The second the bell rang, Jenny was already halfway out the door, her backpack slung over one shoulder and her heavy frame thundering softly with each step. She was hungry — not the kind of light hunger you feel before dinner, but the gnawing, ravenous, all-consuming kind that settled into her bones like a second nature. She tugged at her tight jacket as she squeezed through the classroom door, the edges of her belly grazing the frame. Mr. Dawson, the history teacher, barely looked up from his desk. At this point, he was used to Jenny’s early departures which were technically against the rules, but no one wanted to argue when Jenny had that look in her eye: equal parts determination and pure, gluttonous need. Students whispered as she passed, some in mockery, some in awe, but Jenny was too focused to care. Her huge thighs swished loudly under the straining yoga pants, the fabric creaking as she shuffled through the crowded hallway. A couple of kids flattened themselves against the lockers to make room, wide-eyed as her towering, bottom-heavy figure loomed past them. “Make way, people,” Jenny quipped with a lazy grin, raising a hand clad in her fingerless glove. “Big girl’s got places to be, food to destroy.” A few chuckled nervously. Someone muttered something rude, but Jenny rolled her eyes and kept moving, the sheer mass of her swaying belly jiggling under her strained top with each lumbering step. She could already smell the cafeteria. Grease, bread, pizza, something sweet and syrupy; everything good and heavy, everything she loved. Her mouth watered at the thought. She patted the side of her gut absentmindedly, the soft flesh wobbling under her palm. It gurgled in response, loud enough that a passing group of sophomores heard it and giggled amongst themselves. Jenny just smirked and flipped them a lazy peace sign without missing a beat. In her mind, lunch wasn’t just a meal; it was a celebration. A chance to forget, for a little while, about the whispered judgments, the stares, the complicated lectures from her dad. Here, with a full tray, she could just be. As she approached the cafeteria doors, she gave them a small shove, the heavy metal creaking open just enough for her to squeeze through sideways, her belly pressing against the frame with a soft, audible squish. She stumbled forward a bit, laughing to herself under her breath. “Food, I’m home,” she whispered dramatically, tugging her jacket down and adjusting the sweatband on her wrist. Another day, another feast.