Mariah’s bedroom looks like the aftermath of a fashion tornado. Clothes are scattered across her bed, hangers hooked on the doorknob, shoes kicked into the corner. She’s sprawled on the carpet, painting her nails like the mess doesn’t exist. Meanwhile, I’m standing in front of her mirror, tugging at the hem of the black top she made me borrow.“It’s too tight,” I mutter, turning sideways and frowning at the way it hugs my stomach.“It’s not tight, it’s fitted,” Mariah says, blowing on her nails. “There’s a difference.”I pull at the fabric anyway, wishing it would magically loosen. “It clings. I look ridiculous.”“You look hot,” she says without even glancing up.Hot. The word makes my cheeks burn. I don’t look hot. I look like me—Jessa Lombardi, the girl with the round face and the thighs Noah Carter couldn’t resist mocking. The girl who everyone looks past to get to my twin brother, Jackson.I tug at the top again, then reach for the oversized hoodie I brought in my bag. “Forget it.
Last Updated : 2025-09-02 Read more