The Golden Corset, page 5
Truthfully, I didn't deserve it. There were girls who were way more deserving, nice girls like Ashley, even girls like Tanaya. Tanaya was the first person to ever speak to me when I had been a new student from Wisconsin. She hadn't judged me based on my looks or cared that I had—well, still have—terrible social skills. She had introduced me to her two friends, Renna and Ellie. Goodness—if I weren't so emotionally exhausted right now, I would probably start crying, but no—I was pretty sure I used up all my tears when I first looked at my new, Barbie-like reflection earlier this morning.
"Wow, you two are already finished?" Mrs. Williams praised, coming up from behind me.
"Positively." Ralph beamed. "We make a great team together. Gwen was a big help. She really knows her stuff."
Was Ralph talking about me? I hadn't done anything but blink, and hardly that. Why had he said that? He could have easily thrown me under the bus and pointed, saying, She didn't do anything! She didn't even compliment me on my sciency awards. She should be expelled from this institution. She is nothing but a fake!
I gazed into Ralph's eyes, and he smiled back. Ew, why did he have to be semi-likable? Maybe because he was delusional and that's what I liked about him—we could relate. How unfortunate though—as intelligent as he was, even he wasn't immune to the homo sapien inclination to seek favor in that which was seemingly reproductively efficient.
Ugh, get off your soapbox, Sarah—you secretly love it.
Like a monarch butterfly who had just escaped its cocoon, I burst out the door of my chemistry class and fluttered freely to my next period. My head was now clear, and I didn't have a care in the world—until, all too quickly, it felt like I had been struck by lightning and found myself in my physical education class. PE.
Ugh, how I despised PE.
There weren't enough words in the English language to express the thoughts, the feelings, the dispassion I felt for PE. I couldn't even form a soliloquy because I already wanted to be done with it before I could conceptualize it. Honestly, most high schools didn't require PE for all four years, but our school did. Our school, apparently, was one of the 'lucky ones.'
"Okay, now let's all start making our way over to the track," Coach Kick called, blowing his whistle. "C'mon, c'mon." Grudgingly, I began to push my perfect legs forward, following behind Mr. Kick.
"Hey, you are related to Sarah Johnson?" Mr. Kick asked, looking back at me.
"Uh, yes," I said, blocking the sun's rays from my eyes. Did Mr. Kick really remember me? Did he remember the old Sarah Johnson?
"And you're new?"
"Yeah," I said. I also said so when you were calling attendance and asked the same question! I wanted to say this, but decided to keep my mouth shut and be a good, civil student.
"Why don't you walk beside me; there are some things about the class that you should know."
Really, like what? Class objective: must puke your guts out in order to get an 'A' on your mile time?
I approached his side and braced myself for a long, boring lecture.
"You know, there are some kids who really struggle in the class," Mr. Kick whispered, "but you look really fit, so you probably won't have any problems." Wow. Clearly, he was a jerk; way to stereotype. "If it's too much, you can take a break. You're new and all, so I'll cut you a little slack." Just then, Mr. Kick placed his arm around my shoulder and gave my shoulder a tight squeeze. Ew, you better get your arm off of me. When I had been Sarah Johnson, he had never once offered a friendly arm or even an inch of slack. Even when I had been crying, practically crawling on my hands and knees!
"I think I'll be fine," I said, throwing off his arm and walking back through the crowd of chattering students. I wanted to put as much distance between us as I could possibly get. The pervert was probably hitting on me. Ironically, the stereotyper was just like every other gym coach or PE teacher stereotype. Ugh, I could still feel the warmth where his arm had touched me. It's funny, at the beginning of this year I thought he was pretty good looking for a middle-aged guy, but now I just found him repulsive, sickening. Something even funnier was that, after just a few mere hours of being a gorgeous woman, my brain was already starting to change. I was gaining new perspective. Calming down.
Wow—this body is clearly fixing the chemicals in my brain.
