She felt uncomfortable all through history class—fidgeting, shifting, folding and unfolding her arms, crossing and uncrossing her legs. No position worked. Everything felt tight. Her jeans dug into her stomach. Her thighs pressed against each other, skin against skin, heat against heat, and every time she moved, it was like she could feel it—feel herself.
It was unbearable.
She tried leaning forward. Leaning back. Sitting on one leg. Hunching. Stretching her legs out under the desk.
Nothing worked.
By the time the bell rang, she was practically the first one out the door. She didn't even look at Carly or Freddie—just bolted.
At her locker, she yanked it open like it owed her money and threw her books inside. Then, she stood there for a second, back arched, arms stretched high over her head, spine popping.
Relief.
A breath escaped her lips. Just a moment of not being squeezed into something. Just a second of her body not touching itself everywhere at once.
Then the stretch faded. Her arms dropped. And the pressure returned, like a good old friend. A friend she hated. Somehow even Tighter than before.
As the hallway filled with chatter and the clatter of lockers, Sam stood still, staring blankly into hers. She felt hot. Not sweating-hot—just trapped-hot. Like her skin was too small for her body. Like her clothes were shrinking by the minute.
"Hey, Sam!"
She jumped.
It was Wendy. Too chipper, too loud. Carrying a tray of vending machine snacks like she was hosting a picnic.
"You coming to lunch? I saved you a seat by the window."
Sam shrugged, grabbed a Fat Cake, and stuffed it in her pocket. "nah, I have this fat cake right here to fuel me up!"
Wendy tilted her head. "Seriously? A fat cake?." she snickered.
There it was.
It wasn't meant to be cruel. But Sam heard it anyway. Felt it like a slap.
Sam didn't answer. Just closed her locker and walked away, pretending not to notice how Wendy's eyes drifted to her stomach before she turned.

She still ended up going to the cafeteria, even though she'd stuffed the Fat Cake into the bottom of her backpack. It was instinct. She couldn't not go. Sam was always hungry. That's just how she was.
And right now, she was hungry. Starving, actually.
Her tray felt heavier than it should as she piled it with all the food she usually went for: a few greasy slices of pizza, the bright orange sheen of the chicken wings, a can of Peppy Cola—sugary, fizzy, comforting. It was routine, almost automatic, like she could eat her feelings away if she just kept filling her stomach.
She marched over to her friends' table and dropped down into the seat with a huff, the pressure in her chest not quite easing. The chair was uncomfortable in its usual way, and the bustling noise of the cafeteria felt distant, like she was separated from it all, sitting in some bubble of her own.
Freddie was arguing with Gibby about some stupid movie. He was always arguing. Gibby always had something ridiculous to say. Carly sat between them, trying to mediate, her voice light, laughing at the whole thing.
They didn't even notice Sam sit down. She didn't care. She didn't need them to notice. Not right now.
Instead, she picked up a slice of pizza, greasy and soft, and stuffed it in her mouth. It was automatic. She chewed, swallowed, and reached for another wing, taking a sip of the cola, the fizz filling her mouth, chasing the heaviness away for a second.
But the heaviness didn't really go away. It was still there, sitting at the back of her throat, making her feel like she was going through the motions of something she didn't understand.
She glanced around the table. Carly was talking, but Sam wasn't really listening. It was like the words didn't mean much anymore. The sound of her friends' chatter was a dull hum in the background, and Sam felt herself just... not there. It was like she was outside her own body, watching it all unfold, wondering why she was even here, why she was even eating, why nothing seemed to matter as much as it used to.
She pushed a few more chicken wings into her mouth and finished the soda, still not fully aware of the moments passing by, the space between each bite. The tray was empty now, and it wasn't even satisfying. She felt more empty than before.
Her stomach was full, sure. But there was something else, some gnawing discomfort she couldn't shake. Maybe it was the way she felt like all her clothes were too tight now. Or how she felt like her body had started to feel like it didn't belong to her anymore.
"Sam?" Carly's voice broke through the fog, pulling her back. "You okay?"
Sam looked at her, blinking. Carly was looking at her with those concerned eyes, like she could somehow read her mind. Sam didn't want her to. Didn't want to explain anything, didn't want to think about it.
"Yeah, fine," Sam muttered, not looking Carly in the eye. "Just tired."
Carly gave her a confused look but went back to the conversation. Sam didn't care. She leaned back in her chair, her stomach feeling full, but not in the right way.
The cafeteria felt louder now. Her stomach felt bigger now. She wasn't sure what was happening, but she was aware of everything. Every scrape of a chair. Every laugh. Every footstep. She was hyperaware. Every glance. Every second.
And yet, somehow, it was all slipping through her fingers

