"Skinny and Popular"
by Strawberryp0cky

Having moved around all my life, I can safely say all schools have the same people. Maybe the clothing trends and names differ, but the same groups exist everywhere: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the generic populars, the outcasts, the gangstas, the nerds, the stoners and class skippers, and the hip, trendy clique as well. I suppose I remained an "outcast" simply because I refused to attach myself to anyone as I knew I would end up moving just a year or two later. Senior year, however, opened a new opportunity for friendship due to the fact that this would be my final year before leaving my parents' care for college an therefore not subject to move when my mother's job demanded it. I will have the option to stay in the area if I choose to do so.

For this same reason, I also decided to finally try my hand at being part of the working class. This would help me save money for a car and start putting a little away for college so I would not be completely broke. It seemed a good enough plan, and it would also save me the trouble of figuring out how to make friends. Working appeared to be a nice way to get some social interaction outside of school without having to feel awkward. A close friend of coffee, I sought the nearest cafe to apply for work. The "Help Wanted" sign in the window informed me that my working there was fate. The owner of the small coffee shop happened to be in, and I was given an interview while I filled out an application. She hired me right then and there. This new and final school year started off rather well.

Situated about a minute from the high school by bike, the Smokey Beans Cafe transformed into a social study area after classes. Tips left a lot to be desired, but throughout the day they modestly added up. I never expected many tips anyway; after all, the majority of patrons during my shift had no jobs. Smokey Beans sat in the corner of two perpendicular strip malls, but separated from both of them by about twenty feet on either side. This allowed the owner to add some shrubbery, a couple small trees, and outside tables and chairs that surrounded the front of the cafe in a semi-circle shape. The interior was painted a dark brown, but had plenty of vibrant green plants to liven it up. Instead of music staples like jazz or classical, the speakers, which hid behind some of the larger plants, wafted Peruvian flute music or spicy Latin beats, depending on the playlist. Of course, the smell of brewing coffee permeated my nostrils throughout the day. No complaints there. We had an assortment of tables, and anyone was welcome to push tables together depending on group size. In addition, small nooks were cut out of the wall for extra seating. This open-or-closed seating arrangement drew in various types of people from any of the cliques. Selling good coffee for a reasonable price and offering a comfortable atmosphere for studying, reading, or chatting, Smokey Beans brought in all types.

The interesting thing about being a nerd, outcast, stoner, or other unpopular person did not make one immune to petty gossip, name drops, and other stupid high school drama. It stands to reason that, because popular people do not seem to like unpopular people, they would not fill their conversations with talks of the unpopular folk. Somehow, even though they never catch their names, the popular people know to turn their noses up or laugh when someone outside of their sphere walked past. They never did this to anyone's face directly for some reason, though. In this casual, cruel fashion, I knew Mandy Simmons and she knew to speak condescendingly to "that girl behind the counter that I think is in my AP English class." I will never know how someone so vapid and oblivious could get into an AP anything, but such is life.

"I'll have a large, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla decaf latte," Mandy ordered, looking me in the eye with what appeared to be a scowl, almost as if talking to me was a chore for her. She pointed to her friend. "And whatever the hell she wants."

"I'll just get a small coffee," her friend, who I knew to by Ami Anderson, said. Ami was half-Japanese, half-white, from what I remembered hearing during the first few minutes of our math class when the teacher asked us all to introduce ourselves. I think she said something about her mother being Swedish, and it showed. I never expect to see a young woman skimming six feet two inches, and one that had an Asian appearance made it that much more of a singular find.

"No, no, no," Mandy waved the order away. "You need something fun! Make her the same thing as mine, but with sugar-free hazelnut 'cause I know you like nuts, Ami." Mandy smirked while Ami smacked her playfully at the pun. "Look, Ami, I know you're trying to be nice by ordering something cheap, but honestly, who comes into a place like this and just gets COFFEE?"

"Actually, it's pretty common to order coffee at a coffee shop," I chimed in. I said it in Ami's defense, because she was always nicer to me, but also to make Mandy feel as stupid as she is.