Soon enough—too soon—we arrived at the track. The loop of hell, as I liked to call it. Like it had been yesterday, the sun was shining, and the blistering heat was . . . well . . . it was probably just making my natural tan more glowy, to be honest. Couldn't complain about that, I guess—but still, the sun was excruciatingly hot! My heart was literally jack-hammering against my chest! Somehow, this new body was also conditioned to fear the waiting sound of the whistle; my stomach was tightening and churning at the smell of the track. My legs wobbled as I watched Mr. Kick lifting his whistle.
"Three, two, one. Go."
The whistle sounded.
For a second, everything felt like slow motion, time and space stood still, the sound of people running and screaming was inaudible. Who had turned off the sound? Who turned off the sound?! My brain shrieked. Then came the pitter-pattering sound of feet; it was like the drumming sound of rain. Wait—I was running. I was moving, and I was moving fast, too! These long, perfect, sinuous legs were strong; they were good for running. They were shooting me forward. I was like a rocket—no, I was a flying swan, gliding through the heavens. Better yet, I was a sprinting nymph! Yes, that's what I was, and I was gallivanting through the forest with fairies fluttering, dancing all around me. Oh, stop tickling me fairies, I wanted to chuckle.
But seriously, this was amazing. This body was designed for fleeing—men, no doubt, and other predators. But the chemistry in this body was all right. Adrenaline was pulsing through me, ATP was flowing, my lungs were efficiently absorbing the oxygen. Okay, this wasn't fair—athletically-built girls did have an easier time running. Running had never been this enjoyable of an experience, and I was practically halfway around the track! Wait—there was a problem, though, or rather, two big problems. My new breasts were all over the place! They were jiggling around like two water balloons. The water was desperately trying to break free from its encasing.
Stay in there, girls!
Don't get me wrong—I'd had boobs before. They just hadn't been as perfect and perky and full and round and—oh, and I wasn't wearing a sports bra. I was still wearing my mom's regular bra—I'd had to borrow it because apparently, my old bras weren't big enough for my new breasts. This was a disaster! How do hot girls run with these punching balls? They were practically battering themselves, trying to rip off my chest! My hands flew to my breasts immediately, gripping them tight, locking them in place.
Oh great—guys were looking back at me now. They probably saw a hot and bothered blonde with her perfect, full C cups—D cups? Big B cups? I sure didn't know—boobs flouncing all over the place. And no, I'm not trying to be hot, boys, I wanted to say. This isn't a commercial with the jogger blonde bimbo running in slow motion.
Hey, don't call her a blonde bimbo! I scolded myself. I was the blonde bimbo now, and I wasn't trying to be sexy or seductive. These mammaries had an agenda of their own!
Oh wow—athletic girls didn't have an easier time running. The usual exhausted feeling was coming over me. I was almost all the way around the track now, and already I was starting to feel the constricting pain in my lungs, the burning in the legs, and yes, I could even feel spit forming in the back of my throat.
I guess supermodels aren't superheroes or unearthly creatures that are resistant to pain—running, in general, just really sucks!
"Way to go, Johnson." Mr. Kick smiled and winked as I passed by him. "You're leader of the girls' pack."
Wait, what? I looked behind myself. I was the fastest girl? I was the fastest girl! And now there were only four boys ahead of me. I could probably catch them if I pushed myself. Wow, this felt incredible—this feeling of accomplishment, this invincibility! I'll show those boys. But hold on—I was about to lap a large girl named Mackenzie, who was just walking. She wasn't even trying! How dare she? Here I was, burning my perfect little lungs, and she had the gall to just walk slowly and not even try! It wasn't fair!
Sarah, that used to be you, a voice inside of me whispered.
The voice was right. I hadn't always run the whole way. Mackenzie was probably taking a break. And even if she wasn't, who cares? PE sucks! I had always hated it, and now I was condemning a girl just like me.
My eyes switched back to Mr. Kick; he was holding out his stopwatch. I remembered that smug look on his face, that nasty wink as I passed. He probably thought he was right about the little assumption he'd made—that I shouldn't have any problems because I looked like I was in shape. Well, guess what, Mr. Kick? I am in perfect shape now, and I am still tired. And who says I have to prove myself to boys? Heck, I could probably outrun all these guys if I had a little more determination. But no, I didn't need to feed my ego by beating the boys. In fact, I would make a different statement, for the good of all women—and also because, let's be honest, I was sick of running.
