Jemima Small Versus the Universe

by Tamsin Winter

  I felt stupid and sad and angry all at once. But I didn’t say anything. I sat there on the cold floor, probably feeling the same as everyone else who’d also figured it out. In total silence, with my fingers crossed, even though I didn’t believe in crossing my fingers. Wishing and wishing and wishing that I was wrong.

  Mrs Savage kept a smile plastered on her face, but shifted around on her feet like she was uncomfortable. Maybe she felt bad about what she was going to say. Or she had bunions. “Thank you for coming, everyone. I’ve brought you here to tell you about a very special programme of lessons that you’ll be taking part in this academic year. Think of it as a special club—”

  Suddenly, the doors at the back of the sports hall were flung open and a group of boys burst in. They stood staring at us for a moment, as their laughter echoed off the walls.

  “Close those doors and get to your form classes!” Mrs Savage’s voice reverberated around the sports hall.

  “We’ve got PE in here now, miss,” one of them replied.

  Mrs Savage sighed and shook her head. “Not yet! The bell for lessons hasn’t even rung! I’m using the hall for this special club so please leave!”

  There was more laughing as they stumbled out.

  Then one of them shouted, “FAT CLUB!” just before the doors slammed shut.

  Heidi whispered something to Harry. He nodded, then looked around. Mrs Savage caught my eye for a second, then cleared her throat and moved her mouth into a smile so wide it looked like a Snapchat filter.

  The atmosphere felt dense. A bit like the atmosphere on Mars. But that’s ninety-five per cent carbon dioxide. This was one hundred per cent humiliation, and I could feel it tightening my chest. I knew for sure now why we’d been weighed. And what Mrs Savage meant by “special club”.

  This mystery meeting was Clifton Academy’s brand-new Fat Club. And it did not feel very special to be a member.

  I sat on the floor of the sports hall with my legs crossed and my skirt covering them all the way to my shoes. My arms were folded over my belly and tears were forming in the corners of my eyes. I looked down at the floor and tried to blink them away. If I measured how it felt inside my heart right then on the Richter scale, it would be a 9.0: severe destruction.

  Mrs Savage picked up a stack of letters from the table behind her. “Now, as I was saying, you are going to be part of a very exciting ‘Healthy Lifestyle’ programme that will be starting next week right here at Clifton Academy. We’ve selected you because we believe you will benefit from it the most.” A few people shifted around awkwardly. “The classes will be held on Friday lunchtimes and they will be lots of fun. You’ll learn all about nutrition, exercise, and I believe you’ll even do some cookery!” She paused to smile at each one of us, like we’d won some kind of fat lottery. Except it felt like the opposite: as though every centimetre of my skin had been stamped with a gigantic FAIL. And I felt more self-conscious than ever.

  Dear Mr Small, my letter said at the top. Underneath was a graph where the x and y axes represented height and weight. A black line showed the norm for my age and, above it, a red cross represented me. In bold letters it said: Jemima’s result is in the Very Overweight range.

  There were two pages of writing after that, but I didn’t read them properly. Tears were stinging my eyes and I had to swallow loads of times to stop them accidentally spilling over on to my cheeks. It wasn’t like I didn’t already know where I’d be on a graph like that. I’d just assumed it didn’t matter to my school. But there it was. Printed on special Clifton Academy paper with the school motto and the oak tree logo at the top. And a giant red cross to show how wrong I was.

  As soon as Mrs Savage had finished talking, I stuffed the letter into my blazer pocket and headed outside. I blinked, screwing my eyes shut as tight as I could. There was no way I was going to cry on the way to geography.

  From behind me, Heidi called, “Jemima! Are you okay?”

  I turned around and nodded. Harry was looking down at his phone. A few more people came through the doors, and a girl I didn’t recognize was crying, saying she was going to call her mum. Another girl said the same, and linked arms with her. Brandon stood next to them looking over at me. I turned and headed towards the humanities block. The empty space in my heart felt like it was expanding at the rate of the universe, and the letter in my pocket made me want to disappear into it. I felt so stupid for thinking Mrs Savage wanted me to go on Brainiacs! This letter proved that was the last thing she’d want.