Mandy's eyes became wide and enraged at me pointing out the obvious. She slammed her palm on the counter. "Did it SOUND like I was talking to you?!"

When it first happened, I was taken aback, but Mandy's outbursts were an almost-daily occurrence that ceased to bother me. Situations involving an angry popular and "wrong" nobody ended up in an apology from the nobody. Normally, I would retaliate, but I really liked the job and did not want to get fired. They were giving me good hours that worked around my schedule while keeping my weekends pretty much free, and I was getting paid hourly plus tips. Someone like Mandy was not worth me losing my job. Still, while it did not enrage me like it used to, it was rather annoying. Plus, I believed that people like Mandy, who treat other people like scum, deserve to be brought down to reality. I sized her up. She was not anything special, just a glorified twig with fake blond hair and real dark roots, too much make-up and not enough class. I mean, I know dying one's hair blond is really trendy and all, but Mandy was not fooling anyone with her dark, chocolaty complexion. People like Ami became popular for being pretty and nice, but the Mandies at any school were popular for being bitches that scared everyone into submission. Better to befriend a tiger than to be mauled by it, I suppose was the reasoning.

I had no fear of Mandy. Moving around often makes you the perpetual "new girl," and people like to pick on the "new girl" if she's no Mandy or Ami in any form. My rotund frame made me the butt of every joke, and it seemed that, no matter where I went, superficial kids and teenagers everywhere picked on the fat kid. No school I went to ever had a fat and popular girl or guy. Sometimes, a fat guy who was funny was accepted, but even still he was always skirting the edge of the popular circle, desperately trying to fit in while never accomplishing that task. It reminded me of a group of nobles with a prized butler who danced the line between acceptance and slavery. The chubby folk were always outcasts, always insulted, and always mocked.

A plan hatched.

I put on my best sympathetic face. "You're right, I'm so very sorry! Here, let me make it up to you. we just got these sugar-free, fat-free cookies in today." I pointed at a plate of delicious-looking cookies in the pastry case. "The owner wants to see if they'll sell well since a lot of people are watching their weight, but she didn't want to label them fat-free and sugar-free. This way, people who like the regular cookies will still order them, and if there are any complaints about taste, then the owner will know these cookies don't cut it because they taste 'diet.' Here, let me give you a free one for your trouble." I smiled and waited to see if she bought it. The story did not exactly make sense, but it would probably escape someone like Mandy.

Mandy smiled smugly. "THAT'S more like it! And it's about time you got in some food for people who don't eat junk!"

"Absolutely!" I opened the case and reached for a cookie with a piece of wax paper. I overheard Mandy whisper to Amy that I should switch to sugar-free, fat-free cookies because I was looking chunky. "Too bad they don't exist in this store, Mandy," I smiled secretly. "And you'll find out soon enough." I handed her the cookie. "Give it a try, bet you can't tell it's low-carb!"

Mandy broke off a piece and tested it with a look on her face as if it chewing was a terrible inconvenience. The expression quickly changed to delight. "It's actually really good! See? Why can this be so yummy when so many 'health foods' just suck?" She squinted at my name tag. "Charlie's a boy name, isn't it? Whatever. This is really great, so tell that manager of yours that I really like it and want more kinds. Here, Ami, try some."

I started on the lattes.

"No thanks. I don't really eat junk food," Ami said, waving away the cookie chunk Mandy offered her. Ami was on the basketball team, so I guess she wanted to eat foods that had no artificial stuff in there.

"It's not junk!" Mandy protested, tossing the cookie piece into her mouth.

"Fine, it's sugar-free, fat-free, chemical-laden, adulterated J-U-N-K!" Ami laughed. "Just like that damn drink you got me. Hey, Charlie? If you haven't made it can you just use regular milk an regular flavoring syrup, please?"

I smiled. A "please" finally came out of the likes of one of them to the likes of one of me. "Sure thing, and I'll make it regular since you didn't ask for a decaf coffee when you were ordering just a plain coffee. Did you want that?"

"Sure, thanks!"