I stopped. I held my head up high and started walking.
"Hey!" I said to Mackenzie, "Don't you hate running your guts out? I mean a little light jog, cool, but long-distance sprinting? Why do they try to pressure us to dry heave before lunch?"
Mackenzie shot me a perturbed glance. Great—she probably thought I was mocking her.
"Honestly, I despise this torture!" I threw up my hands. "Truly, you have the right idea. A comfortable stroll sounds healthier, and it gets the heart beating."
Mackenzie shrugged her shoulders and raised her eyebrows briefly. I realized that if the roles were reversed and someone who looked like Gwen were talking to me, the old Sarah, I would have hoped the girl would stop trying to play buddy-buddy and just give me some space.
C'mon Sarah, cut the I'm-so-noble-and-charitable farce.
I dropped my head into a shamed silence.
"Your hair is really pretty," Mackenzie commented.
I turned around. "Oh, thank you . . . that was really nice to say."
By the time I made my second loop, Mr. Kick called, "Johnson, what happened? You were doing so good."
"I'm still doing good," I beamed, "here with my new friend, Mackenzie. We are exhausted, and didn't you say you would cut me a little slack?" I'd meant the comment as a jab, but Mr. Kick just shook his head and smiled a bashful smile. Ew, it was like he thought we had a private inside joke. Note to self: next time, bring pepper spray to class.
5. TOO MANY EMOTIONS!
Thank the celestial bodies up above—it was lunchtime. I had just gotten out of my English class. English had always been my most beloved, favorite subject ever. In English class, I could express my most profound, most insightful thoughts, unrepressed and without condemnation. But today, English had been kind of uneventful.
Well, all right—it had been kind of cool. Of course, a few guys had gawked and stared, two girls had started complimenting me. They'd asked whether I'd ever considered modeling and said that I seemed to radiate with an inner light—apparently no one saw dim, cynical Sarah's inner light. Then, something pretty awesome happened. Harris Roads—a gorgeous boy—had sort of talked to me. He had an effortless, cool presence, with his fluffed black hair and his unique bad-boy/poet clothing style. My mom would probably assume that he did drugs or that he seemed standoffish, but I knew better—he was an artist. We had talked only briefly, but the moment had felt as warm as drinking hot chocolate.
Brent! My thoughts lurched. You never texted Brent back!
How was it conceivably possible that I had forgotten? I obsessed about every little thought! I always gave every little thought its own moment on stage to scream, and I always listened devotedly. Where was the text-Brent-back little thought? What if Brent hated me now?! What if he had decided he wasn't interested anymore because I hadn't replied!
Don't cry! I attempted to console myself. Don't cry! Don't shriek! Don't start knocking over people's food trays, flipping over tables, pushing chairs, and helplessly falling to the ground in sobs! How could I have forgotten? How had I gotten so distracted? Had I lost my most valuable possession? Had I lost my heart?
But Clyde.
Oh Clyde, how I yearned for him, too. Wait, where was I going to sit? I was in the cafeteria now. Should I find Brent and apologize profusely? No, I was too embarrassed. I had to hide. Should I find Clyde and beg him to love me? Or, should I sit with Ashley, my new bestie?
Calm down! You're acting like a madwoman. You're spiraling out of control, I thought rationally. Be like Gwen.
A smile spread across my face.
With the elegance of an ice skater, I glided deeper into the cafeteria. My platinum, flowy hair wafted behind me. I imagined I was skating to classical music: Mozart, Beethoven, Schubert. I was as graceful as a blossoming flower, spring was nigh and—but where was I going to sit?!
"Hey, girls," I said, with a nervous giggle. Ellie's mouth dropped at once, bewilderment transforming her features.
"Did you want to take our table?" Renna gulped, biting her lip and glancing nervously at Tanaya.
"No. I was just wondering if I could sit here."
Ellie looked horrified.
Renna looked back at Tanaya, and Tanaya awkwardly bobbed her head. "Yeah, you can sit with us."
