All Chapters of Invisible To Her Bully: Chapter 201 - Chapter 210

Jackson I was still pissed when Mariah found me.Like, actively pissed.The kind where your jaw hurts from clenching it and your hands keep curling into fists even though there’s nothing left to punch.I’d already snapped at two teammates, scared off one freshman who definitely did not deserve it, and very nearly went looking for the girls who’d started the rumor just to see how fast they could run.Mariah caught me by the arm before I could do something monumentally stupid.“Hey,” she said firmly. “Hey. Breathe, quarterback.”I looked at her. “I am breathing.”“Barely,” she said. “And you look like you’re about to commit a felony.”“Would it really be a felony if they deserve it?”“Yes.”“…Still might be worth it.”She rolled her eyes and tugged me toward the empty side of the bleachers. “Sit. Before you scare a small child.”I dropped onto the bench like I was made of pure irritation.“This is bullshit,” I snapped. “She doesn’t get one week of peace. One. Freaking. Week.”“I know,”

JessaI knew the second I walked through the front door that something was different.The TV was on.Not just on — actually being watched.Mom was on the couch in her scrubs, feet tucked under her, half a cup of coffee on the table like she’d reheated it and forgotten about it. Some daytime talk show was playing, the kind she never watched unless she was home when she wasn’t supposed to be.I stopped in the doorway, my backpack sliding down one shoulder.“Uh… why are you home?”She looked up and smiled. “Took a personal day. Had a couple doctor appointments this morning.”My stomach tightened immediately. “Are you okay?”She waved a hand. “Nothing exciting. Annual stuff. Bloodwork. The glamorous side of adulthood.”I nodded, still watching her too closely.She studied my face for a second, then patted the cushion beside her. “Okay. Your turn. What’s wrong?”“I’m fine,” I said automatically.She gave me the look.The one that had worked on me since I was five.I sighed and dropped my b

Jessacould feel it the second I walked into school.Not hear it.Feel it.It was like the air shifted around me. Like the hallway — the same hallway I’d walked through every day for years — had decided to hold its breath.Lockers still slammed. Someone laughed too loud down the hall. A teacher was already yelling about tardiness. Everything looked normal.But it didn’t feel normal.People stopped talking.Or at least pretended to.When I looked at them, they smiled. Or looked away. Or suddenly became very interested in their phones or the inspirational posters about “believing in yourself” that nobody had ever believed in.Which somehow felt worse than hearing the whispers.Because I knew.They were still talking. Just not where I could hear them.Mariah walked beside me, quiet for once, her coffee replaced by a bottle of water and her usual running commentary replaced by a sharp, watchful silence. Her eyes were scanning faces like she was mentally putting people on a list.“They’re

JacksonI knew something was off the second Coach didn’t start practice by yelling.That alone was unsettling.We were lined up on the field, helmets under our arms, the air sharp and cold in that early-fall way that meant Friday nights were going to start hurting again, and Coach was just… standing there. Arms crossed. Looking at us like he was deciding which one of us he wanted to psychologically destroy first.That’s never a good sign.“Alright,” he finally said. “Bring it in.”We jogged closer.I caught Noah’s eye. He lifted an eyebrow like, what now? I shrugged.Coach waited until everyone was quiet.“Friday,” he said, “we’re playing Westbrook.”A few guys groaned. A few muttered.Westbrook was good. Not unbeatable, but good.Then Coach added, “They’ve got a new linebacker.”The way he said it made my stomach tighten.“He transferred in two weeks ago,” Coach continued. “Name’s Daniel Price.”The field went silent.Not normal football silent.Not we’re-listening silent.More like

JacksonThe third quarter started the way the first half should’ve.Fast.Clean.Focused.Coach’s voice was still ringing in my ears when we took the field, and for once, it actually worked. We moved the ball with purpose. No stupid penalties. No trying to play hero-ball.Just football.On the opening drive, I kept it simple. Short passes. Quick reads. Let the guys do their jobs.Noah was a wall.Every time Daniel tried to get inside his head, Noah just drove him back instead.Good.Let him choke on that.We marched down the field and punched it in.14–17.The stadium exploded.I glanced at the stands again—Jessa was on her feet now, clapping, her face lit up in a way that made something in my chest loosen.Westbrook wasn’t smiling anymore.Daniel definitely wasn’t.⸻They came back aggressive.A couple big plays. A couple of lucky breaks.They tied it.17–17.And suddenly it felt like everything was balanced on a knife’s edge.On the next series, Daniel finally snapped.He cheap-shot