Big Boned

Chapter 4

On a scale of worst first days ever, I would say that my first day at BWH was right up there with the best of them. After the fire alarm, the day had kind of deteriorated. The fire alarm had actually been a false alarm. Don't get me wrong, I was ever so grateful it had gone off when it had, but what followed was almost equally awful. The entire school was made to stand in the blazing sun at the bottom of the field, while Tasandra (yes, that was her name—with a T) and other members of the evacuation squad ran around clearing each room, one by one. For most students, this didn't seem to be a problem. In fact, they seemed to be having the time of their lives. A few now-shirtless guys were playing an impromptu game of rugby. Some of the girls, Amber and her gang, were lying in the sun, skirts hiked up catching a tan. Me? I was wearing black and sweating like a pig. I could feel the moisture gathering in all my folds: stomach folds, neck fold, and worst of all, big underboob fold. I was hot, and wet, and uncomfortable, and I wished I'd put on more deodorant.

After being finally allowed back into school, the next unpleasant thing happened. And it happened in isiZulu class. I'd quickly discovered that the only available seat in class was in front of Tasandra, Teagan, and Thembi (now known as the Three Ts in my head), and behind water polo Jake and his two friends. And this, I soon learned, was a special kind of hell. Because every five minutes I was tapped on the shoulder and given a note to pass. This went on for the entire class, and by the end of it, I was sure I had whiplash and seriously wished that Mrs. Ndlovo hadn't forced us to put our phones in a box at the start of class. Old-school messaging was hard work; a carrier pigeon would have been preferable.

But this still wasn't the worst part of the whole experience. During one of the routine passes, I stretched my arm too far, too hard, and heard a familiar noise. I looked down just in time to see one of my shirt buttons bounce on the floor and then skid under a desk. After this unfortunate mishap, I was forced to figure out a way of hiding my bra, which was now on full display. And it wasn't a pretty bra either, oh no. It was one of those double strength sports bras with extra wire and thick straps that desperately attempts, yet dismally fails, to defy the inevitable pull of gravity. So, for the rest of the day I had to walk around awkwardly clutching a book to my chest. Which might not have been so bad if I hadn't then proceeded to do ten thousand steps with Teagan, who insisted on showing me around the entire school: ". . . toilets, janitors' closet, you can make out there . . . storeroom, you can also make out there . . . gym, science lab, bleachers, also make out, but be careful—last month Amber and Jake were caught by the hockey coach. But Jake's not really into Amber anymore because she kind of went ballistic when she caught him DMing Nina-M, 'only as friends!'" She threw some dramatic air quotes around, and I wasn't sure I got their meaning. Were they just friends, weren't they just friends? The social structure of this habitat was so foreign to me, I wished this was a National Geographic documentary and David Attenborough was narrating the ins and outs of it all, so I could better understand it. "I think Jake made out with her because she's number one on the Hot List, though . . ." she said. "He kind of makes his way down the list. Mind you, Amber is the one who publishes the list on our WhatsApp group, so she could have put herself at one, since no one knows who makes the list every year." The Hot List, I discovered, was a list that came out once a year, rating all the girls from hot to not. Thank goodness I wasn't going to be around next year.

The tour, and Teagan's enthusiasm, seemed never ending, and it was boiling, especially with a book pressed to my chest. "And that's Vuyo, you probably recognize him, he's TikTok famous, the video of him flying down the stairs in a shopping cart and then wiping out got one million views, so cool . . . and that's Nina-M I was telling you about, she thinks she's this big beauty blogger because Kylie Jenner liked one of her posts or something, but really, she's not." I looked over at Nina-M; she was lying on the grass pouting at a selfie stick. I was getting a real education from Teagan all right. But it had nothing to do with the geography of the school and everything to do with getting a better glimpse into the characters that I was now forced to cohabit with.