Girls Under Pressure Read Online Free PDF Page A

It’s horrible, oh, my stomach, two fingers, I’ve got to, I’ve got to . . . oh . . . oooooh . . .
    I am so sick. So horribly revoltingly disgustingly sick,
slowly
—again and again and again. I have to hang on to the edge of the toilet to stop myself falling. Tears stream down my face, sweat runs down my back. I pull the chain and then try to get up, the room spinning round me. My throat burns and my mouth stays sour no matter how many times I swill it with water.
    “Ellie?” It’s Anna in her blue pajamas, her pageboy hair ruffled, so she only looks about my age. “Oh, you poor thing. Have you been very sick?”
    “Mmm.”
    “Come here, let’s get you sorted out.” She puts the lid down on the loo and makes me sit on it. Then she runs the towel under the tap and gently mops my face and hair as if I was Eggs. I lean against her weakly and she puts her arm around me.
    This is weird. Anna and I are acting like a regular mother and daughter. We never ever act like this. I made it quite plain right from the start when she came to live with us that I didn’t want another mum. I
had
a mum, even if she was dead. For years I wouldn’t let Anna near me. We didn’t exactly
fight
—we were just like two strangers forced to live under the same roof. Just recently we’ve started to get a bit closer. We go shopping together or we watch a video or we flick through a glossy magazine but it’s just like sisters. Big sister, little sister. Well. I’m bigger than Anna. Not taller.
Fatter.
It’s so unfair. Why do I have to be fatter than everyone?
    Tears are still running down my cheeks.
    “Hey,” says Anna gently, wiping my eyes. “Do you feel really terrible, Ellie?”
    “Yes,” I say mournfully.
    “Have you got a bad tummyache? Headache?” Anna puts her hand on my forehead. “I wonder if you’ve got a temperature. Maybe I should call the doctor?”
    “No! No, I’m OK. I was just sick, that’s all. Probably just something I ate!”
    “You’re still ever so white. And you’re shivering.” Anna leads me into the kitchen and gets her old denim jacket that’s hanging on the back door. “Here.” She wraps it round me and sits me down at the kitchen table. “Do you want a drink of water?”
    I sip it delicately.
    “Your dad said you’ve been feeling lousy all day, not eating anything.” Anna sighs. “I wish I could say the same for him. Look at the state of the kitchen! He must have had a secret midnight feast—and then he moans because his jeans won’t do up!”
    “Why does he still try to squeeze himself into those jeans anyway?” I say, feeling guilty that Dad’s getting the blame.
    “He just won’t admit that he’s too fat,” says Anna, sticking everything back in the food cupboard.
    “I’m even fatter,” I say, the glass clinking against my teeth.
    “What? Don’t be silly,” says Anna.
    “I
am
. And I didn’t even realize. I mean, I knew it, but it didn’t really bug me. But now . . .”
    “Oh, Ellie. You’re
not
fat. You’re just . . . rounded. It suits you. It’s the way you’re supposed to be.”
    “I don’t want to be fat, I want to be thin. As thin as you.”
    “
I’m
not thin,” says Anna, though she looks like a little pin person in her schoolboy pajamas. “I wore my old black leather trousers today because they’re about the only sexy garment I’ve got nowadays and I was so desperate not to look dull and mumsy and suburban, but the zip’s so tight now I could barely
breathe
. It was cutting into my stomach all through lunch. Which was
not
a success. Oh, God, Ellie, this friend of mine, Sara, she looks incredible. She’s got this fantastic new hairstyle, all blond highlights, and the
shoes
she was wearing, really high, and the way she walked in them! Every man in the restaurant was staring at her.”
    “Yes, but you don’t want to look like some blond bimbo,” I say.
    “But she’s
not
a bimbo, she’s the top designer for this new fashion chain. They’re