Read Online Girls Under Pressure by Jacqueline Wilson - Free Book Online Page B

thought you were having an asthma attack. Have you been
running
? And you’re not even late for school!”
    “I’ve run all the way from the leisure center,” I gasp.
    “My goodness. I think
I
need to sit down. Eleanor Allard on a fitness kick!”
    “I’ve actually never felt
less
fit in my life,” I say, clutching my chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack.”
    “Maybe you need to come to my lunchtime aerobic session,” says Mrs. Henderson.
    “OK, maybe I will,” I say.
    It’ll burn off two or three hundred calories—
and
stop me craving lunch. It’s a special lunch today, the cook’s traditional Christmas dinner treat for the end of term. Turkey, one chipolata sausage, two roast potatoes, a dollop of mash and garden peas, and then mincemeat tart with a blob of artificial cream. We’re talking megacalories per trayful.
    I can’t risk setting foot inside the canteen. I go to the aerobic session. It’s hell. Total burning hellfire.
    I feel such a fool among all the seriously fit muscle girls leaping about in their luminous Lycra. I stand behind Zoë, who is bunched up in a huge T-shirt and tracksuit bottoms. She looks hopelessly weak and weedy, but she’s fighting fit. She never misses a beat, her lips a tight line of effort.
    I get so hot I can’t see out my glasses and the spring goes out of my hair. I’ve got such a stitch I have to fight not to double up. I still try to swing my arms and stamp my legs but they’ve turned to jelly.
    “Take two minutes’ break, Ellie,” Mrs. Henderson calls.
    I crash to the floor. Gasp gasp gasp. But I’m not going to lose any weight lying here going wibble-wobble. I drag myself up and get going again. I last to the end of the session . . . just.
    I’ve got to take a shower, obviously, but I seriously hate the school showers because there aren’t any curtains at all. I hunch in a corner, trying to keep my back to everyone, taking envious peeks at all the taut thighs and flat tummies surrounding me.
    Zoë avoids this ordeal. She runs off in her sweaty T-shirt, clutching a sponge bag, obviously going to have a little wash in the toilets.
    I shove my school uniform over my sticky pink pudding body as quickly as possible. Mrs. Henderson catches hold of me.
    “Can I have a word, Ellie? Come into my changing room.”
    Oh, God. The only times I’ve been invited into her inner sanctum it’s to get severely told off for pretending to have a permanent heavy period to get me out of games. She’s surely not going to tell me off for volunteering for
extra
games?
    “So, Ellie, what’s going on? First it’s swimming, then running, now aerobics. Why?”
    “You told me to come along this lunchtime.”
    “I was joking—though it was certainly a pleasant surprise when you turned up. But I just wonder what you’re playing at, Ellie.”
    “I told you. I’m trying to get fit. I thought you’d be thrilled to bits, Mrs. Henderson. You’re always nagging at me to take more exercise. So I am.”
    “Do you want to get fit, Ellie—or thin?”
    “What?”
    “I’m not stupid. I know why poor Zoë comes to aerobics. I’m very worried about her. I’ve tried talking to her umpteen times—and her parents. She’s obviously severely anorexic. But I want to talk about you, Ellie, not Zoë.”
    “You can hardly call me anorexic, Mrs. Henderson,” I say, looking down at my body with loathing. “I’m fat.”
    “You’ve lost weight recently.”
    “Only a few pounds, hardly anything.”
    “You’ve done very well. But you mustn’t lose weight too rapidly. You girls go on all these crazy diets but all you really have to do is cut down on all the sweets and chocolate and crisps and eat
sensibly
. Lots of fresh fruit, vegetables, fish, chicken, pasta. You
are
eating a reasonably balanced diet, aren’t you, Ellie?”
    “
Yes,
Mrs. Henderson.”
    One apple. Two sticks of celery. Half a tub of cottage cheese. One Ryvita. Fruit, veg, protein, carbohydrate. Brilliantly