Mandy cocked her head and furrowed her brow. "Gross! That stuff is bad for you, you know!"

"Ugh! No, it's not. I work out and stuff so it's totally okay, plus no weird chemicals."

Mandy flipped her hair. "Well, I don't need to work out 'cause I eat low-cal. That's how I stay thin."

Ami folded her arms across her chest. "Whatever, that doesn't make you healthy. That stuff isn't good for you, you shouldn't eat it."

"Whatever!"

"So, here's your large decaf, nonfat, sugar-free vanilla latte, and one large hazelnut latte. Have a good day." As the two walked to a table, I wondered if my plan would even work. After all, girls like Mandy are super skinny because they hate food. Another customer approached the register and I went to help him. I glanced up at Mandy and saw her take a large bite of the cookie. The plan might just work after all.



Mandy and Ami remained usual customers. They came in after school each day, but on the rare Saturdays I worked there, I never saw either of them. This was in my favor as the "sugar-free" cookies did not actually exist in the cafe, and if Mandy came by asking for them, she would be informed and stop eating the cookies. That, and I would probably be fired. For the first few weeks, Mandy stayed tiny. I thought I noticed a small bulge now and again, but could not be sure. Then, on a Monday after a three-day weekend, she came in with Ami and I spotted a muffin top. It was small, but it was there, peeking over the top of her fashionable belt as her shirt made no attempt to hide it. I was delighted, and wondered if there was anything I could do to ensure a faster fat gain.

"Hey you," Mandy said in a flat tone. "You have some of those cookies, right?"

"Of course we do! They seem to be selling very well. We just got in a different flavor, chocolate macaroon. It has coconut and chocolate and some almonds. Did you want to try it? Like the others, it's low-carb and fat-free."

Ami raised an eyebrow. "How do they make fat-free coconut? My mom takes coconut oil because it has good fats, so...what exactly did they do to it?"

Ami seemed more curious and disgusted with the idea of mangling a healthy coconut than skeptical of my statement. "Oh, it's just coconut flavoring," I said without missing a beat. "They didn't do anything crazy to a coconut," I added, which put her confused face at rest.

Mandy looked up at Ami, who stood a good ten inches taller than her, with a child-like grin on her face. "Oh. My. Gosh. I haven't had a coconut macaroon in, like, forever! I used to eat them as a kid and then I found out how unhealthy they were and," she turned to look at me, "and you just, like, totally made my day, Charlie. My dad and I used to eat these before he died."

Ouch, that one hit hard. I felt like a jerk and almost came clean, but her having a deceased father really should have made her kinder and more humble to people who have also had a hard time. I stayed firm. "That's really too bad," I said, feeling a little flare of nastiness rise in me. "But hey, now you can have them again. Or, you know, not worry about a diet."

Mandy rolled her onyx eyes and spat out air in disgust. "Look, I don't know what you think is 'acceptable' for a body to look like, but this body doesn't just happen when you eat whatever the hell you want. That's why you look the way you do."

All remorse drained from within me as her words hardened my resolve. "Yeah, well, there's more to life than a size zero," I said softly as I grabbed the cookie from the display case.

Ami chuckled. "I dunno, Mandy. It seems you've been adding a little fluff around the edges lately!"

Mandy's smirk dissolved into a tight-lipped scowl. "You take that back, you know I look great!" She flipped her flat-ironed hair and cast her face upward.

I looked up from the display case in time to see Ami reply to Mandy in the form of a gesture. She pinched Mandy's love handles and I was surprised how much she grabbed. More fat was hidden just above the end of her shirt, and I noticed her butt was also crammed into her skinny jeans. My mouth dropped open.

"See? You're a little fatty!" Ami giggled, then let go of the extra fat. She lightly slapped Mandy on the butt. "Not like your scrawny ass didn't need the help! I think you look better, to be honest."

Mandy shook her head in disbelief. She looked at me and my still-agape mouth, then at Ami. The girl seemed on the verge of tears. "Oh, please," I thought, "is adding a couple pounds the end of the world? Sheesh."

