Ava hadn’t slept. Not really. Not with that word burned into her mind—’Sorry’, carved faintly into her bedroom window like a whisper from a ghost. She had stared at it for hours, fingers brushing the cold glass over and over, trying to convince herself it had been a trick of the light.
But it wasn’t. And that was what scared her the most.
Now, under the blinding lights of the gym, everything felt louder—sneakers squeaking on polished floors, whistles piercing the air, the slap of dodgeballs and the echo of teenage voices. But none of it drowned out the static in her head.
Ava stood near the baseline, arms crossed, trying to disappear behind a line of taller girls.
“Spread out!” The coach barked. “And keep it clean this time!”
She didn’t see him coming.
Jace’s foot hooked around her ankle just as she moved forward. Her balance vanished, and she hit the floor hard, knees slamming into the hardwood with a sharp thud. Laughter sparked like firecrackers.
“Oh, my bad,” he said behind her, mock-surprised. “Did the floor trip you, or was it your weight again?”
Her palms stung. Her face burned.
The words didn’t land like they used to. No, this time, they stuck.
After class, she tried to get to her locker quickly, but he was already there, leaning against the metal like he owned the hallway.
He waited until she was close, then shoved his shoulder into her, sending her books flying across the floor.
“Oops,” he said, eyes glinting. “Slippery hands, huh, fat girl?”
The hallway laughed with him. Or maybe it didn’t. Ava couldn’t tell anymore.
She bent to pick up her books, heart pounding so hard it hurt. But when she stood, she caught it—just a flicker, but enough.
Jace’s smile dropped the second his friends weren’t looking. His jaw clenched. His eyes shifted to the ground.
And he looked… empty. For the first time, Ava didn’t just feel anger. She felt curious.
What the hell was going on behind that mask?
That evening, while everyone else filtered out of school, Ava stayed behind, pretending to tie her shoe, pretending to check her bag. She followed him—quiet as a thought.
He didn’t notice.
In the back lot behind the gym, he stopped. Alone.
He stood there for minutes, hands balled into fists at his sides, breathing heavy like he’d just run a mile. He wasn’t looking at anything. Just… standing. Like he was waiting for something that never came.
And for a moment, Ava saw it: the boy underneath the cruelty. The pressure. The rage.
But then her chest ached, and the bruises in her memory reminded her—this boy still hurt her. He still broke pieces of her just because he could.
Something inside her snapped. Back then, she’d stayed quiet. But she wasn’t just that girl anymore.
Even if she was stuck in the body she hated—round and small, invisible yet too visible, the body she still flinched at in fitting rooms even when she was thirty and “successful”—she wasn’t the same.
She was done shrinking.
The next morning, the hallway buzzed with the usual noise—lockers slamming, gum popping, phones buzzing beneath desks. Ava stood tall, chin lifted, heart hammering as she spotted him near her locker.
This time, she didn’t wait for him to come to her. She marched straight up, jaw locked, eyes steady.
“Jace.” He turned, surprised she used his name.
“Aw, what now?” he muttered. “Gonna cry on my shoes?”
“No,” she said, voice sharp. “But I think it’s time you stop pretending you don’t see me.”
He scoffed, glancing around like this was all beneath him. “Why do you even exist?”
The words hit her, hard and fast. But they didn’t knock her down. Instead, they lit her on fire. She wasn’t that small girl anymore—the one who used to cry in bathroom stalls and wish herself invisible.
She’d lived a whole life since then. She’d built herself from the ruins he left behind. And now, standing in front of him, Ava didn’t see a monster. She saw a boy who had been broken before he ever learned how to be kind.
She saw the truth—the bullying hadn’t come from power. It had come from pain.
But that didn’t excuse it.
His back hit the locker with a loud, metallic clang, echoing down the hallway. Students froze. Whispers died. But Ava didn’t flinch.
She took a step closer, her chest rising fast but steady.
“To remind you,” she said, voice trembling but fierce, “that you can’t erase me just because I make you feel something.”
Jace didn’t laugh. He didn’t smirk. He just stared at her—eyes wide, mouth slightly open.