Unlike her twin brother, Jackson, Jessa struggled with her weight and very few friends. Jackson was an athlete and the epitome of popularity, while Jessa felt invisible.
Noah was the quintessential “It” guy at school-charismatic, well-liked, and undeniably handsome. To make matters worse, he was Jackson’s best friend and Jessa’s biggest bully.
During their senior year, Jessa decides it was time for her to gain some self-confidence, find her true beauty and not be the invisible twin.As Jessa transformed, she begins to catch the eye of everyone around her, especially Noah.Noah, initially blinded by his perception of Jessa as merely Jackson’s sister, started to see her in a new light.
How did she become the captivating woman invading his thoughts? When did she become the object of his fantasies?Join Jessa on her journey from being the class joke to a confident, desirable young woman, surprising even Noah as she reveals the incredible person she has always been inside.
Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 1
Jessa
Seven Years Earlier
Growing up as a twin sounds fun, right? Built-in best friend, someone who always has your back, someone who gets you without explanation. That’s what I had-at least for the first ten years of my life.
My twin brother, Jackson, was the center of my world. We were fraternal twins, but opposites in every way. Jackson was tall, lean, athletic, and could make friends with just about anyone. I was short, a little chunky, shy to the point of painful, and usually tripping over my own feet.
But it never mattered to me. I didn’t need a million friends. I had Jackson. He was my best friend, my other half, my person.
It was always just the two of us. Our mom worked constantly to keep food on the table, so most of the time it was just me and him. Maybe that’s why we clung to each other so hard.
“Jax, I wanna go home,” I whined, dragging my feet as he tossed a football from hand to hand.
“Jess, chill. I told the new kid I’d meet him here to throw the ball around,” he said, his brown eyes locked on the field like he was already in the NFL.
“This is boring.” I plopped down on the grass.
He sighed, dug in his pocket, and tossed me a granola bar. “Here. Peanut butter. Your favorite.”
Instant mood boost. “Yes! Thanks, Jax.”
While I was tearing open the wrapper, he straightened up, glancing at the entrance to the field. “That’s him.”
A boy about our age walked toward us, a football tucked under his arm. He had dark, messy brown hair and the greenest eyes I’d ever seen. The kind of eyes you notice right away. And his lashes? Long enough to make me jealous.
“Hey,” he said to Jackson.
“Hey, Noah. This is my twin, Jessa.”
I scrambled up, brushing grass off my jeans. My mouth moved faster than my brain. “Wow… you’ve got really long eyelashes. For a boy.”
Noah’s cheeks turned pink. “Uh, thanks?”
Jackson groaned. “Sorry, she doesn’t have a filter sometimes.”
“I just meant they’re… pretty,” I tried, wishing I could disappear.
“Jess, why don’t you go sit while we toss the ball around,” Jackson muttered.
“She doesn’t play?” Noah asked.
I shook my head before Jackson could answer. “Not really my thing.”
“Nope. If she tried to throw, she’d probably knock herself over,” Jackson joked.
I pretended not to care, sitting back down on the sidelines, but my eyes kept drifting toward Noah as he and Jackson tossed the ball. He wasn’t just cute-he was quiet, too. Almost shy. Something about him made me want him to like me.
After they finished, Jackson clapped him on the back. “You’ve got a good arm.”
“Two older brothers taught me some stuff,” Noah shrugged.
“Oh! So they’re your best friends too, like me and Jackson?” I asked eagerly.
“No. They’re just… brothers. I don’t really have a best friend.”
My heart squeezed. “Then you should get one. Me and Jackson do everything together. He’s the best best friend you could ever have.”
Noah looked at Jackson. Jackson just shrugged. Noah nodded slightly, like he got the message.
At the time, I didn’t realize how wrong I was.
One Month Later
“I don’t wanna go to the movies, Jax!” I whined, arms crossed.
“Too bad. Noah and I wanna see the new Marvel movie. You can’t stay home alone.”
“We always do what you and Noah want. What about me?”
He sighed. “Jess, I love you. But sometimes I wanna do stuff without you. You need to find your own friends.”
That stung more than I wanted to admit.
The doorbell rang, and Noah walked in with his usual smirk.
“Sup.”