With Mandy's eyes starting to well with water, Ami's expression softened. "Hey, look, maybe you should just lay off the cookies. Fat-free and sugar-free doesn't mean calorie-free, you know."

Ami's words were about to ruin my plan, my social experiment, and my revenge. I needed to say something. "Or you can just make a diet with these cookies and coffee. Each cookie is only 100 calories, so if you have one for breakfast, one for lunch, and one for dinner, then that's only 300 calories per day. But wait, you don't want your body going into that 'starvation mode' thing...it'll just make you fatter, you know...so instead you should have five to six cookies. You know, they say five to six small meals daily is the key to weight loss, and at most that's still only 600 calories. That's, like, way less than anyone on a regular diet eats, so you'll be thinner that much sooner!"

Mandy squinted and looked me up and down. "If it's that easy, then why are you so fat?" She smirked.

Even when someone is trying to help her, she still is a jerk. "Well, I'd eat way more than six cookies a day," I laughed.

"Yeah, I guess someone like you would. But me? I have self-control. I'll just buy them each time I come in here, because after class is the only time I have free to pop in. So...let's see, I'll need one now, one for a snack, one for dinner, then one in the morning, one for a snack, one for lunch, then I can come back in so that's...oh, duh, that's six cookies. So give me six of those things. No, wait, three coconut ones and three of those peanut butter chocolate ones."

"No problem." I reached for a small box and began loading the cookies into them. I wanted to scream and laugh and do a little dance, but I remained professional. The actual calorie count of each cookie was closer to 600, putting her at 3600 calories daily in addition to anything else she decided to eat...or drink. "Say, are you two ordering your usual?"

They nodded and went back to their conversation. I only caught a clip of it before I started making the coffee, something about Ami thinking it was a bad idea to live off cookies while Mandy disagreed. Staring at the cup of espresso in my hand, I decided to upgrade Mandy's no-sugar, no-fat, no-fun latte with a splash of whole milk added to the nonfat and one of the required three pumps of syrup being the full-sugar version. I handed them their drinks and watched Mandy take a sip. She looked at the cup, then at me, then took another drink.

"I don't know what it is," Mandy said, "but this drink tastes really good. Like, better than usual."

"Well, I don't know why it tastes different, but I'm glad it's a good different." I handed Mandy the box of cookies. "You two have a nice day."

Ami repeated the sentiment to me, and Mandy just nodded. As she followed Ami out the door, she slipped a dollar into my tip jar. No words were exchanged, but I think it was a "thank-you" for the advice, or maybe the tastier latte. Maybe both.



As the weeks wore on, Mandy grew chubbier and I slowly evolved her no-fun latte into a full-fat, full-sugar vanilla latte. A few times, I overheard Ami offering to buy Mandy a couple new pairs of pants to fit her fatter physique, but Mandy refused. Something about submitting to the fat instead of making the fat submit to her or some such nonsense. She opted to instead wear track suits and sweats, and I could practically hear the seams on the thighs screaming to rip. At one point, I noticed a small hole along the seam of a pair of pants with her ebony skin very visible through the baby pink material. Everyone looked at her as she walked through the door, ordered six cookies and her drink, and walked back through the door. I heard whispers when she'd enter the AP English class, usually just a few seconds before class started so she could "make an entrance" as she called it. All eyes were always on her, accompanied by hushed tones murmuring about weight gain. Everyone noticed, and I was delighted.

She was still rude, condescending, and vapid, at least that much stayed the same. In fact, she appeared even ruder to me on some days, but then would cheer up after biting into a cookie and taking a sip of her latte. The pounds kept piling on, the clothes kept getting tighter to show off rippled cellulite and a round stomach, everyone kept whispering about her, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction. "Someday soon," I thought, "she is going to be an outcast like everyone else."



