A wave of nausea washed over her, and she closed her eyes, willing it to pass. This had to work. She needed to be thin. She’d even bought a pair of jeans a size too small, stuffed in the back of her wardrobe. A goal. Motivation.
The bell rang, jolting her back to reality. Another lesson. More staring, more whispered comments she could only half-hear, more loneliness.
She stumbled out of the library, fighting to keep her head up. The corridor was a blur of faces, all laughing and chatting and belonging. Jessica felt more invisible than ever.
Later that day, during break, it happened. One minute she was standing by her locker, trying to remember what pages of history she was supposed to read, the next, she was on the floor. The world swam around her, a distorted mess of noise and colour.
Then, nothing.
When she came to, the first thing she noticed was the cold, hard floor beneath her cheek.
“Jessica? Jess, are you alright?”
It was Mrs. Davison, the history teacher. Her face was etched with concern.
“I… I think so,” Jessica mumbled, trying to sit up. “What’s happened?”
“You’ve fainted, dear. Just now. Lucky I saw you.” Mrs. Davison helped her up and led her to a nearby bench. “Are you eating properly, love?”
Jessica looked away, shame burning in her face. “Yeah, fine,” she lied.
Mrs. Davison sighed. “Look, Jessica. I'm not daft. You look pale as a ghost. You need to take care of yourself. Your health is more important than… well, than anything.”
Jessica didn't say anything.
“Come on,” Mrs. Davison said gently. “Let's get you to the school nurse.”
At the infirmary, Nurse Thompson took Jessica's blood pressure and asked a few questions. “Are you feeling stressed about anything, Jessica?” she asked, her voice kind.
Jessica hesitated. “Just… school, I guess,” she mumbled.
The nurse nodded. “School can be tough. But you need to make sure you're eating enough. It will affect your school.” She paused, then added softly, “You're a lovely girl, Jessica. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”
After the nurse left, Jessica sat for a long time, staring out the window. Mrs. Davison's words echoed in her head: “Your health is more important than… anything.”
She thought about Ann, about the older lads, about the clothes a size too small. She thought about the black spots in her vision, the rumbling in her stomach, the cold, hard floor under her cheek. Just a couple of days. She needed to be patient. She needed to weigh 49. Then she would eat and do sports. Then she would be attractive.