A Girl Like Me

A GIRL LIKE ME BETTINA HUNT This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Copyright © 2023 Bettina Hunt Cover Design © Bettina Hunt All rights reserved. To all my fellow Dyspraxics out there, this one’s for you. Chapter One TO DO Attend Steph’s fitness class Bring latte in for Dev Pick up dinner ‘Okay guys, great workout. Same time next week, unless that is you’ve signed up for my Let It Burn class, in which case, I’ll see you beautiful people Thursday…’ A tiny dribble of sweat cascades sexily down Steph’s tanned shoulder, glistening under the studio lights. She smiles and nods, displaying her perfectly white teeth as one by one the class shuffle past and exits. ‘Thanks Steph, see you Saturday,’ I pant breathlessly, as my heart rate struggles to return to normal. It’s been a harsh workout even without all the steps I missed when I just couldn’t keep up or decipher a move in the routine. I sweep past her, gym bag over my shoulder and towel around my neck to soak up the volumes of sweat I’ve generated. I’m doing my best to look every bit the bona fide fitness freak like the others who are fitter and more toned than me, but I don’t think I’m fooling anyone. ‘Can’t I tempt you back for another class on Thursday then Olivia?’ ‘Nope. As much as I enjoyed it,’ I lie, ‘I think I’ll pass.’ ‘I’ll let you off, but only ‘cos you’ve got little legs and you’re going to need the time to recover,’ Steph winks. I can’t help but let out a chuckle. Coming from anybody else I’d probably be offended but Steph’s my best friend. She’s a health and fitness guru, life coach and all-round good egg. She’s been running these classes for more than five years, but she’s only just convinced me to sign up. Once a week is all I’m willing to commit to however as there’s only so much punishment that I am prepared to be subjected to. And although I told Steph that I enjoyed it, the truth is that it was one of those white lies that you tell your friend so as not to hurt their feelings. I’ll probably attend a few more classes before thinking up excuses each week as to why I can’t go, eventually Steph will stop asking and I’ll be off the hook. Yes, that’s what I’ll do I think to myself on the short walk back to my car. I’ve got a WV up! Automatic, small, and compact just like me. I started learning in a manual car but after more than fifty lessons and going nowhere fast, I know, I know! I found a new driving instructor who suggested I try learning in an automatic car. The difference was amazing, I could finally drive. No thinking about which foot should be doing what, what my hand should be doing, do I need to change gear? nope my car does most of the thinking for me. People (mostly men, if I’m completely honest) sneer when I tell them I’ve only got an automatic license. I get all the ‘you’re missing out, automatics are not fun to drive blah blah…’ spiel, but you know what’s not fun? Failing your test seven times and spending hundreds, if not thousands, of pounds on driving lessons. In any case driving isn’t fun, it’s just a way to get from A to B, and even now I try to avoid driving if I can. But if I am forced to drive my automatic car suits me just fine. Back at home I have only fifteen minutes to get showered and changed before leaving the house for the tube station. There’s no doubt about it, these six am workouts will be the death of me. I know what you’re thinking, this is entirely doable, why are you making a big fuss about it, Olivia? See the thing is it might be doable for the average person but for me life is a bit more of a struggle. And struggle is exactly what it is as I try to wrestle myself out of the double layered gym top that I stupidly bought in the Debenhams sale. It’s a gorgeous, cerise pink and black two-piece number and when I was standing at the tills ready to purchase it, I had grand visions of being one of those dance students at Pineapple Studios, you know the ones, the type that pose in the street looking effortlessly cool, at least that was the picture that was bouncing around in my head at the time. But however demanding I found Steph’s workout, it’s nothing compared to what I am being subjected to now. It’s proving impossible to escape the four straps, with pieces flapping and tightening with each and every move I make. The more I try, the further I get entangled in its clutches, this super cute top has obviously been designed to entrap and baffle me. How do people do this?! From the kitchen, I hear the familiar and comforting sound of my flatmate Russell noisily banging pots and pans and I sigh with relief that he’s home. I head blindly along the hall. Like Medusa I sway, arms twisting and turning like snakes being charmed. Although, I suspect the music my snakes are dancing to is frenetic and panicky. I stand, at what I’m hoping is the door, preventing Russell from leaving the kitchen. ‘Help,’ I whimper, my voice a curious blend of resigned to be stuck in this top forever and sad and pathetic, as that’s exactly how I am feeling right now. Russell laughs. ‘Jesus, what scrape have you got yourself into this time?’ ‘I’m stuck and it’s all Steph’s fault. You know how many