My disdain towards the silver looking-glass hammered to the wall most resembles my disgust towards fish. They pollute the world with their presence, a warped being hidden deep within a reflective surface.

Abnormally large arms and legs, and a protruding gut hanging low, almost low enough to reach my feet. I can't help but stare at the abomination in the mirror and doubt- Is this really me?

Gushing water swirling within itself, and the bounce of a toilet handle returning to its position snaps my thoughts away from the looking glass.

A high pitched, smooth, voice projects from one of the cubicles, "we'll meet at my place. Cool?" Anise advances from out of the toilet to the basin next to me. She most resembles a flamingo with elegant long legs that could slay the catwalk, most of her fat gathered in her butt and an outstretched neck holding a more average face than her body would suggest.

"Huh?" I move to a side of the wall that hasn't been contaminated with a mirror.

"My place this weekend," she enunciates. "You agreed to come with us to the beach." Her hand goes to collect more soap from the dispenser.

How couldn't I agree when she threatened me with public embarrassment a few days earlier, begging me at a volume strong enough to be heard down the hall. The collective stares of the thirty-something students watching her theatric performance and waiting for my response threw spikes of discomfort around my heart.

"Weren't you listening the whole time?" Her accusatory tone is washed down by the running tap and water splashing around her hands.

I could never understand the confidence required to hold a conversation with someone while on the toilet. "No, I just thought I misheard you." She accepts my lie.

We return to the lunch queue - a line that looks like it could extend to the other side of the globe. Luckily Joe held our spot which was closer to the hall, and no one complained when we merge with the snaking line.

Joe is built like a horse, her legs swollen from fat and muscles, a plump back end, and an ever-expanding waist; however, her height pulled away from the horse image.

I still marvel at her hourglass sculpt, when we were nine she was a toothpick, with a tongue just as sharp.

After a teacher checks for our lunch passes, we enter the lunch hall. I could smell frying chips, and battered fish from the entrance, but now inside, the aroma is concentrated. My stomach growls and my eyes lock on to the food on people's trays as I search for a table we can sit on.

The other two depart for the second lunch queue.

The obstacle course begins. I sidestep between two occupied tables placed an arm's length from each other, the backs of the students sitting is pushed away by the width of my waist and thighs, and the cold benches they sit on scrape my leg. I could sense their judgement as they carry their seats forward in frustration. The gap would have been satisfactory for someone with thinner legs.

One row traversed, two more to go. School bags laying around like dogs don't make the journey easier, but I'm always extremely careful with those.

I arrive at the table I picked and am eventually joined by Anise and Joe and the alluring scent of fish and chips rising from their trays.

Joe separates her portion of chips in half then slices the fish equally before moving her plate closer to me, "have some," She lifts two forks.

"I'm ok," I respond, holding in my stomach's screams of hunger.

Similarly, Anise splits her custard covered sponge cake in two, "c'mon, you can't keep skipping lunch." She pleas.

"I'm not hungry," the pain in my abdomen feels like a pit had been dug in my stomach - the result of skipping breakfast. Following them into the lunch hall was a mistake, it's a garden of temptations chipping away at my will.

"Please, please, please, if you starve I'll starve, c'mon, for me," Anise's dramatic, highly vocal begging began. When heads start turning our way, I give in.

One bite wouldn't hurt.

I take a chip, dip it in ketchup and seal it in my mouth where my teeth mince the soft fluffy fried potato. I want more.

I broke my diet. Self loathe sends me up from my seat and treading away as my eyes get teary.

"Wait!" Joe calls out to me as she pushes her chair back.

My friend's affection and love are constraining my weight goals and tainting my desire. I detest my self conscious for not responding to their love with gratitude, but I didn't want them to offer me anything.

Then there's the beach, the land of god's and goddesses in human form, not a place I'd expose my overhanging flesh for further humiliation. I can't tell them, Joe would nag and Anise would beg then they'll miss out again because of me.

I hate this.

My vision clouded by my thoughts and tears fails to notice an arm strap extended from a backpack on the floor. It hooks my right foot and yanks my balance when I lift that leg to take a step. As I descend to the ground my torso collides with one of the tables, shoving it away from the students dining there creating havoc of their meals. Water, chips, custard, juice, all splattered and scattered on the surface.

My head and chest hit the edge of the table unlike the rest of my body which meets the floor. A warm, throbbing, excruciating sensation leaves me confused for a while.

Anise instantly voices her concern, "oh my God! Page are you okay?" Assisted by Joe, she wraps her hands under my arms to help me up.

It doesn't take long for a crowd to form around me. Almost immediately a teacher arrives and directs us to the nurse's office. If only I could crawl under the table and stay there till the end of the day.

I know my ears aren't deceiving me when I catch snickering from the back of the crowd, but I'd rather die than look up and face everyone's stares.

I hate this.