Read Outside In for Free Online Page A

Lee at the table.
    Could it really be? Had Cec chosen to write a poem about her being special? No name had been mentioned. It might be just another thing she imagined, like all that stuff with Jack. She wasn’t special. Was she?
    â€˜She gives like there’s no score
No debt to pay
She is just who she is
And it can make my day.’
    A moment of silence stretched out.
    â€˜A beautiful poem, Cecilia,’ Mr Moulton said finally. ‘And clearly written for a beautiful friend.’ He was looking directly at Lee. Seeing her.
    Suddenly, everyone was clapping.
    â€˜Nice one, Cec,’ Jordan said, and it was kind of sweet that she looked at Lee, too.
    â€˜That poem was so you!’ Meredith added, giving Lee a friendly pinch on the thigh. It didn’t hurt at all. Just sort of woke Lee up.
    â€˜So, is anyone else going to volunteer?’ Mr Moulton asked. There was no response. ‘No? It’s a hard act to follow, I suppose. Well then, you can hand your work in without your names this time. We can have anonymous pulsing hearts.’
    Lee blinked at Cecilia as she walked back to the table. Mr Moulton came around to collect their work. He glanced at Lee’s butterflies, and smiled at her. A smile that said they were OK. Valid. Poetry in pictures, maybe?
    Lee took a deep breath. She felt like her body was altering with the breath. Like it was making more space inside her for bigger thoughts.
    And this one flooded the space like a wave. Cecilia had exposed a part of her that Lee didn’t know existed. She had explained how she saw Lee, and everyone in class knew it was about her without being told. But the surprising thing was that it wasn’t about Lee being blinky, or average, or normal.
    It was about her being kind and beautiful in her own way. And loveable, like Jordan had said in the toilets.
    She wasn’t exotic like Jordan, or funny like Meredith, or talented like Cecilia. But maybe that wasn’t really the point?
    Maybe it was enough just to be Lee.

It’s ironic, being large and largely invisible. I can tuck myself in among the shadows, where the canteen roof slopes and drips stale water long after the rain has stopped. I can ignore the drops that catch the wind and sleet their way onto my face with their little nuggets of dirt inside.
    From here I can see groups of kids, arranging themselves with others that match them.
    The nerds, circular around a tree, discussing the latest computer technology.
    The sporties, substituting catch and run for life. Letting balls and legs and arms do the talking.
    I can let my eyes focus in peripheral vision without moving my head as a telltale. And if I angle my body, just slightly and not enough for anyone to notice the movement, I can get the little slices of interaction between the cool group. I can use my eyes as a casting agent might, taking a mental snapshot of each of them. The shiny group: ideal for shampoo commercials, health bars. Their tag lines could be written with ease, because I know them now.
    I have watched. I have listened.
    I have to remind myself to focus, though. It’s necessary to switch quickly from one person to another. There are always so many exchanges, and so much to take in. They are people who live publicly. Not hidden in the shadows.
    I have to be careful. The temptation is to let my peripheral vision land on Jordan and stop right there. Exotic beauty, effortless flair. She leans against a white pole and it becomes a backdrop just for her. Jordan has perfected the art of not giving a shit, and it becomes her. It’s cruel, how it all works. For her.
    I have to tear my eyes off Jordan. I tell myself to do it the same way I would rip a bandaid off. Quickly. Instead, I slowly start pulling, feeling the wound stick to the plaster.
    It’s a competition between Jordan and Lee. I can tell just by their body language. I am not stupid. Just fat. I can see what’s happening.
    It’s a short movie,