I woke up before the sun.
It wasn't exactly exciting. It was more like dread and pressure, tangled into a tight ball in my chest. I sat up slowly, my mind already playing out every step of the makeup tutorial Kate had sent me. I hadn’t really believed I’d follow it, but here I was, pulling open my drawer and laying everything out like I was preparing for a test I hadn’t studied for.
In the dim light of my bedroom, I looked at the small handful of products: my ELF Halo Glow Liquid Filter, the $6 concealer Kate swore made your under-eyes look awake, and the tiny Cream & Sugar eyeshadow quad. Nothing special. Definitely not influencer-level. But it was mine. And today, I was going to try.
I primed my face, dotted foundation over my cheeks, and blended with my fingers like the girl in the video showed. I added blush, feathered in my brows with a cheap gel, and swiped mascara carefully onto my lashes. For the first time in forever, I didn’t skip lip gloss. I used the soft pink one Kate gave me, “Pink Cosmo,” and it tasted faintly of vanilla and something sweet I couldn’t name.
When I was done, I sat back.
The girl in the mirror didn’t look transformed. She still had soft cheeks, eyes too big for her face, and hair that frizzed no matter how much product she used. But she looked awake. Like she’d made an effort. Like she was trying not to disappear.
Then came the clothes.
I pulled out the jeans from our mall trip—dark-wash skinnies from American Eagle that fit too well. They clung to my hips, cupped my thighs, and made me feel exposed. I almost put them back in the drawer.
Almost.
Instead, I pulled them on.
The top was a soft, rose-colored long-sleeve from Garage. Square neckline. Slight crop. The kind of thing I would’ve laughed at wearing a month ago. It showed my body. Not all of it, but enough that I felt bare. I kept glancing at my stomach, wishing it would flatten, wondering if people would notice every curve I hated.
I didn’t reach for my hoodie.
But I packed it in my bag.
Just in case.
Downstairs, Dad was in the kitchen, flipping through emails on his phone and munching on burnt toast. When he looked up and saw me, he blinked like I was someone else.
“You look… nice,” he said, clearing his throat.
“It’s for school,” I muttered.
“And the boy?”
I hesitated, then nodded.
He smiled, awkward but warm. “Want me to come to the next game? Keep an eye on him?”
“Sure.”
The car ride was silent. Not in a bad way. Just heavy. I stared out the window the whole time, hands gripping my phone like it could protect me from whatever was waiting.
The second I stepped onto campus, I felt it.
The change.
It wasn’t like people dropped their books or gasped dramatically. It was quieter than that. More dangerous.
The stares weren’t the usual casual glances. It was like people were trying to do the math in their heads. Trying to figure out if I was still the same girl or someone entirely new.
A girl near the fountain actually elbowed her friend and muttered something behind her hand. Another guy I’d never even spoken to did a double-take and didn’t bother hiding it. He just stood there, looking me up and down like I’d walked out of a different school.
My heart pounded in my chest. I wanted to believe they were surprised in a good way. That the effort had been worth it. That Kate had been right.
But the little voice in the back of my mind—the one that always sounded like middle-school cafeteria bullies—was already whispering, They’re not staring because you’re pretty. They’re staring because you tried. And failed.
I kept walking.
Kate found me in the parking lot and immediately lit up like I was wrapped in fairy lights.
“Oh my GOD,” she said, practically bouncing on her heels. “Told you. I told you!”
She hugged me without asking, and it felt good. Familiar. Safe.
I tried to smile. “You really think it looks okay?”
“Okay?” She pulled back and scanned me head to toe. “Girl, you are giving main character energy. Your skin looks amazing, that top is literally perfect for your shape, and your hair—ugh, we nailed the waves.”
I laughed, a little breathless. “I feel… exposed.”
“You look confident.”
“I feel like I taped a giant sign to my chest that says ‘Look at me, I’m trying too hard.’”
Kate shook her head. “You look like someone who decided she matters. And that terrifies people like Stacey.”
Vel walked by on his way to the gym, earbuds in. He stopped mid-step when he caught sight of me. For a second, he just stared like he wasn’t sure who I was.
Then he smirked. “Damn, Branson. Didn’t know you had that in you.”
I didn’t answer. Just kept walking.
But inside? I was spiraling.
Was that a compliment? An insult? Was he impressed or just shocked that I looked like a functioning human being instead of the ghost in the back row?
My palms were sweating. My thighs were rubbing together with every step, and I was suddenly hyper-aware of the waistband of my jeans pressing into my stomach. I knew my cardigan was in my bag. I could pull it out. Hide. But I hadn’t come this far just to go back to camouflage.
And then I saw him.
Marcus.
He was by the courtyard benches, talking to someone from his team. Just standing there, casual as ever, hoodie unzipped, curls a little messy.
He turned.
His eyes landed on me and he froze.
No smirk. No teasing.
His expression softened—just slightly—and then his ears turned pink. His face flushed red. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t look away either.
He saw me.
Like really saw me.
Not as a joke. Not as the punchline of a prank. Just… me.
And in that one moment, I almost believed I was beautiful.
Almost.
Then the world snapped back into focus.
The sound of heels clicking against pavement. The scent of overpriced perfume and spite.
Stacey.
She appeared behind me like a bad dream you forgot you had. Her voice was low and syrupy, meant only for me.
“Cute shirt,” she whispered, leaning close. “Shame about the stomach.”
My breath caught in my throat.
It wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them—like they were undeniable. Like she was doing me a favor by pointing it out.
My body went rigid. Every soft curve I’d spent the morning trying to accept suddenly felt enormous. Loud. Shameful.
I stared ahead, not moving.
Marcus’s voice broke the silence, sharp and unmistakable.
“Shut the fuck up, Stacey.”
People turned. Even Vel stopped walking.
Stacey blinked, thrown off for a second. “What? I was just—”
“I said shut up.”
His tone left no room for debate.
My hands trembled. I could feel everyone’s eyes pinging between us like we were the final scene of a drama they hadn’t known they were watching.
And yet, all I wanted to do was disappear.
I couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t meet Marcus’s eyes.
I reached into my bag. My fingers wrapped around the soft, familiar fabric. I pulled out the gray cardigan—the same one I’d worn a hundred times before—and wrapped it around myself like armor.
Like I was admitting she was right.
I hadn’t come far enough.
Not yet.