"My t-shirt." I laughed because I was stressed while continuing to search my bag "This is your fault. I would not have had a full bag today if I was not getting dragged to the beach."

"You need to come." She sighed before adding "Stone is coming too and he only talks to you."

"He does not only talk to me." I argued.

"Yes. He does." Lana affirmed, "The most I have heard him say is Medusa."

Letting out a huff, I changed the subject "Gym for the first class of the day should be a crime. Gym in general should be a crime."

I released a sigh of relief when I finally found my gym shirt. I pulled it over my head and yanked it down but then I stopped.

The material of my shirt stretched to the bottom of my chest and went no further.

After yanking at it again and it did not budge, I cursed.

Lana studied my midsection and raised one of her light eyebrows "Ella, is your shirt meant to be that tiny?"

"No." I whined before concluding "It must have accidentally shrunk in the washing machine."

My favourite skull shirt barely made it past my boobs. If I raised my arms the tiniest bit, then I would end up flashing everyone my bra.

At the sight of the skeleton head on my chest that looked less like a head and more like a white spot due to the shortness of the material, Lana held her stomach as she began laughing.

"This is not funny, Lana. The t-shirt is teensy." I covered my face with my hands and groaned.

"Do you have a spare?" She quietly questioned while offering me a sympathetic smile.

I shook my head and let out a sigh "What am I going to do?"

"Come on." Lana tried to keep her tone affirmative as she encouraged me "It looks fine."

I was about to argue with her, but it was too late because Lana grabbed my arm and guided me out of the changing room and into the gym hall.

The gym hall fit in with the rest of the theme of the school that looked like something straight out of the eighties. The large room smelt like sweat and it made me doubt that anyone had cleaned the place in the past decade. The lines of the basketball court were fading, and the bleachers were a murky grey colour.

Something else that looked like it belonged in the eighties was my gym teacher. He was small with a potbelly and a moustache. His patterned tracksuit made him look more like a doughnut than an athlete.

He currently looked like a very angry doughnut as his eyes landed on my shirt.

"Hi Coach," I said with an awkward smile while I crossed my arms over my chest.

The crossing of my arms only drew more attention to my chest because the action made the material rise. My black lace bra was slightly visible.