Lahat ng Kabanata ng Invisible To Her Bully: Kabanata 231 - Kabanata 240

JacksonThe locker room smelled like sweat, detergent, and teenage stupidity.Cleats hit the tile. Someone was arguing about whether Coach actually had a soul. Someone else was blasting music off their phone like they were the DJ of misery.I wasn’t listening.My head was still full of lunch.Mariah standing up like she owned the room.The way those girls looked at her.The way she acted like it didn’t matter.And the way it clearly did.I yanked my shoulder pads off harder than necessary and tossed them into my locker.Shane glanced over. “You good, Lombardi?”“Fine,” I muttered.No one believed me.They didn’t push, though. Which was smart.A few guys filed out toward the showers. The room thinned. The noise dropped down into something quieter, echoing.That’s when Noah stepped up beside me.He didn’t say anything at first.Just leaned against the bench like he was trying to decide how to do this without getting punched.I kept my eyes on my locker.Then he cleared his throat.“Hey.

NoahI couldn’t stop replaying it.Not the game.Not practice.Not even Jessa’s smile when she leaned into me like she belonged there.It was the stupid joke.The one line I tossed out without thinking, because that’s what Jackson and I do. We’ve been ripping on each other since we were ten years old. It’s muscle memory at this point — sarcasm and shoves and laughing through everything that gets too heavy.Except this time it didn’t land the way it used to.This time, it didn’t stay between us.Now it was… fuel.I sat on the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor like it might offer some kind of solution.It was insane how fast this school worked.One overheard comment.One sideways glance.And suddenly the whole place had a new story to tell.Mariah Morales is easy.Jackson Lombardi is whipped.Noah Carter is desperate.Jessa is… whatever they wanted her to be that day.Ridgeville didn’t just gossip.It consumed people.I scrubbed a hand over my face, jaw tight.I s

JessaLunch had been… almost normal.Almost.The table was crowded in that familiar way now—Noah leaned back in his chair like he owned the air around him, Jackson was halfway listening and halfway scanning the room like a quarterback still reading defenses, and Mariah was doing what Mariah did best: talking enough for three people.I was mid-bite of my fries when one of the guys—Shane, I think—cleared his throat.It wasn’t loud.But it was the kind of sound that made the whole table pause anyway.“Uh… hey. Guys?”Noah looked up first. “What?”Shane’s face was… weird. Not amused. Not smug. More like he regretted opening his mouth at all.“There’s this account on Instagram,” he said slowly. “Ridgeville Gossip?”Jackson’s jaw tightened immediately.Mariah blinked. “That account is a disease.”Shane nodded like he agreed with his entire soul.“Well… they just posted something.”Noah leaned forward. “What kind of something?”Shane hesitated, then unlocked his phone with a quick swipe.“It

NoahThe locker room smelled like sweat, detergent, and that sharp rubbery scent of cleats that never really went away no matter how many times the equipment guys tried.It was loud, like always.Helmets clanged into lockers. Someone was arguing about music. Someone else was laughing too hard at something that wasn’t even funny.Normal.Except lately, normal felt… temporary.I sat on the bench, tugging my practice socks on, staring down at the Ridgeville logo stitched into the fabric like it was something I needed to memorize.Only a few more games.That was it.High school football was almost over.The thought hit me out of nowhere, heavy and strange.I looked up at Jackson across from me. He was taping his wrist with the kind of focus he always had before practice, jaw set, shoulders squared like he was already stepping onto the field.“Only a few games left,” I said.Jackson’s hands paused.Then he nodded once, slow.“Yeah,” he muttered. “It’s weird to think about.”I leaned back a

JessaRetail therapy was one of those phrases that sounded way cuter in theory than it felt in practice.In theory, it was girls laughing in a montage, swinging shopping bags, sipping something with whipped cream, walking out of stores like we belonged in a magazine.In reality?It was fluorescent lighting, unforgiving mirrors, and the kind of dressing rooms that made you question every life choice you’d ever made.Still… here I was.Because Mariah needed this.And if she needed distraction, then I could be brave for an afternoon.Even if shopping was basically my personal version of psychological warfare.Mariah marched through the mall like she owned it, her ponytail swinging, her energy a little too sharp in that way that told me she was trying not to think.“Okay,” she announced, clapping her hands once. “We are not going home yet.”I groaned dramatically. “Mariah. I already came. That should count as friendship points.”“It counts as friendship points,” she agreed, completely unb