“Jess, get your shoes on,” Jackson ordered.
“She’s coming too?” Noah asked.
“Yeah. Mom’s at work. I’m babysitting.”
“Babysitting?” I snapped. “We’re the same age! You’re not babysitting me.”
“I’m twelve minutes older,” Jackson shot back.
Noah snickered. “She’s definitely acting like the baby.”
I stormed off to grab my shoes, but I froze halfway up the stairs when I heard Noah’s voice:
“Man, your sister’s such a brat. Wish she didn’t have to tag along.”
Jackson’s answer was the knife that cut deepest. “Tell me about it.”
At the theater, I tried to forget. “Jax, can we get popcorn? With extra butter?”
Noah raised his brows. “Do you really need the extra butter?”
I clenched my fists. “Yes. I like it that way.”
Jackson slipped me a couple of bills. “Get your own small one.”
I headed for the snack line, and that’s when I heard them again.
“She always has to be eating,” Noah muttered.
“Yeah,” Jackson said with a low laugh. “Sometimes it’s embarrassing to be seen with her.”
The words hit harder than any punch. My own twin-my best friend-was embarrassed of me.
“Hey, it’s your turn,” a girl behind me said gently.
I shook my head. “Changed my mind.”
She frowned. “You okay?”
“No,” I whispered. “I think I lost my best friend.”
She studied me, then said, “I’m Mariah. We’re in the same class, right? You’re Jessa. Jackson’s twin.”
“Yeah.”
“What movie are you supposed to be seeing?”
“Some superhero thing.”
Mariah smirked. “Ditch it. Come with me instead. There’s a new comedy. Way cuter lead actor.”
Before I could decide, Jackson and Noah appeared.
“Jess, what’s taking so long?” Jackson demanded. “Oh, hey, Mariah.”
Mariah smiled sweetly. “Hi. Jessa and I are seeing the comedy instead.”
Jackson shrugged. “Fine. Meet us in the lobby after.”
As he and Noah disappeared, Mariah tugged me toward her theater.
“Come on. You need a laugh.”
I glanced back one last time at my brother’s retreating figure.
He stole my best friend, I thought. And he’s never giving him back.
Three Years Later
Thirteen hit me hard. My body changed in ways I didn’t ask for. I wasn’t the chubby little girl anymore-I had curves. Breasts too big for my age. Hips that didn’t match the other girls at school.
Mom always said, Girls built like us need to cover up. Layers make you look thinner.
So I wore baggy shirts. Oversized hoodies. Clothes that swallowed me whole. It didn’t matter. The teasing still came.
“Jess, you’re wearing that?” Jackson asked one morning, eyeing my loose shirt.
“It’s comfortable.”
“It’s a tent.” He rolled his eyes and left.
Mom kissed my cheek. “Ignore him. He doesn’t understand what it’s like for girls like us.”
At school, the comments started before I even reached the doors.
“The circus is in town!”
“Yeah, they brought the whale exhibit!”
My stomach dropped when I saw where it came from-Jackson and Noah, flanked by their football buddies, all laughing.
“Nice shirt, Jess,” Noah snorted. “They only had tent size left?”
“Shut up, Noah.”
Jackson smirked. “Told you it was too big.”
“Perfect for hiding that fat ass,” Noah added, sending the group into hysterics.
I turned away, pretending I couldn’t hear. But their laughter followed me.
By the time I reached my locker, my hands were shaking. I tugged the handle, but it was jammed. Mariah appeared at my side.
“Need help?”
We pulled together until it finally burst open-and trash bags tumbled out, spilling all over the hallway.
A note taped to one read: Got you a new wardrobe.
The roar of laughter around us was deafening.
“Did you do this?” Mariah snapped at Jackson and Noah, who had pushed through the crowd to watch.
Noah grinned. “She wants to dress like a hobo? Why not just give her options?”
Jackson chuckled. “Relax. It’s just a joke.”
Mariah glared at him. “She’s your sister.”
But Jackson only walked away with Noah.
I stared at the trash bag in my hands. For just one second, I wished I could trade places. To be the one laughing, not the one humiliated.
Present Day
Beep. Beep. Beep.
I groaned, slamming my alarm clock. Senior year. My last year in this hellhole.
