Chapter 2 — The Girl Nobody Chose

The rain battered against the glass of Sheba’s car, blurred streaks of red and white taillights bleeding into the darkness . She sat in the driver’s seat three blocks away from the house, her fingers gripped so tightly around the steering wheel that her knuckles were bone-white . Her hip throbbed with a dull, sickening ache where she had hit the vanity, but the physical pain felt entirely distant, eclipsed by the suffocating weight in her chest .

She stared into the rearview mirror . Her eyes were bloodshot, swollen, and red . Rain and dried tears had smeared across her face, and her dark hair clung in damp clumps to her forehead .

“A pathetic, fat whale surrounded by literal trash”

Mira’s voice echoed in her mind, sharp and ringing . It wasn't the first time Sheba had heard those words . They were simply the latest addition to an endless, cruel soundtrack that had played in the background of her entire life .

She leaned her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes, and let the flood of memories pull her under .

Sheba had learned very early in life that her body was considered a crime .

At twelve years old, while other girls were effortlessly gliding into delicate summer dresses, Sheba was already standing half a head taller and significantly broader than her classmates . She remembered her middle school cafeteria with terrifying claritythe metallic smell of trays, the clatter of silverware, and the sudden, mocking silence that fell over the table whenever she sat down .

"Careful, don't break the bench, Sheba !" a boy named Marcus had yelled across the room one afternoon, drawing loud, raucous laughter from the entire soccer team .

Sheba had frozen, her hand hovering over her brown-bag lunch, her face burning so hot she thought her skin would melt . She had looked down at her lap, pulling her sweater tight around her knees, wishing with every fiber of her being that she could simply vanish into the floorboards .

No one had defended her . The girls who sat near her simply scooted their chairs a few inches away, non-verbally signaling that they had no association with the oversized girl at the end of the table .

That was the year Sheba learned to eat in the library bathroom . She would sit on the cold tile floor, chewing her sandwich in absolute silence, listening to the muffled sounds of normal teenagers laughing in the hallway outside .

High school had been no kinder . While her peers went to school dances, traded hoodies with boys, and got asked out on Friday nights, Sheba was the designated wallflower . She became the girl boys approached only as a joke—a dare passed around in locker rooms to see who was brave enough to pretend to ask the heavy girl to homecoming .

When she was sixteen, a boy named David had spent three weeks being extraordinarily sweet to her in chemistry class . He had complimented her intelligence, sat beside her during labs, and laughed at her quiet jokes . For twenty-one days, Sheba had allowed herself to believe a miracle was happening . She had spent hours in her bedroom trying on outfits, wondering if maybe, just maybe, someone finally saw her .

Then came the Friday afternoon before spring break . David had approached her locker, a group of his friends hovering at the end of the hall, muffling their laughter behind their hands .

"Hey, Sheba," David had said, offering her a sweet, boyish smile . "I was wondering if you'd go to the movies with me tonight ?"

Sheba’s heart had leaped into her throat . "Really ?" she had whispered, her voice trembling with genuine, fragile hope .

David had stared at her for two long seconds before bursting into a harsh, mocking laugh . He turned back to his friends, shouting over his shoulder, "I told you guys she’d believe it! Look at her face! She actually thought I’d take her out!"

The hallway had erupted into laughter . Sheba had closed her locker, walked directly out the front doors of the school, and walked three miles home in the freezing rain .

That was the night Mira had come over .

Mira had been the slim, gorgeous neighbor who lived two doors down . She had sat on the edge of Sheba’s bed, hugging her tight, wiping away her tears with gentle fingers .

"They're just stupid boys, Sheba," Mira had whispered sweetly, stroking Sheba’s hair . "You don't need them . You have me . You're so smart, and intelligence lasts forever . Beauty is just shallow anyway ."

At sixteen, Sheba had looked at Mira through tear-stained eyes and felt an overwhelming wave of gratitude . She had believed Mira was her savior, the one person who saw past her size and loved her for who she was . She hadn't realized that Mira was already carefully constructing a dynamic positioning herself as the stunning, desirable princess, and keeping Sheba as her loyal, insecure shadow .

Sheba opened her eyes in the dark, quiet space of her car, the memory burning out like a cold cinder .

All her life, she had been the girl nobody chose . She was the girl people used for homework, the girl people called when they needed help with their taxes, the girl people tolerated because she was convenient, quiet, and eager to please .

When Adrian had entered her life three years ago, offering her sweet compliments and holding her hand in private, she had thought the curse was finally broken . She had believed she had finally been chosen .

She looked down at her hands on the steering wheel heavy, broad, and strong .

A slow, bitter breath escaped her lips . She wiped the remaining tears from her face with the sleeve of her sweater . The grief was still there, vast and deep, but beneath it, a quiet, icy resolve was beginning to form .

She turned the key in the ignition . The engine roared to life, casting a bright amber light across the rain-swept windshield . Sheba shifted the car into drive and pulled away from the curb, leaving Adrian, Mira, and twenty-eight years of begging to be loved firmly in her rearview mirror .