Contos e Romances com Goddess e Campus

After I confessed to my childhood crush, he smirked and said, "If you can get that loser to drink from the same bottle you did, I'll date you." Seriously? Was I really reborn fifteen years ago? I raced over to Noah—top of the class and hot as hell—and dropped the water bottle on his desk in front of everyone. He clocked the lipstick stain, face turning crimson. Future business mogul? Right now, he looked like some poor kid waiting to get crushed. I nudged the bottle closer. "Using that genius brain to collect bottles for cash? Kinda tragic. Be my private tutor instead." He might be broke, but lucky for him, I've got money to burn.

Every other student could hear the inner thoughts of Chloe Yates, the campus belle. It was like a radio station was broadcasting her mind, and unfortunately for me, the broadcast was usually bad news. It started during the ROTC courses in our freshman year. I was doubled over with terrible period cramps and asked to sit out. Chloe just shook her head, letting out a dramatic, pitying sigh. "Oh, this is awful," her internal voice broadcast to everyone. "Should I tell everyone the truth? Sylvie is totally faking it. If the sergeant finds out she's lying, he's going to punish the whole class because of her." The sergeant, hearing her thoughts, immediately assumed I was a liar. He forced the entire class to run 30 laps as punishment. After that, no one would talk to me. Later, when I applied for the need-based financial aid grant, Chloe went on a rampage with her internal thoughts. "Her family isn't poor!" her voice screamed in everyone's heads. "They have a car and a house. She's just vain. She's trying to scam the college out of grant money so she can buy a new phone. I feel so bad for the actual poor kid whose spot she's stealing." Once the class heard that, they silently agreed to vote against my application. Without that money, I had no choice but to work three part-time jobs just to survive. I worked myself into the ground until I finally gave out. I collapsed in the classroom while clutching my chest, suffering a massive heart attack. I cried out, begging my classmates to call 911. However, Chloe's voice cut through the air right then. "She doesn't have a heart condition. She's pregnant. She's trying to trick a guy into taking her to the hospital so she can get an abortion, and then she's going to frame whoever helps her for getting her knocked up." Terrified of being blamed, the students backed away from me like I was radioactive. They stood there and watched as I died on the classroom floor. Right up until the moment I died, I never understood why my life had turned into such a nightmare. However, when I snapped my eyes open, I had returned to the day of the ROTC courses. The cramps were back, and the sun was beating down on me. Chloe did not know one crucial detail. This time, I could hear her thoughts too.

The night before graduation, my best friend Sophie talked me into confessing to Lucas Sterling, the boy I'd secretly loved for three years. She said Lucas was at the basketball court, wearing a white T-shirt. I gathered every ounce of courage I had, grabbed the bouquet of roses, and rushed over. I came up behind a boy and covered his eyes with my hands. "Lucas, I've liked you for so long!" I felt his body go rigid. He turned around — and the face staring back at me was dangerously handsome, with a wild edge to his gaze. It was Dominic Blackwood. The one person at Westfield High that nobody dared to cross. I spun around to run, but he grabbed my arm and pulled me against his chest. He dipped his head, breathing in the scent of my hair, his voice rough and low. "What did you just say? That you like me?" "Say it again." "If you don't, I'll kiss you right here in front of the whole school."

When the wedding invitation from my high school classmate Ella Reese arrived, a video of her and her friends shoving the two-hundred-pound girl I used to be into a mud pit was already going viral. Her caption read, "Those were the days. Sophie Aubert, you absolutely have to be my bridesmaid." Our former classmates flooded the comments with jeers. "Ella's so generous. She'd actually invite a plagiarist? Will Sophie even fit into a bridesmaid dress? Making one for her would take enough fabric for three people." "It's been seven years. By now, they'd probably need a crane just to get her into the venue!" "Didn't she write Jack a love letter back then? He'll probably be so scared he'll cry." The groom, Jack Smith, replied in the comments, "If she actually has the nerve to show up, I'll dance with her in front of everyone. Call it an apology for throwing her into the fountain back then." The comment section exploded with people cheering him on. I calmly took a sip of unsweetened black coffee. They thought I was still the fat girl with no choice but to hide in a corner and cry. They had no idea I was now a fitness influencer with millions of followers, much less that the luxury estate they had rented for the wedding belonged to me. I replied in the comments, "No need for a bridesmaid dress. I'll be there on time." This time, I would tear down her perfect facade myself and give Ella a wedding she would never forget.