I’m Jessa. Nobody special. Just the overweight twin sister of Jackson, starting quarterback and golden boy of our high school. The sister his best friend, Noah Carter, has made it his life’s mission to torment.
Once, when I was ten, I thought Noah was cute. That crush didn’t survive the year. Now at eighteen, he’s tall, broad-shouldered, perfect hair, perfect smile. Every girl wants him.
And I can’t stand him.
But he’s always around-because he’s Jackson’s best friend. The boy who stole my brother from me.
I roll out of bed and tug on my armor: jeans, tank top, oversized button-up. The layers hide the body I’ve been told to be ashamed of.
Time to sneak out before Jackson sees me. Before Noah’s voice finds me.
Another day. Another battle.
Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 2
Jessa
I tiptoe down the hallway, holding my breath. If Jackson’s awake, he’ll have some comment locked and loaded about my clothes, my hair, or just… me. I’d rather start the day without it.
Too late. His bedroom door creaks open, and there he is-my twin, my other half, my betrayer-all six feet of cocky quarterback standing in my way.
“Morning, Jess,” he says, eyes flicking over my shirt. “Nice… tent.”
I don’t even answer. I just shoulder past him, my cheeks heating.
“Aw, come on, don’t be so sensitive,” he calls after me.
Sensitive. That’s what he calls me when his words cut deep, like it’s my fault for feeling anything.
By the time I make it to the kitchen, Mom’s already gone. She leaves early most mornings, and I can’t decide if I’m grateful or jealous. Grateful that she doesn’t see me like this, jealous that she never has time for us.
Jackson grabs a protein shake from the fridge and downs it like he’s in some athlete commercial. I butter a piece of toast, trying to look invisible.
And then, of course, the devil himself arrives.
Noah Carter.
He strolls right into our kitchen like he owns it, helmet tucked under his arm, hair still damp from his shower, all six-foot-two of golden-boy arrogance. He’s wearing his jersey, number 14, stretched across broad shoulders like it was custom made for him.
And because I’m apparently a glutton for punishment, my stupid brain notices the curve of his jaw, the way his damp hair curls at the edges, the clean soap-and-sweat smell that clings to him. I hate myself for noticing.
“Morning, sunshine,” he smirks at me.
I roll my eyes. “Don’t call me that.”
“What? Thought you’d like a nickname.” His grin widens, like he knows exactly how to get under my skin.
Jackson laughs and bumps fists with him. “Ignore her, bro. Ready for practice?”
“Always,” Noah says. He glances at my toast, eyebrows lifting. “Extra butter again?”
I slam the knife down. “Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”
Jackson snorts. “Don’t mind him, Jess.”
But I mind. God, I mind so much.
The two of them head out to the truck, leaving me with a cold piece of toast and the familiar ache in my chest. It’s the same ache I’ve had since I was ten years old.
The ache of realizing my twin-my best friend-chose someone else.
At school, it doesn’t get better. It never does.
The minute I step into the hallway, eyes flick my way. Whispers. Snickers. The same crap I’ve been hearing since middle school.
“Damn, she’s bigger than the linebackers.”
“Bet she eats more than the team.”
I keep walking, head down, pretending the words don’t stab me. But they do. Every single one leaves another scar I can’t cover with oversized clothes.
Jackson doesn’t notice, or maybe he does and just doesn’t care. He’s too busy soaking in the glory of being the starting quarterback. Too busy laughing with Noah and the rest of the team.
Noah. Always Noah.
The worst part is that when he laughs, it’s this deep, warm sound that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. When he smiles, girls melt into puddles. And when his hazel eyes catch the light, they almost glow.
I hate that I’ve noticed all of that.
I hate that part of me gets why the entire female population of Crestwood High would kill for a chance with him.
I hate that part of me, some twisted little part buried deep down, remembers what it felt like to have a crush on him before he turned into my tormentor.
Mariah finds me by my locker. Thank God for her. She’s the one good thing that came out of all this-the girl who saw me breaking at the movies three years ago and decided not to let me stand alone.
“You look like you’re ready to murder someone,” she says, tucking a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.
“Noah,” I mutter. “As usual.”
