Betty’s POV
The moment I stepped onto campus ground tomorrow, I knew.
Everyone had heard.
The looks weren’t neutral. They weren’t curious. They were entertained. I wasn’t a person—I was a meme. A punchline.
Laughter buzzed just beneath the surface, like I’d walked into a joke halfway through and everyone else already knew the setup. I kept my head down, pretending not to hear. Pretending it didn’t matter.
It did.
I passed a group of guys near the front entrance. One nudged the other and whispered something. They all burst out laughing.
“There’s no way Marcus is actually into her.”
“What’s the game here? Charity? A bet?”
“He’s just messing around. Look at her.”
I wanted to disappear.
I clutched my hoodie tighter, like somehow it could absorb me. The fabric stretched across my stomach, tighter than usual. Every step made me more aware of how my thighs rubbed together, how my arms jiggled even under the sleeves. I could feel the sweat under my bra—already—and it wasn’t even 9 a.m.
I ducked into a bathroom stall and pulled out my phone. I knew I shouldn’t. I did anyway.
The university confession page has been updated.
A blurry photo of me sitting on a bench had been posted overnight. I recognized the bag. It was me. Sitting, hunched, stomach folded, my chin caught at the worst possible angle.
The caption said:
“Marcus Mitchell caught saving whales. Captain gets community service.”
There were 762 likes. Dozens of comments.
I didn’t read them. I didn’t need to. I could imagine.
Pig emoji. Whale emoji. Captain Save-a-Fat.
I wanted to punch my phone. I wanted to punch my reflection. I wanted to tear off my hoodie and set it on fire, and then crawl into a hole and never come out.
At lunch, I sat at the corner of the cafeteria like I didn’t exist. Everyone knew not to sit with me. I was radioactive now.
Someone passed by and slid something onto my tray. A square of cafeteria cake. A pink sticky note on top.
“He must’ve been blind.”
I stared at it for a full minute. Then I pushed the tray away. A voice loomed above me,
“So,” it said casually, “this is the big love story, huh?”
Stacey.
She didn’t need to slam her tray down. She didn’t need to raise her voice. Just the sight of her made my chest tighten.
She sat across from me like we were girlfriends catching up. Crossed her arms. Tipped her head.
I didn’t look at her.
She kept going.
“You really believe Marcus wants you? You? Look at him. Now look at you. This isn’t a fairy tale, Betty. It’s a setup. You’re the before photo.”
My throat burned, but I didn’t say a word.
She leaned in, lowering her voice. “You’re fat. You wear the same hoodie every day. You think it hides everything, but it doesn’t. We all see you. You’re not invisible. You’re just pathetic.”
I felt the tears coming, but I blinked hard, fast. Not here. Not in front of her.
She saw anyway.
“You think he’s gonna take you to the university gala?” she said. “Please. He wouldn’t touch you unless someone dared him. Probably did.”
I stared at my tray. My stomach twisted. I hated my body so much I could feel the disgust crawling under my skin. I hated my soft belly, my thick arms, my round face, my everything. I didn’t deserve love. I didn’t deserve hope.
And then—
“Stacey.”
Her name, low and sharp.
She turned.
So did I.
Marcus stood behind her.