"I just got lucky that I'm naturally thin," says Marabel with a smile. "And you know me. I love eating food."

That's the story she always sticks to when anyone asks her about it. After all, they've only ever seen her this way. For the most part, it makes sense. She always follows her friends to the cafeteria, and she doesn't eat a salad or do any of her female friends. The times have changed. Empowerment is trendy, and her friends are so avant-garde that it's natural they think Marabel the same. Being healthy is best, they say, and their confidence is what makes her friend group special.

"I know Marabel," says Ms. Amberly, pushing her glasses on her nose. "But, I swear you're thinner than the last time I saw you."

Marabel and Ms. Amberly are in her classroom, having a chat after a long winter break.

"Are you sure you don't have a diet plan that you aren't telling me about?" she asks teasingly.

"I really don't have a diet," Marabel laughs.

Ms. Amberly sighs knowingly. "Just don't push yourself too hard, okay?"

"I won't," Marabel says as she goes through the door. "Have a nice day, Ms. Amberly."

--

Marabel applies her lipstick in front of the mirror of the stalls, matte but bright lipstick that's very popular this time of the year. She can hear her friends rushing her outside.

"I got it. I'll hurry up," she laughs and caps the tube, and joins her waiting friends, her friends, who are handsome, pretty, and well, stylish. Oh yes, they are avant-garde, but beauty, athleticism, and attractive features are still deterministic characteristics in high school's mini-social hierarchy. It's no wonder they are well-liked; they know how to socialize and so seemingly care-free that it's hard not to smile around them. Their progressive views only add to their popularity. And with a balance of precisely three girls and three boys (plus some more) makes them welcomed and well-known within the school. But today, it's girls only.

"So where are we going again?" she asks as they make their way down the hall. "I'll drive."

"You know the new mall that just opened? There's a café there that's blown up over the internet," her friend, Cassy, says. "There are some great reviews!" She pulls up the page on her phone and shows it to Marabel.

Marabel leans over to take a closer look. "Oh, I've seen," she says, even though she's never heard of this café or the new mall. But she knows that Cassy will appreciate her comment, as she knows that people often become happy when their peers can relate to themselves.

As expected, her friend smiles. "Then what are we waiting for?"

--

When they arrive at the café, her friends order coffee and cake, and she does too.

When her friends eat, she does too.

And when her friends gossip about people in their class, from other grades, who broke up and who got back together, Marabel nods and laughs at the right times, but her concentration is on when her homework is due later in the week and about how much time she'll have when she goes home. She is more interested in the shop's infrastructure and takes her time to appreciate the brown leather of the long salon seats and the wooden floors that give this place their warmth. If she was here alone, she could've enjoyed the white noise unique to a café—a low murmur of voices and the jingle of cups against ceramic disks.

She takes another unwilling bite of her matcha cake and decides that she's eaten enough to not provoke suspicion but not consumed more than necessary. She props the delicate spoon down and glances at her phone.

It's six.

"Sorry, guys," she says, standing up. She frowns a little, but her lips curve into a smile. "I have to go. My parents want me home for dinner."

Her friends sigh and try to convince her to stay longer, but she gently refuses and gathers her things. She is finally relieved.

She pushes open the glass doors, and the bell clambers to bid farewell. A gush of chilly, spring wind hits her face, its scent damp and terrene. Now regretting not wearing something warmer, she rushes towards her car.

It's spring, but the nights are still cold. Marabel is grateful for the heater in her car. She imagines what it might be like if she had to take public transport. It would be too cold outside for a blazer but too hot on the bus. Marabel taps on the steering wheel impatiently as she stops for a red light. The radio in her car transitions from one trendy pop song to the next. The host cracks corny jokes for an audience that may not be listening to her. I don't think I would be able to do that kind of job, she thinks. Evening falls, and when she arrives home, it's already dark.