Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 8

Jessa

It’s easy for people like Mariah to say “ignore him.”

Because Mariah isn’t me. She isn’t stuck in a body that feels wrong no matter what angle you look at it. She isn’t the girl who hears the word thick and feels it pressing down on her like a weight she can’t throw off.

I hate that word.

I hate the way it echoes in my head when I try on jeans in the dressing room. I hate the way I compare myself to every other girl at school—girls with flat stomachs and legs that look like they belong on magazine covers.

I hate that when Noah said it yesterday, even though he said it with that crooked smirk, my brain didn’t argue with him.

It agreed.

It whispered, He’s not wrong. You are thick. You are the joke.

And I hate myself most of all for believing it.

At night, lying in bed, I sometimes imagine waking up as someone else. Someone who doesn’t have to tug her hoodie tighter around her in the cafeteria. Someone who doesn’t worry that people are staring at her legs when she runs drills on the field. Someone who walks into a room and is noticed for something other than being “Jackson’s twin” or “the girl with the thighs.”

I wish I could peel myself off and step into that girl’s skin.

But I can’t.

All I can do is carry this body and this shame and pretend like it doesn’t hurt when people laugh.

The next day, I walked into practice with Mariah’s words circling in my head like a broken record.

Confidence. Ignore him. Don’t shrink.

It sounded so simple when she said it, like a magic formula. But the second I stepped onto the field, with Noah already there tossing the football lazily between his hands, my stomach sank.

He looked up. Of course he did. He always noticed me, like a radar zeroing in on its favorite target. His grin spread slow and easy, the kind that made my chest clench even while I told myself I hated him.

“Careful, Lombardi,” he called, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Don’t want the field collapsing under those thick thighs of yours.”

Laughter exploded around him—Jackson’s included.

And just like that, the sting was back.

My face burned hot, my throat tight. I wanted to disappear, to melt into the grass and never come back. I could feel my body screaming at me to shrink, to hunch, to fold in on myself the way I always did.

But Mariah’s voice was there too. You can’t let him get in your head. He teases because he wants a reaction.

I forced my shoulders back. My hands curled into fists at my sides.

“Funny,” I said, my voice sharper than I meant it to be. “At least my thighs don’t give out by halftime.”

The words left me before I could stop them. And for one terrifying second, the entire field went quiet.

Noah’s eyebrows shot up, and his smirk faltered just slightly.

Then Jackson barked out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “She’s got you there, man.”

The tension broke. Everyone went back to their drills.

And me?

I stood there, heart pounding like I’d just run a marathon. My cheeks were still hot, but there was something else underneath the embarrassment—something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

Pride.

Tiny, fragile pride.

Because for once, I didn’t let him win.

But the pride didn’t last.

Later that night, lying in bed, I replayed the moment over and over. My comeback. His smirk. The laughter.

And instead of feeling strong, I felt hollow.

Because underneath the tiny spark of victory, the truth was still there.

I hated the way my thighs looked in shorts. I hated that Noah’s words had cut so deep because they weren’t just a joke—they were the thing I told myself every time I stood in front of a mirror.

And if I hated it so much, how could I expect anyone else not to?

At lunch the next day, Mariah slid into her seat across from me. “You were kind of badass yesterday,” she said with a grin.

I shrugged, poking at my food. “Or maybe I just made myself look stupid.”

“Jess.” Her voice was firm now. “He deserved it. And you didn’t look stupid—you looked strong.”

I wanted to believe her. I really did. But the ache in my chest wouldn’t go away.

“What if he’s right, though?” The words slipped out before I could swallow them down. “What if I really am just… that girl? The overweight one. The joke.”

Mariah leaned forward, her eyes fierce. “Then you change the story. You stop letting his words define you. You start deciding who you are, instead of letting Noah Carter or anyone else do it for you.”

Her words sank into me, heavy and sharp.

Decide who I am.

It sounded impossible.

But maybe—just maybe—it was the only way forward.

I wish I could say I felt instantly better. That Mariah’s pep talk fixed me. That I suddenly loved my body and didn’t care what Noah or anyone else thought.

But the truth is, I walked out of lunch still wishing I was someone else. Still hating the reflection I saw in the mirror. Still aching with the sting of his words.

The difference was, this time, I also carried something new.

A spark.

A whisper that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to be the girl who shrank forever.

And maybe the next time Noah Carter tried to tear me down, I’d be ready.