I never attended school dances. Not only was I not the type to get all fancy schmancy and dressed up, but no one ever asked me. Even if they did, I would still say no, or so I always told myself. There was some kind of Winter Formal, a dance in the middle of December, and someone actually asked me to go to the dance with him. It was my lab partner in chemistry, a class I had to take as a senior due to school curriculum not matching perfectly, and he was a junior. He appeared the stereotypical nerd, complete with thick glasses and bright orange freckles, only he was a linebacker on the football team and certainly had the build to prove it. I had no idea what a jock was doing asking me out and figured it to be a joke, so I blew him off. A week before the dance, he asked me again to go to the dance with him, but this time it was in the form of a rose delivered by the campus floral shop; some crazy idea someone thought of to raise money for a club. It seemed like a sweet gesture, so I told him yes. His smile, shining from the braces that competed for attention with his freckles, told me that he was being genuine.

When I told my mother I was going to the Winter Formal, she made a joke about how it seemed unlike me but was otherwise overly happy and took me shopping for a dress. After a few hours and a few stores, I settled on a dark green dress made from shimmery fabric. The top of the dress was in a halter style and I got a thick, complementary wrap plus a pair of long white gloves to help keep me warm. This would be my first, and probably last dance, so I wanted to have some fun with it and at least look good. My mother bought me pantyhose with something called a "control top" which was supposed to minimize the fat in my stomach, hips, butt, and thighs. I was skeptical but tried it on, and it really helped. After some trial and error, I figured out how to wear the gloves with the shawl to hide my jiggly arms. I styled my hair up, off my shoulders, and wore silver jewelry; both were tricks I learned from a magazine on keeping a person's gaze upward so they noticed your fat less. The halter top also made my breasts look great. With a great rack, it is pretty easy to keep someone's eyes off all the ripples and jiggles.

My date picked me up in a junker of a vehicle, a rusty yellow hatchback with spray painted rims. His car was easy to spot on campus and had been featured in a joke article in the school paper, so I was not surprised or even ashamed to be seen in this thing with him. He smelled of musky cologne and smiled when he saw me. I sat into his car and was embarrassed when the shocks squeaked under my weight. His expression stayed the same, a metallic grin, and he shut the door after me.

The car started up with a sputter, then leveled out. "You look really beautiful," he said. "I'm glad that you agreed to go with me. I don't really care for dances, but when I saw you in class the first day, I told myself that I couldn't wait for a dance that I could ask you to."

Caught off-guard, all I could do was laugh. "Well, why didn't you ask me to Homecoming, then?"

He slowed to a stop at the stop sign, then kept driving before he replied. "I don't know, I was just nervous and stuff. I mean, you're a senior, I'm a junior. You're new and really quite attractive so you probably had a bunch of guys hitting on you and stuff, I mean, you didn't need one other annoying guy. One with braces and thick-ass lenses, all dorked out and everything."

All I saw when I looked at him was his muscles. Sure, he had a mouth comprised chiefly of chain-link fence, but he was a good-looking guy, there was no denying that. I thought about the time we spent together as lab partners, and I should have noticed he was flirting with me. I guess a person stops paying attention to such things when that person has been invisible pretty much all her life. We continued to talk on the ride to the school. Upon arrival, he let me out at the front steps and went to park his car. Part of me expected him to not return, still sort of thinking it was a joke, but I saw him running up to me after he shut the door. The dirt was hard from the cold, but the pavement was slick with ice, and he ended up slipping. I gasped but he stood up quickly and walked the rest of the way.

"Crash and burn, Colin!" A guy yelled, the gorgeous date on his arm laughing.

"Eat a dick, Andy!" Colin yelled back.

It was certainly a surprise to see someone like Colin being mocked while I stood a few feet from him like a great, freezing whale wrapped in a pine tree, but it did not make me feel better. He met with me, offered me his arm, and we walked into the gym. Having attended a dance only in the sense that I have watched movies where a school dance is part of it, I had little idea of what to expect. It honestly looked pretty good, and having a bulging bicep to hang onto was icing on the cake.

After about an hour or so, one of the popular guys stepped up to the microphone. "All right, guys and girls, it's time to announce your Winter Formal king and queen!"

