Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 137

Chapter 137

Mariah

**** +25 BONUS

I always thought dress shopping was supposed to be this magical, sparkly go movie moment- giggling, trying on gowns like princesses in a montage with glitter falling from the ceiling.

Instead?

It felt like getting slapped across the face by the fashion industry every five minutes.

Hard.

twirling,

Jessa and I had been in the mall for two and a half hours, and I was one bad zipper away from fighting a mannequin.

“I swear,” I muttered, arms crossed as I glared at the fitting–room doorway, “if this dress looks like a punctuation mark against your chest, I’m suing somebody.”

From behind the curtain, Jessa groaned. “I don’t even know what that means, but probably yes.”

“It means boob punctuation! They keep designing dresses where your chest is the entire plot.”

She snorted, but there wasn’t much humor in it. Not today. Not with the fluorescent lights in this store making everything harsher, sharper, louder – especially the doubts in her head.

The curtain slid back.

And there she was.

Deep emerald satin, sweetheart neckline, bodice cutting in too sharply, hips flaring weird like the designer had heard rumors about curves and panicked halfway through.

Jessa stared at herself.

I hated the mirror for reflecting back the wrong thing. Because I wasn’t seeing what she saw saw someone trying so hard to feel like she belonged in a world that wasn’t built for her body.

“I hate it,” she whispered.

―

she saw flaws. I

I stood, walked forward, tugged the strap, tilted my head. Tried, so desperately, to give the dress a chance.

It didn’t earn one.

“Yeah,” I agreed softly. “This dress was created by Satan’s personal seamstress.”

She laughed breaking.

– but her eyes went shiny, and that laughter sounded like she was trying to protect herself from

She turned sideways, hands hovering over her stomach. Her face did that thing – the one where she tried to act neutral while hating what she saw.

And suddenly?

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Chapter 137

My throat got tight.

I’m the confident friend. The one who tells her she’s fire, who drags h deserves to be there.

** +25 BONUS

potlight because damn tf, she

But standing here, watching her fight with fabric like it was judging her, I felt something gut–level honest:

I had been underestimating how heavy it is to be the girl who doesn’t fit the template.

Not literally emotionally. Socially. Silently.

Jessa tugged at the side seam. “Why do they make these in bigger sizes if they don’t actually fit bigger bodies?”

raw and true and unfair.

And there it was

I wanted to burn this whole store down.

“You’re not the problem,” I said. “These dresses are trash. They take a size two pattern, blow it up to a fourteen, and call it inclusive. It’s fake.”

She didn’t answer. Just kept staring.

Her shoulders curved the slightest bit inward – like she was apologizing for existing in space.

No. Absolutely not.

I put my hands on her upper arms gently and turned her toward me.

“Look at me.

She blinked.

“You are not wrong for having a real body,” I said. “You’re not wrong for having boobs. Or hips. Or softness. They are wrong for pretending only one kind of body deserves pretty things.”

She swallowed. Hard.

“I just don’t want to look ridiculous.”

“You want to look like yourself,” I corrected. “That’s harder than looking like what other people expect. But you’ve been doing harder things your whole life.”

Her lip trembled – barely. “You really think I can pull off Homecoming?”

“Oh, honey,” I exhaled, “Homecoming is not ready for you.”

She finally smiled – small, fragile, warming from the inside.

I squeezed her hand. “Okay. New plan. Witch in the woods couture. We’ll summon a gown from moonlight and rage.”

She giggled. “You’re ridiculous.”

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Chopter 137

“And yet somehow still right.”

* +25 BONUS

She slipped behind the curtain again. I sat back down, cracked my kn suing Vogue on her behalf.

sidered the legal logistics of

My phone buzzed.

Jackson:

Where are you?

Oh. Right. Him. My newly complicated problem wearing a quarterback jersey and emotional confusion.

Me:

Trying dresses.

It’s a battlefield. Send snacks or a rescue helicopter.

Dot dot dot.

Jackson:

She doing okay?

His sister. Of course that’s his first thought.

And ugh, why was that attractive?

Me:

She will. She’s fighting dresses that weren’t made for anyone with real curves.

Pause.

Then:

Don’t threaten me.