From Fat Girl to Fated Mate Chapter 03
Everyone else howled with laughter like they’d just heard the funniest joke of their lives. They stared at me with pure contempt, like I was worthless.
I hid my face behind a book, shaking, but I couldn’t quit, I needed this too badly.
The next few weeks of practice were hell. Because of my weight, every single move was a struggle.
While the others barely broke a sweat, I was gasping and soaked through. In the mirror, I looked clumsy and ridiculous, like a beach ball trying to do ballet.
While I was trying to catch my breath and keep up, a girl shoved me hard. My ankle twisted with a sharp crack, blazing pain shot through me, and I hit the floor.
The world spun. Faces loomed over me.
Jessica stormed over.
“What the hell are you doing? Trying to ruin all our hard work?”
“I’m sorry.” I tried to get up, twice. I couldn’t do it.
The practice room filled with muffled snickers.
“I don’t remember our dance having a part where someone gets on all fours like a pig,” Jessica said, crossing her arms and raising one perfect eyebrow.
The laughter exploded.
“Look at her!”
“She’s a real pig!”
“I wonder what she looks like as a wolf!”
I lay there, freezing cold. Within minutes, my ankle swelled up like a balloon. The teacher took me to the hospital.
When my parents got there, the cheer squad had already arrived.
They were all unhappy when my parents asked for medical leave on my behalf.
“But Josie’s name is already on the roster,” Jessica said in that sickly sweet voice. “We can’t change the formation now.”
“Right,” the others chimed in. “She has to be there.”
My mom frowned. “She’s injured. You have weeks to adjust.”
“It’s just a sprain,” a girl muttered. “She can still go on.”
The teacher took their side. In the end, I was told I’d have to learn the dance by watching videos.
I had to perform, so there wouldn’t be a gap in the formation.
My mom wanted to fight it, but she knew how much dancing meant to me. So she stayed quiet.
Three days later, I could finally walk again, though sharp pains still shot through my ankle now and then. I was limping down the hospital hallway when a voice stopped me.
“Josie? What are you doing here?”
I turned around. It was Dr. Julian Reed. He was tall, with kind eyes. Three years ago, when I was diagnosed with a heart condition, he was the one who did my surgery.
He was holding an iced coffee, a warm smile on his face.
“I sprained my ankle,” I answered, suddenly wishing I wasn’t wearing my gym uniform, which was three sizes too big.
Seeing him again made my chest flutter with a sweet thrill. But it didn’t last. My primary doctor called.
“Josie, you need to come in.”
I tensed up.
What followed was a series of tests. The crowded waiting room felt like a maze. My parents sat on the hallway bench, holding hands.
Then the words came. “You can stop the medication.”
The room spun.
My mom cried, and my dad hugged me tight. I stood there, completely stunned.
After what felt like a year, the question that had been stuck in my throat finally came out.
“Can I… lose weight now?”
The doctor grinned. “Time to start thinking about prom dresses, right?”
“Yeah,” I whispered. “Please.”
