Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 54

Jessa

By the time I pushed my way back through the crowd and reached the bleachers, my chest felt tight, like I’d been holding my breath for a mile. The roaring cheers of the crowd faded into a dull, hollow buzz in my ears.

Mariah spotted me immediately, her face lighting up—until she got a good look at mine.

“Uh-oh,” she said, leaning forward. “Where’s the nachos, girl? Don’t tell me you ate them all on the way back.”

I tried to laugh, but it came out shaky, more like a gasp. I sank onto the bench beside her, hugging my arms around myself. “I… didn’t get them.”

Mariah’s eyes narrowed. She turned to face me fully, scanning my expression. “Okay, spill it. What happened?”

I stared straight ahead at the field, my throat aching. Out there, Jackson was high-fiving his teammates, and Noah was pacing near the sideline, helmet in hand, intense and focused. They looked like they belonged. Like they were somebody.

And me? I was just the joke in the stands.

“Nothing,” I said quickly, too quickly.

Mariah snorted. “Liar. I know that look, Jessa Lombardi. Somebody said something.” She paused, her tone sharpening. “Who do I need to throat-punch?”

I swallowed hard, blinking fast. I didn’t want to repeat Chelsea’s words out loud, but they kept echoing in my head, taunting me.

“It was Chelsea,” I admitted finally, my voice barely above a whisper. “And her friends. They… they saw my shirt and the paint on my face and…”

Mariah’s hands balled into fists. “And what?”

“They laughed,” I whispered, my cheeks burning. “Chelsea said… she said that Noah would never want someone like me. A… fatty.”

The word cracked in my throat, splintering into a sob I barely managed to choke back.

Mariah went still for a moment, her eyes flashing with anger. Then she leaned in, her voice fierce but steady.

“Okay, listen to me right now.”

I met her gaze reluctantly.

“Yeah, you might not be the stick-thin, size-two fashion model type,” she said bluntly. “But you know what you are? You’ve got curves, Jessa. You’re built like a woman, not a malnourished hanger. People pay money to have what you’ve got.”

Heat rose to my cheeks, but this time it wasn’t shame—it was disbelief. “Mariah—”

“No. Don’t ‘Mariah’ me,” she said, cutting me off. “Those girls? They’re part of the itty bitty titty club, okay? Jealous as hell because they wish they had your body. They tear you down because it makes them feel better about themselves.”

I blinked at her, startled. “Jealous? Of me?”

“Yes!” Mariah threw her hands up. “You’ve got what they want, and instead of dealing with their own insecurities, they come after you. Classic mean girl nonsense.” She softened her tone slightly, though her eyes still burned. “You let these idiots get into your head way too easily, Jessa. You have got to stop giving them that power.”

My throat felt tight again, but this time for a different reason. “But it’s hard,” I admitted quietly. “Every time I try to stand out, it backfires. They laugh, or whisper, or—” My voice cracked, and I shook my head. “I just… I don’t know how to be okay with myself when it feels like everyone else hates me.”

Mariah reached out and grabbed my hands, squeezing them firmly. “Then stop worrying about everyone else. Own it. Own you. You don’t need their approval, Jess. You don’t need anyone’s.”

Her words hit me like a jolt of lightning.

“You walk in here, hold your head high, and say, ‘Yeah, I’m not a size two, I’m fabulous,’” Mariah declared. “Because you are fabulous. And until you believe it, no one else will.”

I stared at her, my lips parting in stunned silence.

Mariah leaned back, her expression softening. “You’ve spent so long trying to shrink yourself, trying to be invisible so people won’t notice or hurt you. But Jessa, you’re not meant to be invisible. You’re meant to shine.”

Her words wrapped around me like a warm blanket, steadying the storm raging inside me.

“Besides,” Mariah added with a smirk, trying to lighten the mood. “You looked amazing tonight. That shirt shows off your curves in the best way. And don’t even get me started on how good your hair looks right now.”

A shaky laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously right,” she said with a wink.

For the first time since Chelsea’s cruel words, I felt a tiny spark of defiance stir in my chest. Maybe Mariah was right. Maybe I didn’t need to be anyone else—or hide from who I was.

Maybe I just needed to be… me.

And own it.

Out on the field, the whistle blew, signaling the start of the second half. The crowd erupted again, their cheers echoing into the night.

I sat up a little straighter, brushing my fingers over the painted number on my cheek. Chelsea’s voice still lingered in my mind, but Mariah’s was louder now, fiercer.

Yeah, I’m not a size two. I’m fabulous.

I whispered it to myself, a promise only I could hear. And for the first time in a long time, I almost believed it.