Invisible To Her Bully のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 171 - チャプター 180

JessaBy Monday, it felt like the whole school had watched that kiss in slow motion.They probably had.I’d had an amazing weekend — which, honestly, still felt weird to think about. Saturday, Noah and I hung out on his back porch, sharing junk food and listening to music while his little sister made fun of us for “being disgusting and in love.” Sunday, we spent way too long on the phone, talking about nothing and everything until my battery died mid-sentence.For once, I didn’t dread Monday.That lasted… about fifteen minutes.Because apparently, Ridgeville High loved nothing more than a new storyline. And this week’s trending topic was:Noah Carter is dating Jessa Lombardi.I heard it the second I walked through the doors.“No way, did you see them on the field?”“Yeah, he kissed her. Like full-on movie scene.”“Maybe he lost a bet.”“Or maybe he has a type?”“What type? She’s not even—” whisper, whisper, giggle.By lunchtime, the whispers had gotten sharper.“Honestly, what does he

NoahBy the time the final bell rang, all I wanted was silence.Not because the day was hard academically — I couldn’t even remember what half my teachers said — but because the whispers were getting under my skin in a way that made me want to break lockers.Jessa and I walked out of the cafeteria together — not holding hands, but close enough that people noticed.Which, apparently, was a crisis.I heard:“Why her?”“He can do better.”“She’s not even that pretty.”“She doesn’t wear makeup.”“Dude, he’s desperate.”Every whispered word felt like it hit me directly, even though the comments were about her.And she heard them too.I could see it in the way her shoulders tensed… relaxed… then tensed again.She was trying so damn hard not to let it show.I hated that for her.I hated that for me.But mostly?I hated that people seemed to think they had some say in who I wanted.Spoiler:They didn’t.⸻Practice rolled around, and the locker room felt loud enough to crack concrete.Jackson

JacksonThe hallway was barely awake — half the lights still flickering on, kids yawning into their sleeves, lockers slamming open like metal thunder. I wasn’t even fully caffeinated by the time I reached my locker, spinning in the combo out of muscle memory.Another normal morning.Or… whatever qualified as normal now.I was shoving a textbook onto the top shelf when I felt something — a hand sliding around my waist, fingers curling just enough to make my brain stop functioning.I turned, already knowing who it was.Mariah.She leaned against me slightly, her lips curved into a slow, unapologetic smile. “Good morning, QB.”My brain glitched for a second.Because yeah — this was my life now.Mariah Morales casually wrapping herself around me at my locker like it was the most natural thing in the world.“Uh… hey,” I said, and immediately wanted to punch myself for sounding like a stunned idiot.She laughed — soft, warm, and way too pretty for seven-thirty in the morning. Her hand staye

JessaThe bell over the boutique door chimed when we walked in, and my stomach immediately tied itself into a knot.“Relax,” Mariah murmured beside me. “We’re here on a mission, not to be sacrificed.”“Feels like a sacrifice,” I muttered.The shop was small and kind of cozy, the kind of place that tried really hard not to feel intimidating—soft music, warm lighting, rows of dresses hanging like colorful clouds. The owner, Lydia, looked up from the counter and smiled as soon as she saw us.“There’s my Homecoming girls,” she said. “You’re right on time. Jessa, your dress is ready.”My heart slammed against my ribs.Ready.No more safety net of “we’re still working on it” or “we’ll see how it fits after alterations.” This was it. This was the version I had to face in the mirror.Mariah nudged me forward. “Come on, Cinderella. Let’s see the magic.”I followed Lydia to the back, palms sweating. My dress hung alone on a hook outside the fitting room, protected by a plastic cover like it was

MariahMy phone lights up just as I’m toeing off my sneakers, one heel catching on the rug and nearly taking me out.Jackson.I smile before I even answer, because apparently I’ve reached that stage of liking someone where their name alone can shift my entire mood.“Hey, quarterback,” I say, flopping back onto my bed.There’s a pause on the other end, then a breathy laugh. “You always do that.”“And you always answer,” I counter. “So I’m not seeing the problem.”He exhales — not annoyed, just tired in that end-of-day way. “You enjoying this?”“Depends,” I say lightly. “What am I enjoying?”“The fact that half the football team apparently thinks I’ve been body-snatched.”I snort. “Oh. That. Completely. I might start a scrapbook.”“Chris told me I’m ‘softer now,’” Jackson mutters. “Whatever the hell that means.”“It means you smiled at lunch instead of looking like you were plotting murder,” I say. “Character development.”“Unacceptable,” he deadpans.I grin, rolling onto my side. “Rela