  I reached the double doors near the geography corridor just as a class was coming out.

  “Walk quietly!” a teacher shouted, as a line of green blazers barged past me.

  I held the door open and the teacher smiled at me with a perfectly symmetrical face. As the last few people went through the door, someone muttered, “Jemima Big.” I didn’t look back to see who it was. It didn’t matter. They were only saying the truth. I was too big. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror. Or caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. Or compared my body to someone else’s. I even had a letter in my pocket with a special graph proving it. It’s what scientists call indisputable evidence.

  But right then, standing on the grey concrete, with the September sun behind me, trying my best to swallow my tears, all I really felt was small.

  In geography, Miki asked what the meeting was about, but I didn’t say. It’s hard to tell even your best friend something like that. Especially when Lottie Freeman is sitting in the chair behind, prodding your shoulder with her pencil and asking the exact same question. I whispered to Miki that I’d tell him at break.

  “Tell him what at break, Jemima?” Lottie said, poking her pencil into my back again.

  “Nothing, Lottie.” I tried to sound casual, but there was a lump in my throat the size of Uluru.

  Miki said, “It’s nothing to do with you, Lottie.”

  “I can find out what it was about anyway,” she said.

  I looked at her over my shoulder. She smirked at me then laughed. There was definitely something rodenty about her. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started typing. I felt my heart beating faster. If Lottie found out what the meeting was about, my life would be over.

  “Lottie!” Mr Kelly called from his desk. “You know the rules. No phones in lessons. Hand it to me, please.”

  “Oh, but I was just using the calculator, sir.” Lottie put on an angelic voice. She always does it when she speaks to teachers. It’s about five notes higher than her normal voice, and five times more annoying.

  “Lottie, you don’t need a calculator to draw river erosion.” Mr Kelly folded his arms over his yellow tank top. “On my desk, please.”

  Lottie’s smile disappeared. “Sorry, sir,” she said, but didn’t move. “I meant I was checking the time.”

  Mr Kelly glared at her. “Lottie, it’s confiscated. Get over it. Collect it from reception at the end of the day.”

  Lottie got up and slowly walked towards his desk. “But, sir, I need to phone my grandmother at break time.”

  Practically everyone in the class rolled their eyes, including Mr Kelly. Lottie scowled as she handed it over. I gave a sigh of relief.

  At break time I told Miki I’d meet him in the library, then went down the corridor to the toilets. Someone had written on the mirror in lipstick. I really did not feel like smiling. I stared at my reflection. Auntie Luna told me ages ago that every girl has an inner goddess. But mine must have been invisible, because all I could see was Jemima Big. She stared back at me with a face that needed facial surgery, hair the colour of sludgy sand, a body in the Very Overweight range, and thousands of voices in my head repeating Jemima Big, Jemima Big, Jemima Big.

  And the letter in my pocket amplified all of it.

  It would have been the perfect moment for my inner goddess to appear, but I couldn’t sense her at all. Maybe she was just trying her best not to cry, like I was.

  Miki was sitting on one of the yellow stools
in the library by the window, playing on his phone.

  I sat next to him and pulled the letter out of my pocket. “Hey. I’m officially Jemima Big. This confirms it.”

  Miki read the first paragraph and screwed up his face. “What? This is what the meeting was about? That’s stupid! I thought it was about Brainiacs. What did Mrs Savage say?”

  I put the letter back in my pocket and made sure no one was listening. “I have to do this stupid class called Healthy Lifestyle. On Friday lunchtimes! I’ve literally been given a weekly detention. For being fat.”

  Miki shook his head. “Lunchtime? You’d think she’d let you get out of history or something! It sucks, Jem. You okay?”

  I nodded and took a book called Who Wants to Live in Medieval Britain? from the nearest shelf. I didn’t want Miki to see the tears stinging my eyes. But I also did not feel like reading about medieval torture devices. I flicked though the pages as Miki said, “Mrs Savage should give you a letter saying you’re…like…the cleverest person in the school or something.”