She makes a face. “Ugh. You’d think after all these years he’d get bored.”
“He doesn’t. It’s like tormenting me is his favorite sport, right after football.”
Mariah sighs. “Well, senior year, right? Almost done.”
Almost. But almost feels like forever.
Lunch is the worst. Always has been.
I sit with Mariah at the edge of the cafeteria, away from the football table. But no matter how far away I am, Noah still finds me with his eyes. I feel them, sharp as daggers, hot as a spotlight.
Today’s no different. I’m halfway through my sandwich when I hear him across the room.
“Hey, Jackson! Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”
Laughter erupts from the table. Jackson doesn’t defend me. He never does.
I keep my head down, cheeks burning, praying no one else joins in. But of course they do.
“She could be the team mascot,” someone says. “Put her in pads, she’ll bulldoze the defense!”
The guys howl with laughter.
Mariah leans across the table, her eyes flashing. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”
But ignoring doesn’t make it stop.
I grip my sandwich so tightly my knuckles turn white. In my head, I imagine standing up, marching over there, and telling Noah exactly what he is-a bully. A coward. A pathetic jerk who gets off on tearing me down.
But I don’t move.
Because I know what would happen if I did. He’d smirk. He’d say something sharper. And Jackson would laugh right alongside him.
Just like always.
That night, lying in bed, I stare at the ceiling.
This is my last year. One more year of Noah Carter. One more year of Jackson pretending I don’t exist except when it’s convenient. One more year of being “the fat twin,” the joke, the nobody.
After graduation, I’ll be free. College will be my reset button. Nobody will know me as Jackson’s sister or Noah’s favorite target. Nobody will remember the locker full of trash bags or the jokes about butter.
It’ll just be me.
But even as I tell myself that, my brain betrays me. Because it’s not Noah’s insults that replay behind my eyes. It’s his face. His stupidly perfect, sharp-jawed, broad-shouldered, movie-star face.
And I hate myself for it.
The next morning, the cycle repeats. Jackson teasing, Mom absent, me shrinking into myself.
But when Noah shows up, there’s a shift. Not big, not obvious-just a flicker.
He catches me staring.
I don’t mean to. Honest. I’m just zoning out, and my gaze lands on him, on the way his T-shirt stretches across his chest, on the strong line of his throat as he tilts his head back to laugh at something Jackson says.
And then his hazel eyes lock on mine.
For a second, I can’t breathe.
There’s no smirk, no insult, no sharp edge. Just Noah looking at me like… like he sees me.
Then he blinks, and it’s gone. Replaced by the same cocky grin I know too well.
“Like what you see, Sunshine?”
My face burns. “In your dreams.”
But that flicker stays with me all day.
And it terrifies me more than all his insults combined.
Because what if-just what if-the boy who’s made my life hell for years is the one I can’t stop noticing?
What if the one I hate most is the one I’m secretly drawn to?
And what if he knows it?
Invisible To Her Bully Chapter 3
Noah
Most people think I’ve got it easy.
They see the jersey, the captain’s armband, the girls who slide notes into my locker, the teachers who cut me slack because I’m “leading the team this season.” They see the highlight reels, the touchdowns, the swagger.
And yeah, I play into it. Why wouldn’t I? That image has kept me on top since freshman year.
But what they don’t see-the part I’d never admit out loud-is that the best part of my day isn’t the touchdowns. It’s not the cheers, or even the wins.
It’s Jessa Lombardi’s face when I get under her skin.
I shouldn’t find it that entertaining. She’s Jackson’s twin, for one. Which means technically, she’s off-limits. But God, she makes it too easy. The way her cheeks flush, the way she slams things down or throws out these sharp little comebacks-Jessa’s like one giant exposed nerve. Sensitive as hell.
And I like testing how far I can push before she snaps.
Take this morning, for example.
Jackson and I were heading to practice, but I swung by his place first. Walking into their kitchen always feels… weird. I don’t know why. Maybe because I can practically feel how much Jessa doesn’t want me there.
She was standing at the counter, spreading butter on toast like it had personally offended her. Oversized T-shirt, messy hair, bare feet curling against the tile. For a second, I almost didn’t say anything.
Almost.
“Morning, sunshine,” I tossed out, leaning in the doorway.
