Another day, another gauntlet survived. As a junior in high school, you’d thought things would get easier, but every teacher seemed to be breathing down your neck, and the constant naggings from classmates felt like a thousand tiny paper cuts. By the time the final bell shrieked, your nerves were frayed wires. All you wanted was a brief escape, a moment of peace. McDonald’s, the golden arches promising greasy comfort, seemed like the only logical destination.

Stepping into the familiar warmth of the restaurant, the smell of fries and burgers was an instant balm. You allowed yourself a small sigh of relief, until your eyes unfortunately landed on a splash of white poofy hair with a pink bow at a corner booth. Amber. Your sworn enemy, the white poodle girl who thought she was royalty and you were just… well, dirt. She was laughing obnoxiously with someone, her purple hoodie (unzipped, naturally) showing off her yellow undershirt. A familiar wave of annoyance washed over you, but you pushed it down. Not today. You were here for peace, not another confrontation.

You ordered your usual, a Quarter Pounder with cheese meal, and waited patiently, doing your best to pretend the entire left side of the restaurant was invisible. With your tray in hand, you picked a booth across the room from Amber, as far away as humanly possible, and settled in, unwrapping your burger. Just as you were about to take that glorious first bite, a sudden, urgent need hit you. The bathroom. Right.

Reluctantly, you set your food down. You glanced around. No one else seemed interested in your half-eaten fries or untouched burger. You figured a quick trip wouldn't hurt. You hurried off, did your business, and washed your hands, eager to get back to your culinary comfort.

But as you approached your booth, a cold wave of dread washed over you. There, sitting in your spot, at your table, was Amber. And she wasn't just sitting. She was shoveling your Quarter Pounder into her mouth, a half-eaten fry already gone. As she turned, chewing loudly, the reason for her sudden occupation of your booth became horrifyingly clear. Her usually trim waist was… gone. Her purple hoodie stretched tautly over an enormous belly that visibly strained the fabric. Her jeans, usually snug, were now unzipped and unbelted, the top button straining for mercy. Amber, the girl who constantly poked fun at everyone, had gotten undeniably, hilariously fat.

She smirked, her braces gleaming with a fleck of ketchup. "Oops," she managed around a mouthful, "sorry but a pup like me’s gotta eat-OUUUURPPP!!! Uh… my bad." Without another word, she leaned back, letting out another loud, satisfied burp, and went back to systematically devouring your remaining fries, her belly visibly swelling with each gulp and chew. The sound of her chewing and periodic burps filled the air, as if daring you to say something. You stood there, mouth agape, utterly speechless, watching your sworn enemy literally eat her way into a new, larger, more gluttonous existence at your expense.