I thought kings and queens were only for Homecoming, but figured any chance to pad the popular kids' egos is always taken. A cliche drum roll and muted whispers gave way to the announcement, that some guy and Mandy Simmons were to be crowned.

Mandy Simmons.
Mandy Simmons?

"No, that can't be right," I thought. No way could a fatty like Mandy possibly be a queen of anything except doughtnuts and Cheetos. "Maybe she lost weight. She had to go on some stupid juice detox diet or something," I told myself.

Mandy waddled to the stage wearing a two-piece gown, a rather popular trend apparently, and her belly was peeking through. The upper outer sides of her thighs stretched the sequined fabric of her pastel blue skirt to stick out wider than her hips. The dress, like all the sweatpants she wore to the coffee shop and to class, hugged her butt so tightly that the dimples of her cellulite were clearly visible. Like myself, she opted for a halter top to emphasize her chest, but she did not even have the common decency to hide her chunky upper arms. Her puffy cheeks, her protruding belly, the section of midriff squeezing through the separation in her gown like a popped canister of biscuit dough...she stood there with a smug look on her face despite all these setbacks. No one laughed. No one shouted rude remarks. It was applause and whistles all around as she guided the announcer's tiara-holding hands to her perfect coif.

"I'll be right back," I told Colin.

I retreated to the bathroom and paced. My Frankenstein, my fat, lumpy Frankenstein, was welcomed with open arms and adoration instead of spat on and booed. She was not insulted. She was not shunned. She was still Mandy Simmons, no matter how thin or fat she was. I thought about all the whispers, about all the stares she received, and realized that they were not always insults and smirks, but some that people genuinely found her more attractive as she ballooned up. My whole life, I was the fat kid and believed that was why I never fit in. Instead, it was because I withdrew myself thinking everyone was making fun of me. I felt dizzy as the reality sank in and braced myself on the sink, staring into the drain. My whole life I came up with excuses not to make friends so I would feel that it was my choice to be alone instead of feeling rejected, but in reality no one was rejecting me. I was afraid of being insulted, so I pulled myself away to avoid hearing the insults. After seeing Mandy, in all her tubby glory with that still-bitchy attitude, I realized it was just better to be myself. If someone had something negative to say, it should not affect me. It did not affect her; she listened only to the compliments because she was used to receiving compliments.

I looked up from the drain and into the mirror. Here I was, trying to hide my fat with special undergarments and optical illusions, when the guy who asked me to the dance asked the Charlie who never wore anything like that to class. I started to feel silly and vowed to never let my weight bother me again. I left the bathroom and had a wonderful time with Colin.



The following Monday, Mandy popped in again. I knew she would, she needed her "diet" cookies and latte. Ami was no where to be seen, which became increasingly more common. I think it was something about not wanting to watch Mandy "eat herself to death," as Ami put it one afternoon.

"The usual," she said before she even arrived at the counter.

I started putting the cookies into a box and began steaming the milk while the espresso brewed. "I was at the Winter Formal. You looked really nice up there."

She flipped her hair. "Duh, I always look hot. Even a nobody like you should know that by now unless you're, like, retarded or something."

I cast my gaze down so I could roll my eyes without her seeing as I finished up her latte. I brought the drink and box of cookies to the register and told her the total.

As she paid, she looked at me with a raised brow. "You look, uh, like, different."

That weekend, I spent money on highlights and some new make-up, as well as a few new pieces of clothing. Since Smokey Beans had no real uniform for their employees, I was allowed to wear pretty much anything as long as I wore my barista apron. I opted for a jean skirt cut mid-thigh paired with pink and black striped leggings, topped off with a figure-hugging black thermal that had pink and blue snowflakes sporadically placed. "Yeah, well, I think it's about time I started dressing in nicer stuff. I never really took looks seriously. You could say I was inspired by someone to try and look as beautiful as I feel. " I smiled at her, hoping she would understand that she was an inspiration to someone.

Mandy started impatiently at me. "Geeze, weirdo, I didn't ask for your FREAKIN' life story! I just want my stupid change so I can get out of here!"