The way her shoulders stiffened-it was instant gratification. Like watching a fire catch.
“Don’t call me that,” she muttered, eyes on her plate.
“What? Thought you’d like a nickname.”
She rolled her eyes so hard I swear I heard them click.
Jackson laughed, completely oblivious. “Ignore her, bro.”
I didn’t ignore her, of course. Couldn’t. I never do. Instead, I spotted the toast and couldn’t resist. “Extra butter again?”
She slammed the knife down like she wanted to stab me with it.
“Seriously? Do you ever get tired of commenting on what I eat?”
And just like that, my day was made. That flare of anger in her eyes, the way her voice cracked on ever. She didn’t realize it, but she was giving me exactly what I wanted.
Attention.
Here’s the thing: Jessa doesn’t understand me. She thinks I pick on her just to be a jerk, or because I’ve got nothing better to do. But the truth? It’s not that simple.
I notice her.
More than I should.
And noticing her-really noticing her-is dangerous.
Because Jessa’s not like the other girls who throw themselves at me. She doesn’t giggle when I walk by or bat her lashes hoping I’ll toss her a grin. She doesn’t want anything from me.
Except maybe for me to disappear.
And that makes me want to poke, prod, irritate. It makes me want her to look at me, even if it’s with fire in her eyes. Because when she’s angry at me, at least she’s seeing me.
At school, it’s even better.
In the cafeteria, Jackson and I had the whole team cracking up over stupid inside jokes when I spotted her sitting with Mariah. Always the far table, always head down, like she’s hoping to disappear.
But I don’t let her disappear.
“Hey, Jackson!” I yelled across the room. “Better hide your food or Jess will eat it all before you blink.”
The table erupted. Perfect.
I caught the way her shoulders hunched, the way her hand froze halfway to her mouth. She didn’t look up, but I knew she heard me. Knew she felt the sting.
And yeah, maybe that makes me an asshole. But there’s something about her silence that gets to me. Like she’s holding all this emotion inside, and I’m the only one who knows how to drag it out of her.
Jackson doesn’t get it. To him, Jessa’s just… Jessa. His twin, his shadow, the sister he doesn’t think twice about. He doesn’t notice the way she winces when people whisper, or the way she pulls her hoodie tighter like armor.
But I do.
I see it.
And sometimes I wonder if that’s why I keep poking-because if I don’t, maybe no one would notice her at all.
Practice that afternoon should’ve wiped Jessa from my brain. It usually does. Once I’m on the field, nothing else matters. The snap of the ball, the crunch of pads, the roar of the guys-it drowns everything out.
But not today.
Today, when I closed my eyes, all I saw was the way she glared at me over her toast, cheeks flushed, eyes flashing.
And then-God help me-the way her gaze flickered over me. She thought she was subtle, but I caught it. The way her eyes lingered on my shoulders, my chest.
She thinks I don’t notice, but I do.
And that thought sticks with me longer than I’d like.
That night, lying in bed, I try to tell myself it’s nothing. Jessa’s sensitive, that’s all. She reacts to me because I push her buttons. If she didn’t, I’d probably lose interest.
Except… I’m not losing interest.
If anything, I’m hooked.
I want to know how far I can push before she finally snaps. Before she lets me see the fire I know she’s hiding.
I want to know if that fire burns as hot when it’s not anger.
The next morning, I catch her staring again.
She doesn’t realize it-I’m laughing at something Jackson said, tilting my head back, and when I glance over, her eyes are on me. Not in hate. Not in anger. Just… watching.
And for one insane second, it feels like she sees me. Not the quarterback. Not Jackson’s best friend. Not the jerk who won’t leave her alone.
Just me.
Our eyes lock, and the air shifts. She looks caught, like a deer in headlights.
For once, I don’t smirk. For once, I just look back.
But then panic kicks in, and I cover it with a grin. “Like what you see, Sunshine?”
Her face flames. “In your dreams.”
But I heard the hitch in her breath. I saw the way she couldn’t look away fast enough.
And that’s when I know I’m in trouble.
Because tormenting Jessa Lombardi isn’t just a game anymore.
It’s an addiction.
And sooner or later, it’s going to blow up in my face.