Gym class was her most hated class. She was a Puckett, damn it! And no Puckett ever exercised. Except maybe Melanie. Perfect Melanie, who was just... everything Sam wasn't. Skinny, pretty, her body almost an ideal version of Sam's own. If Sam's reflection had been polished, if her stomach had been flat, if her arms hadn't looked so... thick.
Melanie's body was what Sam should've had. It was like looking into a mirror that reflected a different version of herself, one that was more acceptable, more visible. More right.
Sam squeezed herself into her gym clothes, tugging at the waistband of her shorts and grimacing. Her sports bra was tight. Too tight. She cursed herself as she struggled to pull it over her arms, the fabric digging into her skin. When she finally got it on, she felt like a sausage in a too-small casing. She hated it. She hated that feeling of being squeezed.
And the sweatpants. God, the sweatpants. She swore they hadn't been this tight the last time she wore them. A few months ago, they were just fine. Now they clung to her legs, tight enough that she could feel the fabric stretching across her thighs. What the hell was wrong with her laundry machine? Did it shrink everything? Or was it something else?
Sam huffed in frustration and tied her hair up into a messy ponytail, half-heartedly, not really caring about how it looked. She glanced around as other girls filed into the locker room, and instinctively, Sam made a beeline for the back corner to change. She hated changing in front of people. The last thing she needed was someone noticing how her clothes didn't fit right. How her body didn't look right.
"Sam!" Carly's voice rang out, bright and cheerful. Sam could feel her eyes on her even before she turned around. "You actually listened to me! Awww!"
Sam gave a half smile, but she wasn't really paying attention. Carly was already babbling on about something, but all Sam could see was her—Carly, standing there in her gym clothes with her perfect, flat stomach. Her small arms, the collarbones peeking out under her skin. Her body, effortless. And Sam couldn't tear her eyes away.
Carly had always been the thinner one. The one who didn't have to worry about this stuff. Right?
But now... Sam felt that knot in her stomach, the way her own body seemed to become louder with every passing second. She looked around the locker room, watching the other girls as they effortlessly slipped into their gym clothes, no struggles, no bulges, no awkward tugs at the waistband.
No fat, no jiggle...
Sam couldn't help it. Her eyes wandered. Her mind raced. Maybe it wasn't just the laundry machine. Maybe it was her. Maybe it was her body, getting bigger. Growing in ways she didn't want it to.
She looked down at her thighs. She could feel the weight of them, the way they pressed together, the way the fabric of her sweatpants seemed to pull tighter. Her legs weren't the same as they used to be. Her stomach—her stomach was... fuller. Her arms felt thicker. It wasn't just in her head. She knew it. She could see it.
Why couldn't she just be like them?
But no matter how many times she asked herself that question, the answer always felt like it was slipping through her fingers. Something she could never quite catch.
She reached down to adjust the waistband of her sweatpants, not sure if she was trying to make it better or just make it go away. But nothing changed.
Everything was different.

Gym class was hell. Sam panted, her chest heaving as she tried to keep up with the rest of the class. Her legs burned, her breath was shallow, and every step felt like a thousand pounds pressing down on her. She wasn't used to this kind of physical strain, not anymore.
Carly, of course, ran effortlessly beside her, her movements fluid and graceful. Sam tried to push herself faster, but it was no use. Carly grabbed her hand, gently tugging her along, as if it were all just a game to her. Sam hated how easy it looked for Carly. How easy it always seemed for everyone else.
Even Freddie was doing better than her now. The little nerd, who once could barely keep up with Sam, was running at a steady pace, his breath controlled. He'd gotten stronger, more toned. Sam could see the muscles in his arms and legs, and it made something twist uncomfortably in her stomach.
Freddie. Freddie, of all people.
She glanced at him for a split second. He was smiling, even laughing, like running was the most natural thing in the world. But Sam? She couldn't breathe. Her legs were shaking, her stomach lurching with every step.
She wanted to stop. She wanted to sit down, to catch her breath, to throw up. But she kept moving, even though she didn't know why.
Her body was betraying her.
The sweat dripped down her face, but it wasn't the heat of the workout that made her feel this way. It was the suffocating feeling of not fitting in. The way her body seemed to weigh her down more than it should. She was heavier, slower, more out of breath than she used to be. She remembered when she could run like this, when she could sprint and feel strong.
Now she felt like a burden.
"Come on, Sam!" Carly called back, her voice cheerful, but there was a tone in it that Sam hated—like Carly was the one in charge. Like she was the one showing Sam the way.
Sam's heart hammered in her chest, a mix of frustration and embarrassment. She wanted to be able to keep up. She wanted to be able to run like Carly, like Freddie, like all the others who made it look so easy. But Sam couldn't. And the worst part? She wasn't sure if she could ever go back to being the way she was.
Her body felt so heavy now. She wasn't used to it.
The last lap seemed to stretch on forever. Her lungs were burning, her legs felt like they might give out any second. She wanted to stop. She needed to stop. But Carly's voice was still ahead of her, urging her on.
Finally, they reached the end of the track. Carly slowed down to a jog, and Sam practically collapsed to the grass, her hands on her knees, gasping for air.
Freddie came over and patted her on the back, all chipper. "You did great, Sam! You almost beat me this time!"
Sam didn't respond. She just sat there, trying to catch her breath, feeling the weight of her own body like it was suffocating her.
She felt like she was failing. Failing at the one thing that used to come so naturally. Running, jumping, moving. She couldn't do it anymore.
What happened to me?Back at home, the silence was worse.
Her bedroom felt smaller than usual. Her clothes, even smaller than that.
She peeled her jeans off like a second skin, legs red where they'd dug in. She didn't bother folding them—just kicked them across the room.
She stood in her T-shirt and underwear, glaring at herself in the mirror. She tugged her shirt down. It bounced back up. Tugged again. Same thing.
Her belly pushed against the fabric. Her thighs touched. Her arms looked… thicker.
The worst part?
None of it was new. She was just finally seeing it.
Her eyes drifted down to the corner of the room. The scale. Dusty. Ignored.
She stared at it.
Her heart pounded.
Then she stepped on.
And when the number flashed back at her—
She didn't breathe.
Not even a little.