  “Well, this letter’s the exact opposite of that,” I said. “It’s like, all the things Lottie and Caleb and people say about me…well, it’s like the school thinks them too.”

  “They don’t,” Miki said, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. “It was just a dumb weigh-in. Everyone knows Mrs Savage is a dictator.”

  I smiled. “Exactly. She actually said it would be fun!”

  Miki’s eyes lit up. “It could be fun!” Then he ducked out of the way like I might hit him over the head with Who Wants to Live in Medieval Britain? or something.

  “I doubt it!” I said. “She’s probably getting the technicians to build one of these right now.” I held up the book to show him a picture of a medieval rack. “She’ll stretch me out until I’m the right height for my weight. Then she can plot me on her stupid graph again.”

  “Maybe it will be okay, Jem. At least it’s on Fridays. That’s when I’ll be rehearsing for the Christmas production. Hopefully.” He crossed his fingers. “If I pass the audition next week.”

  “You will.” Last term Miss Nisha said Miki had an enormous amount of talent. She said I had an attitude problem. Which wasn’t technically correct. I had a problem with my character doing shimmy rolls in what was supposed to be eighteenth-century Paris.

  “Thanks!” Miki said. “Help me with my lines at lunchtime? I’m auditioning for Bert, the chimney sweep. He’s a main part.”

  “Sure.”

  “And next week, I’ll help you revise for the Brainiacs test. You’ll smash it.”

  I smiled as Miki went back to playing on his phone, but inside I felt sick. I looked over at the poster on the pillar by the librarian’s desk. Do you have what it takes to be the next BRAINIACS champion? I thought about all the times I’d watched Brainiacs at home. And Dad saying, “Amazing!” or “Brilliant!” or “How on earth do you know that?” any time I got an answer right.

  I closed my hand around the letter in my pocket and looked at my reflection in the window. I’d have loved the chance to go on Brainiacs. But over three million people watched the show. Three million! If I got through, they would all see what I was seeing: Jemima Big. And right then, I could not think of anything worse. Apart from the medieval torture technique of putting rats inside your intestines. I looked back at the poster. Do you have what it takes to be the next BRAINIACS champion? I didn’t even hesitate. No.

  On the bus home from school, all I could think about was Dad seeing the letter. It wasn’t like the one I got when I qualified for the Clifton-on-Sea Spelling Bee, or the note from the head teacher that came with my SATs results saying, Outstanding! Congratulations, Jemima! Or the one Jasper and I got thanking us for taking part in the beach clean-up ages ago. This letter was nothing like those. This letter was bad. Like being in trouble, but worse.

  Jasper leaned over the back of my seat and said, “I scored ninety-two per cent in my science test today.”

  I carried on looking out of the window. “Shame. Better luck next time.”

  “Shame I’m too old to enter Brainiacs, you mean. Because”–he raised his hands and said – “I would crush you like an enemy!” He chopped the back of my seat karate-style. If we didn’t both have Dad’s sludgy-sand coloured hair, I’d question if we were even related.

  “I doubt it,” I said. “Unless they do a quick-fire round on how to be a massive nerd.”

  “Ha! The whole show is about being a massive nerd, Jemima! That’s why you’ll probably win.”

  “I doubt it, because I’m not entering.”

  “What? How come?” Jasper stuck his hand in front of my face to offer me some strawberry Millions.

  I pushed it back. They’d probably been in his blazer pocket since last year.

  “I thought Brainiacs was your favourite show.”

  “Well, it’s not. So, don’t mention it to Dad, okay?” I looked out at the grey mist hanging over the sea. I could just see the lighthouse in the distance. It was built in 1882 to replace the previous one that was destroyed by fire. That one was built in 1759 and its tower was dodecagonal. It means it had twelve sides. You learn about stuff like that when you hang out at Clifton Museum all summer instead of the beach.

  “Okay. So, what was that meeting about in the sports hall?”

