Chapter 1

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.

I'm never washing this arm again. Or at least not till my next shower tonight; but I'll have no problem reliving the feeling that coursed through my body the second he touched me.

"Th...Thank you," I stutter. Great, the first time I actually speak to the guy that consumes my thoughts, I barely manage to get out a simple thank you.

"Sure, not a problem. Can I walk you to class? We have chemistry together, right?" I nod, not believing my ears. His beautifully soft, yet deep voice is harmonizing and for once it's directed at me. He's the teacher aide in my chemistry class, and I never knew he noticed I was in the same room.

I wipe off the debris from my pants and turn around to get my books out of my locker. My fingers fumble to get the combination right to open the locker. When I finally get it right, the door clicks open and I grab my book before I begin walking to chemistry; with Crayvin alongside me. As if my heart couldn't beat any faster, my breath falters as I feel his hand rest against my upper back. I pray he can't feel how outrageously crazy my heart is reacting to his contact. His warm touch is such a subtle gesture, but it's maddening and the effect it has on me is shocking.

For the rest of the class, I remain completely silent. Trying to listen to the teacher go on and on about whatever he was talking about has been extremely difficult. My thoughts have indefinitely left the room, having been consumed by my crush that has grown significantly by one little touch.

I look over my shoulder to glance at Crayvin and his ocean-like eyes are smiling at me. My heart flutters in my chest, and I pretend to rub my chin against my shoulder. My pencil falls from my hand while turning back around. Leaning down to retrieve it from the floor, my cheeks warm as I force myself not to look back again in case he was still looking my way.

Was he admiring me the way I did him?

By the time lunch came around, my stomach was growling. My appetite must have built up after fawning over Crayvin all morning. Since seniors and freshmen share the same lunch hour, I usually sat with my sister every day. I grab a tray, stand in line, and wait to be served the brown gooey stuff the cafeteria workers were claiming to be goulash.

Mystery meat is what they should call it.

I feel someone poke the back of my shoulder and I turn around to see two girls snickering behind me. "Is Miss Piggy your favorite ice cream flavor, or is that the nickname you prefer?" The skinny brunette remarks, laughing with her blonde friend.

"Uh, no. It's not my favorite," I answer shyly. Knowing what they are trying to do, I turn back around and refuse to let them provoke me.

I get picked on daily for being fat and I never fight back, it's just not worth the effort. Though, I use bullying as an excuse for my excessive appetite. I keep saying that I'm going to start working out with Tarra and lose weight to be happier with myself, but all motivation is lost on me when I constantly get put down.

What's the point if no one believes in me anyways?

"They should just call her Oompa Loompa. That fits her short, fat ass better," I hear one of them say. My fingers grip the tray harder at the edges as I slowly move up with the line, biting my lower lip to distract myself from crying.

"Fits? Doesn't look like anything fits her. Her everyday outfit has to consist of elastic bands," the other girl says before their high pitch laughter burns through my ears.

I pay for my lunch and stand momentarily, looking out for Tarra. I spot her sitting at our usual table, and begin to take a step forward when I hear another comment from behind me, "I think the nickname Crayvin picked is much better. Miss Piggy! She has like some creepy obsession over him. In fact, she'd probably eat our Crayvin. He's a stud muffin after all."

"Cray...vin," I mutter.

I lose all train of thought as I trip over something, someone's leg. I fall to the ground the second time today, only this time my face goes right into the middle of the brown gooey stuff on my tray. I peel my face from the tray and stand up, noticing that a circle of students has formed around me. The laughter rippled through my eardrums and made my heart plummet. Everyone is laughing, including Crayvin. He leans over his waist, holding his stomach, laughing hard and uncontrollably.

"Back off!" Tarra yells, breaking the tortuous treatment I'm receiving. She comes to my side and kicks the tray over to where some of the group is standing.

"Are you okay?" She whispers and the room falls silent. I can't move, instead, I stand frozen with my head down. Tarra goes to rub my back and a rustling noise emits from the back of my sweatshirt. I feel her peel something off of my back, and to my horror, she shows me a piece of paper that has been taped to my back that says 'Miss Piggy.'

"Who did this?" Tarra yells out.

No one answers, but all eyes focus on Crayvin.

I feel my pulse stop and a sensation of the blood draining from my face, causing me to go pale. Sharp, stabbing pains radiate through my body, as if I got stuck in a barbed-wire fence, the wires cutting through me and strangling my neck. The most sobering reaction is how much I welcome the burning as if I have done something to deserve this.

Crayvin's blue eyes glimmer mischievously as he stands straight up, folding his toned arms over his broad chest.

"Crayvin, why would you do this to my sister? What has she ever done to you?" Tarra begins to question him. I look up at him, wondering the same thing, and I wish I hadn't. There is absolutely zero remorse upon his facial features as he answers.

"Why? Because I see how your sister stares at me every day. She looks at me like I'm another one of those dishes she probably devours. Almost like she wants to eat me. It's creepy," he scoffs. As I try to drain out the noise coming from around me, the quiet taunting of my peers, his words cut through me like a knife.

Crayvin shrugs his shoulders, opens his mouth again, and mocks me with, "Besides, Miss Piggy is a cute nickname. It's better than Oompa Loompa or chubby bunny." The entire circle of students begins laughing again, including Crayvin. Their laughter roars through the cafeteria while tears burn my face.

Just as I always have, I stay silent but swear that my insides feel like they want to fall out of me. My sister was right; Crayvin is a tool. My eyes lift back to him and watch as he continues to laugh.

He just needs a pitchfork and horns to match his red shirt; the bloody devil.

"I told you he was an ass," Tarra says. "Let's get out of here, I'll take you home," she adds quietly, and I nod in response.

My words are frozen as I turn to start walking away, leaving my dignity and crumbled heart on the ground before Crayvin. Some students move, allowing me to exit the vicious circle when I hear Crayvin's voice.

"What the fuck, Tarra?"

I turn around and see his hair covered in chocolate milk, the brown liquid dripping over his face. Usually, this would have been a fantasy. To see the guy I liked covered in chocolate, but now it brings some satisfaction I never knew I needed until this very moment.

My crush on Crayvin Smith blinded me from seeing who he truly was. Though, I think a part of me, buried deep down inside, always knew how he was. He's a player, he has probably slept with half of the girls in that circle. He's self-absorbed, insensitive, and after today, evil. This entire time I was so captivated by those eyes and that perfect smile, that I didn't see the horns and the cruel, ugly soul inside.

I guess our hearts just need more time to accept what our minds already know. Today, I learned that not only was my crush a monster in disguise, but I also realized I need to change my appearance. Not for his satisfaction, or anyone else's for that matter, but me.

That's one thing about me that I did get from my late mother that helps me; once my mind is set, there's little to no chance of changing it. I can't continue to be this big punching bag and be too soft to stand up for myself. My mom died of cancer three years ago and she was fighting on her deathbed. My body and health need to change.

I look at my reflection in the mirror and my breath catches behind my throat. The reflection staring back at me damn well made me cringe with the threat of bile pleading to escape my turning stomach. Drawing my face nearer to the mirror, I assume a look of pensive bitterness as my fists curl tightly at my sides. Tears full of shame and disappointment fall from my eyes, cascading down my cheeks, and blur my vision enough to where my reflection looks like a big blob standing in the mirror. That was the last thing I saw before my fist drove straight into the glass, causing my knuckles to bleed as shards of glass fell to the floor.

It's time I change and learn to fight my own battles. To fight as she did. Like my mother always did before she lost her battle.

And so...

I did.