life would be over.
“Lottie!” Mr Kelly called from his desk. “You know the rules. No phones in lessons. Hand it to me, please.”
“Oh, but I was just using the calculator, sir.” Lottie put on an angelic voice. She always does it when she speaks to teachers. It’s about five notes higher than her normal voice, and five times more annoying.
“Lottie, you don’t need a calculator to draw river erosion.” Mr Kelly folded his arms over his yellow tank top. “On my desk, please.”
Lottie’s smile disappeared. “Sorry, sir,” she said, but didn’t move. “I meant I was checking the time.”
Mr Kelly glared at her. “Lottie, it’s confiscated. Get over it. Collect it from reception at the end of the day.”