Chapter 3- Thea

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Counting down the minutes until my ultimate demise is exhausting and quite frankly I'm ready for Devon to make his move.

It's after lunch and, surprisingly, I haven't heard so much as a peep out of him. I rip an optimistic page out of Lindsey's book and decide that I'm probably, maybe, hopefully in the clear while common sense warns me to watch my back and sleep with one eye open.

One thing for certain and two for sure, Devon can hold a grudge. I learned that the hard way Freshman year.

Fed up with him taunting me about my frizzy hair and baggy clothes, I shot back a few insults of my own effectively embarrassing him in front of his friends. As payback, he had one of the girls lure me to the utility room where I was locked inside until the janitor found me.The next day, he threatened to toss me into the deepest, darkest hole where my parents would never find me.

Stopping at my locker, I bend over to rummage through my bookbag just as I hear someone snickering behind me. I glance over spotting three poisonous serpents, aka, Sabrina Taylor, Tatum Marshall, and Harper Walmack.

The first snake has her phone out, the bejeweled case sparkling under the fluorescent light and pointing right at me.

I straighten with a sneer of annoyance. "What the hell is so funny?"

Sabrina flips her shiny, dark waves over her shoulder and steps closer. "You, of course."

Ah, yes, because as usual I'm nothing more than a court jester to entertain the masses.

What I wouldn't give to slam her head first into one of the lockers. Hearing her perfect little nose break would be music to my ears.

"Whatever." I sigh and continue with my task.

I've learned long ago to ignore them because if you feed into their bullshit it'll grow.

The trio are members of the Bitch Squad, a group of popular girls that strut down the halls with their nose in the air and scathing insults on the tips of their forked tongues. They're so sickly prim and perfect. If only their outside matched their true nature, I'd be looking at three hunched over trolls covered in boils.

And, the queen of the trolls would be Ashlee Swanson, Westlakes's head cheerleader and the second name on my Shit List.

"You know, I often wonder why your parents haven't shipped you off to one of those fatty detox centers out West." Tatum's irritating vocal fry sounds like nails dragging down a chalkboard. Someone really needs to karate chop her in the throat. "Maybe then you wouldn't be on the fast track for a heart attack by twenty-five."

The other two giggle like mindless twits and I stiffen as anger heats my blood.

I will not let them get to me, I will not let them get to me.

The chant doesn't really work but like always, I hide the hurt under a ragged patchwork of indifference.

"You're so mean, Tate. Haven't you noticed she's dropped a few pounds?" Harper chimes in and I'm not naive enough to mistake her input as a compliment.

Regardless, I tell myself that I have lost weight, going from a size 18 to 14. Still, double digits will never be acceptable to a bunch of harpies that considers a bowl of lettuce a full course meal.

"Yeah, but what's a few pounds to a hippo? She's still Thunder Thighs Thea." Sabrina spews and I bite the inside of my cheek tasting the metallic tang of blood.

My poor locker gets the brunt of my rage and the slamming of metal echoes throughout the hall. I sling my bookbag over my shoulder and storm off towards Fifth period while their grating laughter rings out behind me.

Last year, their words would have resulted in tears. After having a come-to-Jesus moment where I decided to stop feeling sorry for myself, I use their insults to harden the shell that protects my soft insides.

I'm also working on accepting myself for who I am and not who I wish I could be. No matter how strict my diet, I will always be a big girl. I'll never have a flat stomach and there isn't a prayer I can send up to Heaven that will make my ass cute and compact.

In the grand scheme of life, being on the plumper size of the spectrum isn't going to stop me from getting into college, accomplishing my goals, or living my best life. So, until I escape this cesspool of rotten brats, I'm going to hold my head up high while picturing all their heads on a stake.

After class, I make my way to Calculus located on the other side of the building. As soon as I turn the corner, I spot the one person that has the ability to turn me back into the awkward fat kid with braces.

Devon is posted at his locker surrounded by his friends. I discreetly give him a once over noting how his tall frame and broad shoulders fill out the gray long sleeve Henley and dark denim jeans. His hair, as black as his soul, used to sweep along his jawline in shaggy waves. Since joining the varsity football team, he keeps it cropped short showcasing his gunmetal gray eyes and a cut that slashes through his eyebrow.

By anyone's standards, Devon is considered hot in a bad boy, I'm-not-sure-if-he'll-kiss-me-breathless-or-stab-a-knife-through-my-heart, sort of way.

All that aside, I wish I could rip out his heart, bury him six feet under, and douse his grave with holy water.

My thoughts must be shouting through a bull horn because his head turns, instantly finding me among the moving bodies. His relaxed expression turns sour and I can see how much he hates me by the evil glint in his eyes.

Yeah, well, the feelings mutual.

"Thea,"

Long fingers wrap around my arm to pull me from the fray of bodies and our connection is sliced in half. I peer up at the tall, lanky boy with soft amber eyes. His lopsided smile is missing and worry has taken its place.

"What's wrong?"

Besides my dad, Victor is the best guy in my life and we've been friends since I kicked Brandon Nichols, a six year old terrorist, in the shins for pushing him off the monkey bars. He returned the favor by giving me half his PB&J sandwich when Brandon tossed my lunch in the trash.

From that moment on, we've been allies in the battle against playground bullies. There was also a third in our little trio but like all traitors in history, she gave us up for the winning team back in Eighth grade.

Dragging a hand through his freshly cut hair, he anxiously shifts his shoulders. "Have you seen it?"

"Seen what?"

Sighing, he takes out his cell from his back pocket, taps the screen and holds it up. I take in the picture confused at what I'm even looking at but as the image sinks in, I get a strong urge to chuck his phone against the wall.

He scrolls through the feed showing me more posts until it stops on a video. As it plays, a red haze blurs my vision and my thoughts turn murderous.

I'm going to kill 'em.

"Those fat shaming, thigh-gap having, size two wearing cheer bitches!"


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