"Of course you can!" Renna blurted more enthusiastically, unnecessarily pushing her tray and scooting her chair to make more space. Soon I practically had half of the table to myself.
"Um, excuse me, but why do you want to sit with us?" Ellie said tentatively.
"Because you look like nice girls?" I shrugged.
"You might want to sit at the more popular tables," Renna said hastily. "We aren't exactly . . . well, you know—"
"Is this a prank?" Ellie interjected with skeptical eyes.
"No, no, of course not," I said, waving my hands. "I'm Gwen, Sarah's cousin. She said you were nice and were kind of friends with her."
"She said that?" Ellie asked.
"She's sick?" Tanaya said.
"Yeah, but it's, um, temporary, I think."
"I didn't know Sarah had a cousin our age." Renna frowned.
Yeah, that's because you never ask me questions about myself!
"You are very, very pretty," Tanaya commented.
"Thank you," I smiled. I knew I had always liked Tanaya the most. "You're very pretty, too," I said matter-of-factly, then added, "You have pretty doe eyes and gorgeous, satiny, caramel skin."
Ellie and Renna's mouths dropped as they exchanged a look with each other.
"Oh," Tanaya said, looking shaken to the core. "Thank you." She smiled weakly. Tanaya then took a sip of her juice, and Ellie and Renna began to whisper to one another. I smiled, and Tanaya nervously shifted her eyes to Ellie and Renna. And, just like that, they were all ignoring me again. They continued chattering, more quietly than usual, but they were ignoring me! No more questions? No further explanation? Despite my quintessential beauty, they were no longer interested in me. They weren't like the other girls in class who wanted to get to know me. To them, I was practically invisible—invisible Sarah all over again. Where was the commanding power? Then it dawned on me: was my new beauty too intimidating? Or maybe my beauty didn't matter at all and they were still ignoring me because I was still the same shy, loser Sarah inside. Or perhaps the truth had been blaring in front of my face all along: these girls had always kept to themselves, and for years I had been the thorn in their sides trying to squeeze itself in.
Be one. Accepted.
The tears were about to come, but this time I didn't want to restrain them. Let them fall. Perhaps, once again, I would have to run out of this cafeteria and cry, just like old Sarah.
With glistening eyes, I stood at once, and immediately, they all looked up.
"Hey there, Gwen, right?"
Oh merciful heavens! Kind, gracious universe! Staring into my glistening eyes was my knight in shining armor, Brent. Brent—glorious, angelic Brent—was here to save me! I was liberated from the bonds that had shackled me to this unequal, unfair, knights of the not round but triangular table. Free I was, free from bondage!
"Is everything okay?" he said, looking down, studying my face.
"Yeah," I said, smiling brightly, my tears practically sucking themselves right back into my eyeballs. I gave him the most desirous smile I could muster, and his lips parted again. His eyes were wide.
"Would-would you like to sit with me?" His eyes searched mine, and I searched his. I imagined Renna, Tanaya, and Ellie were staring with gobsmacked faces, envious and overwhelmed with shock. But I didn't dare look into their eyes, didn't dare look back in fear that I would turn into a pillar of salt like Lot's wife of old. I didn't dare look back into their wicked world!
"Would you like to, uh—now?" Brent stumbled. Oh, I could kiss him; I wanted to kiss him right now. What a new desire, an action that I never even thought was fathomable!
"Sure." My pretty head nodded. My prince placed his warm, strong hand on the small of my back, and we sailed off across the seas, passing by islands of chattering classmates. The warmth of his hand stung through my shirt, sending electricity throughout my body, infecting every cell, making every organ in this body feel light. And then . . . dread punched me in the gut—robbing my happiness! The table we were about to sit at was Clyde's table, and there were only two seats open. One was next to Clyde.
"Ladies first," Brent motioned with a hand. No! This would mean I would have to sit next to Clyde. I would be sandwiched between Brent and Clyde; a delicious sandwich. My wholesome little heart couldn't take such fire! Should I sit in between both of them? I was pretty sure my body would combust into flames. Someone would have to grab a fire extinguisher and shoot out puffs of smoke, liquid carbon dioxide all over me.