  I turned round to face him. “How do you know about that?”

  “I saw you going in there. My form’s opposite.” Jasper cracked his knuckles and began shuffling a pack of cards. “If you’re in trouble, I am telling Dad.”

  I sighed. There was no way I was telling Jasper the truth. “Not that it’s any of your business, but it’s this special class Mrs Savage is setting up. It’s for, erm, people with high IQs.”

  Jasper screwed up his face. “Really? So what was Brandon Taylor doing there?”

  I sighed again. It was so typical of Jasper to spy on everyone. “I don’t know. Maybe he went in by accident.”

  Jasper looked at me, trying to figure out if I was lying or not. I turned back round and he started telling me about this new magic trick he was learning. As usual, I didn’t listen. Jasper thinks doing magic somehow makes him special. But anyone can do it. You can literally buy boxes of it on the internet. It’s nothing special or supernatural or spectacular. It’s just buying the right equipment and practising for ages in your bedroom. Eventually he stopped talking and put his headphones on.

  I pulled my library book out of my rucksack and shifted on my seat so my back was against the bus window. I opened my book and placed the letter inside so Jasper couldn’t see it.

  The special programme of lessons on Healthy Living will be delivered by fitness and nutrition specialist Gina Grantley-Bond, and will include a range of learning opportunities including weight management, healthy eating, teamwork and mental well-being.

  I kept reading. The class didn’t sound that bad in a way. It would be easier than saving up for facial surgery and probably less painful than getting all my fat sucked out. Miki would probably be rehearsing for the production on Fridays anyway. I liked learning new stuff, and Heidi and Harry would be there.

  “Hey, look at Big taking up two seats.”

  I looked up. It was a boy sitting on the back seat. I closed my book and turned back to face the front.

  I thought about the boys who shouted “FAT CLUB!” earlier. How long would it be until it was all around school? What if this Gina person made us run laps of the field at lunchtime? In our PE kit? It would be even more humiliating than getting weighed in science. I had to convince Dad not to sign the form. Maybe I could say Mrs Savage was a dictator. Although, I didn’t know how Dad felt about dictators. He probably liked them.

  When I got home, a strange smell was emanating from the kitchen. I peered through the bead curtain. Dad had his head in a recipe book, turning the page back and forth and tutting. He did that a lot when he was cooking. I pushed the beads to one side and leaned against the worktop.

  “Hey! How was school?”
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  “Okay,” I lied. “What are you making?”

  “Kale soup,” he said, wiping his hands on the tea towel over his shoulder.

  “Kale soup?” It was definitely weird. My dad never made anything healthy-sounding. Maybe it was Auntie Luna’s idea. If there were any strange occurrences in our house, they usually came from Luna.

  “There was a load of kale on offer at the supermarket!” Dad said.

  Or they could be explained by a special offer at Asda.

  “Dad, I need to talk to you about something,” I said, feeling like my intestines were filled with medieval rodents.

  Dad looked up from the saucepan. He was about to say something when Jasper strolled in to boast about his science test result.

  “That’s great, Jasper, well done! Now, have you got some homework or something to do upstairs? Your sister wants to talk to me.”

  “Sure,” Jasper said. “No problem, Dad. I’ll get right on it.” He raised his eyebrows at me like I should somehow be impressed with his sucking-up skills.

  Dad turned down the cooker then pulled out two chairs from the table. I waited until I heard Jasper’s bedroom door close, then sat down and pushed the letter across the table. Dad didn’t say anything for ages.

  “It’s an abomination, really,” I said to break the silence. “Mrs Savage runs the school like a dictatorship.”

  Dad kept his eyes on the letter. His face looked serious. Worse than when he found out about the science beakers.

  “Oh, Jemima!”

  I didn’t know what that was supposed to mean, but it wasn’t good.

  He rubbed his hand across his beard and let out a long sigh. “I-I don’t know what to say.” He looked at me and smiled, but something in his eyes made me want to cry. “Listen, I don’t want you to worry about this, okay?”