Invisible To Her Bully (Jessa and Noah) novel Chapter 189

**Hearts Written in Silent Rain by Ava Bloomfield**
**Chapter 189**

**Noah**

The gymnasium was transformed into a dazzling spectacle, as if someone had taken an ordinary Friday night and drenched it in a cascade of glittering magic.

Streamers in our school’s colors hung gracefully from the basketball hoops, while fairy lights twinkled like stars, wrapping around the bleachers, casting a warm glow over the festivities. The DJ had cranked the speakers to a level that made the very air vibrate with bass, a rhythmic pulse that resonated through my chest like a heartbeat. The dance floor was a whirlwind of energy, mostly filled with girls who twirled and laughed, as though this was the pinnacle of their teenage existence. Their hair bounced, dresses swirled, and arms shot up in the air, creating a scene reminiscent of a concert rather than Ridgeville’s Homecoming dance.

As for the guys? We were exactly where you’d expect us to be.

Huddled together around tables that lined the wall, we feigned indifference, pretending we weren’t captivated by the spectacle, pretending we weren’t lost in our own cluelessness, and most importantly, pretending we weren’t counting the seconds until we could retreat to the familiar comforts of food and casual banter.

I leaned back in my chair, observing the chaos unfold before me as if I were watching a nature documentary, fascinated by the spectacle of it all.

Jessa had been swept into a throng of girls the moment we entered the gym. Mariah was there, of course, along with a couple of cheerleaders and a few others whose faces I recognized from class but whose names escaped me. For a fleeting moment, Jessa appeared frozen, as if her mind was grappling with the question of whether she was entitled to take up space in this vibrant atmosphere.

Then Mariah clasped her hands, shouted something I couldn’t quite catch over the music, and Jessa erupted into laughter.

Just like that, she was in motion.

Not rigid. Not retreating. Not lingering at the periphery as if waiting for someone to validate her presence.

She belonged. She felt it. Or perhaps she was simply allowing herself to pretend, long enough for that pretense to morph into reality.

It struck me in the chest, an unexpected sensation that felt both thrilling and absurd.

I had been anxious about tonight—about the stares, the whispers, the relentless pressure that seemed to shadow us like a storm cloud.

But in this moment?

She radiated happiness.

And I was at a loss for how much I adored seeing her like that.

Across the table, Shane, one of our star receivers, nudged Chris with his elbow. “Explain to me why the girls are acting like they just clinched the Super Bowl.”

Chris let out a snort of laughter. “It’s simple, man. You put a dress on a girl, and suddenly she thinks she’s John Travolta.”

Jackson, seated beside me with his tie already loosened as if he were personally affronted by formal attire, slowly turned his head. “John Travolta?”

Chris shrugged, as if he had just delivered the most brilliant comparison ever. “Yeah, like… Saturday Night Fever. You know what I mean.”

Jackson’s lips twitched in amusement. “That is so not the image I want to associate with Mariah.”

I couldn’t help but bark out a laugh before I could rein it in. “Yeah, don’t ruin that for yourself, man.”

Jackson shot me a look that clearly said I was being unhelpful. “Isn’t John Travolta, like… an old man now?”

Chris frowned, indignant. “First of all, don’t disrespect a legend.”

I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. “I actually like him in those Christmas credit card commercials.”

Shane blinked in disbelief. “Bro. What?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know,” I replied. “Every holiday season, it’s like—boom—John Travolta and some ‘ho ho ho, what’s in your wallet?’ commercial.”

Jackson shook his head, chuckling under his breath. “You’re such an idiot.”

“Big talk from the Homecoming King,” I shot back, a playful grin on my face.

He grimaced. “Don’t say it like that.”

Chris leaned in, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Our king hates his crown.”

Shane chimed in, “Your queen was practically in tears at the game, man. She’s probably out there living her Disney moment.”

Jackson narrowed his eyes. “If I hear the word ‘queen’ one more time tonight, I’m leaping out a window.”

“Gym windows don’t open,” I reminded him, trying to suppress my laughter.

“Then I’ll headbutt the wall,” he muttered, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

We were still chuckling when the song shifted to something with a heavy beat, prompting a chorus of excited screams from the girls, as if the DJ had just performed a miracle.

Jackson raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “No.”

Mariah stared him down, her expression unwavering.

He held her gaze, a silent battle of wills.

“QB,” she said sweetly, “you’ve got skills on the field. We know you can move. So come on.”

Jackson’s mouth twitched, as if he were fighting a smile. “That sounds like a threat.”

“It is,” she replied cheerfully.

Chris leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head, grinning like he was watching the best show on earth. “Ladies and gentlemen, the women have chosen violence tonight.”

“Shut up,” Jackson muttered, but he stood anyway.

So did I—because Jessa was still holding my hand, and I wasn’t strong enough to resist her when she looked at me like that.

She pulled me toward the dance floor as if she had been waiting all week for this moment. The instant we stepped into the crowd, the heat enveloped us—perfume, sweat, hairspray, and that electric energy of too many teenagers crammed together, all living out their one big “movie moment” night.

Jessa turned to face me, her hands resting on my shoulders.

“Okay,” she said, her voice steady. “Don’t make this weird.”

I let out a laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep within me. “I’m not making it weird; you’re the one making it weird.”

She cut me off by swaying her hips to the beat, moving with an ease that suggested she had done this a thousand times before, as if she were no longer the girl who once avoided dances altogether.

My mind stumbled over itself, trying to process the shift.

“See?” she said, a hint of triumph in her voice. “You can move.”

“I can move,” I echoed, mostly to remind myself that I was still breathing amidst the whirlwind of emotions.

Her laughter rang out, and it was the kind of laugh that made the world around us fade into the background, leaving only the two of us dancing in the spotlight of our own little universe.