Chapter 1

"I just don't think I'm beautiful,"

The tone in Sloane's voice was flat and unamusing, sitting on the wooden chair by the dresser, her eyes fixed on the wide mirror framed in white that hung in Laura's cabin room.

The summer air was thick and sweet, curling the ends of her hair and clinging to her skin with a lazy warmth. Pine and damp earth drifted through the open window, mingling with the faint echo of laughter outside.

It was mid-July in the Northwarn Hills, a pocket of dense green woods about forty minutes from campus.

For the past week, the college track team had been stranded there in what the coaches called a "training camp," though it felt more like boot camp disguised as summer fun. Dawn runs through misty trails, drills until their legs tremble, ice baths that make even the loudest ones go dead silent. But now—finally—tonight was better.

The coaches had granted them a night off. A rare mercy. One glorious evening without stopwatches or stress.

The deal was simple: no alcohol, no trouble, and everyone could head into town to the local tavern—a cozy place tucked near the base of the hills. It wasn't fancy, but it was enough. And after days of sweat and exhaustion, any place with buffalo wings and karaoke will do.

Cabins buzzed with movement. Twenty athletes—girls and guys alike—were rifling through duffel bags and swapping shirts, trading running shoes for sneakers that actually matched their outfits. Someone was blasting early 2000s music from a portable speaker, the kind of songs everyone knew the lyrics to even if they'd never admit it.

She wasn't usually one for team outings. She preferred to stay in bed with N*****x and nachos, but even she could feel it tonight, that pulse of excitement in the air.

A night out. A chance to breathe. To stop thinking about pace times or schedules and maybe just exist for a few hours.

Laura, who had been standing behind her fixing her hair, without a word, placed both hands on Sloane's shoulders and leaned down until their faces aligned in the mirror. Her expression was soft but curious, her honey-brown eyes meeting Sloane's reflection with a glint of disbelief.

"And where's that coming from?" she asked.

The small crease between her brows deepened as she studied her friend through the glass. Sloane noticed how long Laura's lashes were, how her freckles gathered adorably across the bridge of her nose, how her makeup was blended to absolute perfection—every contour smooth, every color seamless, like she'd stepped out of a magazine photoshoot.

"I'm just being honest," Sloane muttered, blowing out a quiet sigh, not wanting to sound bitter—but also not wanting to dig any deeper.

"What?" Laura's voice rose slightly, laced with genuine concern. "Are you serious right now? You're gorgeous, Sloane. Are you blind?"

Sloane rolled her eyes but could tell Laura meant it—she wasn't just saying it to make her feel better. She was honestly worried, probably thinking this was some kind of self-esteem spiral or hidden insecurity.

But Sloane didn't want to explain the long trail of thoughts that had led her there, the quiet comparisons, the moments she'd looked at herself and simply... didn't see what others claimed to.

It had been two months since she'd been rejected by her best friend—if that's what they still were.

They'd known each other since freshman year of high school, they met on the track field and bond over training, shared thousands of hours of inside jokes, exams, and unspoken dynamics. They even chose the same college, thinking it would be fun to keep the adventure going, and, in their shared burst of stupidity, ended up living in the same dorm building.

Sloane still couldn't understand what kind of delusion had taken over her when she started believing he might like her back. For years she had sworn they were just friends. She had defended that truth like it was a life or death matter.

But something shifted once they moved out of their parents' homes, once the world got quieter at night and they started talking more about the kind of people they wanted to become. Their late-night conversations stretched longer that felt too intimate; his voice sounded softer in the dark; his laugh started to do things to her chest that friendship shouldn't—it all twisted something inside her, blurred the lines.

So when she confessed, she thought she was being brave. Turns out, she was just being stupid.

He didn't feel the same. He still saw her as his best friend, nothing more. And she was left standing there, heart in hand, feeling the sting of reality press cold against her skin.

Apparently she had mistaken this new proximity with romantic feelings. Although, she didn't even know if what she felt was love, probably it was not. Maybe it was just confusion—for the longing to finally be seen as something more, to be chosen.

Still, she was grateful he hadn't cut her off entirely. Things were awkward, yes, but not destroyed. Maybe, she thought, one day they'd drift back to normal.

More than heartbroken, she was disappointed—in herself, mostly. How had she let her mind stray so far from reality? She'd never confessed to anyone before, and the first time she did, it had to be him. Just her luck.

There wasn't even anyone else in the picture. Both of them were single. But she knew the kind of girls who caught his attention—girls who floated across campus in crop tops and miniskirts, who looked like they'd been dipped in sunlight and expensive moisturizer.

He had eyes for them, not for her. In the past, that had made her laugh. She'd teased him endlessly for being so "easy."

Now, it just made her ache—for him, for herself, for the truth that had finally formed in her mind.

I'm not beautiful. I am not attractive.

Sloane wasn't delusional about her looks. She knew she wasn't ugly. Far from it, actually.

She was... average.

Ordinary.