Jessa

By the time I walked into school, I could feel it.

Not the whispers exactly — not the words — but the shift. The way conversations dipped when I passed. The way people smiled too brightly, like they were trying to prove they weren’t talking about me even though we all knew they were.

It was almost worse than when they didn’t bother to hide it.

My locker was three rows down from the main hallway, and every step there felt like walking through invisible fog. I ...