Cassandra
Have you ever been so publicly humiliated and embarrassed, that you wish you could crawl under your bed and hide?
Well, me too, but there's no way my fat ass would fit under the bed. Or, at least, that's what the entire student body likes to inform me. Let me catch you up on what I mean by going back six hours before I met a new revelation that changed my entire life.
Six hours earlier...
"Is that what you're wearing to school?" My older sister Tarra asks me as I step into the kitchen.
I look down at my outfit choice. My eyes take in my cream—colored, loose—fitting sweatshirt, baby blue sweatpants, and tennis shoes. To my dismay, this is about the only type of clothing that I have left that fits me. I slouch my shoulders and lower my head as I take a seat at the breakfast table, grabbing the box of frosted flakes and pouring them into my cereal bowl.
"Tarra, leave your sister alone and eat your damn food," my father scolds.
Tarra throws both of her hands up, her fresh new manicure on display. "Hey, I'm just trying to help," she defends herself to our father.
Tarra was always so protective of me. I swear if there was a fire, she would throw herself in front of me to protect me from the flames. So without a shadow of a doubt, she always meant well, even when her choice of words sounded harsh.
She sits next to me, bringing her hand to my shoulder. "All I'm saying, Cassandra, is that you may want to reconsider your outfit choices. Kids are punks and if you give them more and more fuel, they will take a match and light that fire just to watch you run or fall and pick on you."
I watch as her petite self grabs a banana from the fruit bowl in the middle of the table. Tarra just doesn't understand. She's never had a problem with being overweight since she has always been gorgeous and is a magnet to the guys in school.
Tarra is one of the most popular seniors in our entire school. She's 5'8'' and lean, with hazel eyes and the most perfect heart—shaped lips. The guys pretty much fall at her feet. As for me, not only am I the youngest but being a freshman has been a completely different experience.
If a boy were to fall at my feet, I'd probably miss it, due to my belly hiding the view of my feet. People either identify me as Tarra's little sister or they don't know who I am. I'm 5'2'' and I weigh two—hundred and fifty pounds. I got our mother's height and dark brown eyes, and dad's thin lips. The only physical trait Tarra and I have in common is our dark hair. Mine is more raven—colored while hers is a walnut brown. At least I can say that I have a slightly bigger bust and a butt, as where she's like a flat board.
A beautiful flat board though.
"I hear Crayvin likes baby blue," I say under my breath, gesturing to my choice of sweatpants.
Crayvin Smith.
What a perfect specimen he is. A Greek God.
I lift my spoon with milk and then watch as I slowly tip the spoon over, dropping the liquid back into the bowl and daydreaming about the angel himself. Crayvin is a senior and he's your typical star linebacker in football, with an outgoing personality that makes him loved by pretty much everyone. Every guy wants to be him and every girl, plus probably a few guys too, either to date him or bone him.
Standing at six feet, with ash brown hair and ocean—like blue eyes, girls have never been an issue for him. If only I could be one of those girls, but the guy doesn't even know I exist. I stood by him once in gym class, his tall perfectly sculpted body towered over me; even his cologne smelt perfect. But, like everyone else in school, they either identify me as Tarra's little sister or they don't know who I am.
"Ugh, I don't understand what you see in him. Crayvin's a tool," Tarra says with disgust laced in her voice and rolls her eyes.
My dad clears his throat, looking down, he checks the watch on his wrist that he has had for as long as I can remember. "It's seven forty—five. You girls should get to school before you're late," he advises us.
I nod my head, put my bowl in the sink, and then walk back over to my dad to kiss him on the cheek as he sits in his chair. "Goodbye, Daddy. Be safe today."
My dad smiles, knowing Tarra and I both worry about him daily just as he does us. We have always been his world and vice versa. When Mom passed, his hard exterior became even more hardened. He is a cop after all and was always so brave and strong.
"I always do. Love you girls." With a soft smile and expanding crow's feet, I get a glimpse of that flicker in his eyes that I look forward to seeing every morning. That flicker reveals the goodness and warmth in his heart. No matter how hard the shell may appear, he was always a softie on the inside for us.
Tarra finds a decent parking spot in front of the large, two—story university. Each morning I stand before this gray and blue building, take a deep breath, then walk up the concrete steps with my hand tightly gripped around the black handrail and my head hung. Each morning starts the same and each day I sigh with relief after I made it through. Little did I know that today would be the worst of all, changing the course of my high school career.
By the time Tarra and I get out of the car, the bell rings and I begin running up the concrete steps to retrieve my books from my locker before I'm late. I almost reach my locker when I trip over my own feet, landing belly down on the pavement. Echoes of laughter from nearby witnesses encircle me as I begin to stand up from my embarrassing fall.
Suddenly, I feel a hand grabbing at my arm, pulling me up from the ground. I look up to see who my rescuer is, and it's none other than Crayvin Smith himself.
