The Popular Girl Mocked My Weight, Until I Became a Total Knockout Chapter 05

The Popular Girl Mocked My Weight, Until I Became a Total Knockout Chapter 05

It was a shot of my back.

The setting sun gilded everything in warm gold. I stood by the lake, one arm raised in a peace sign, my bicep lean and defined, all traces of saggy weight gone.

My legs in the shorts were long and toned, not stick-thin but perfectly sculpted. A gust of wind lifted the hem of my shirt, revealing a sliver of taut, sun-kissed waist.

Just a silhouette, but it radiated a lightness I’d never felt before.

Brittany stared at that image for a solid minute.

By the time she snapped out of it, the chat had exploded.

[Holy shit. For real? That’s Emma Carlson? The human beach ball?]

[She posted it on her Insta. That’s her, no doubt.]

[No way. She actually did it? Did she just pull off a full glow-up?]

Brittany bit her lip and typed: [@Emma Carlson, why not post a front-facing photo?]

No reply for a long time.

The chat quickly pivoted. Her loyal followers jumped in to steer the narrative.

[It’s just a back shot. Doesn’t mean anything.]

[Editing apps can turn a 200-pound blob into a supermodel these days. She probably spent the summer learning Photoshop, not dieting.]

[Exactly. We only saw her jogging for like a month. Then she ghosted the gym. Bet she gave up.]

Brittany smirked at the messages.

She’d practically camped out at the gym for those two months, hoping to catch Emma and tear her down every single day.

But after that first encounter, Emma had vanished.

Probably realized that even losing weight wouldn’t fix her ugly face.

Some people, after all, are born beautiful, and some aren’t.

Still, someone in the group asked: [If she really changed, we’ll see her at orientation, right? She’ in the same department as Brittany. She’ll have to show up for the freshman welcome.]

{@Brittany Shaw, if you see her, you have to take pics for us!]

Brittany sent back a cheerful “Will do.”

She was dying to see what Emma was actually up to. Posting filtered shots on social media was one thing. Reality would be another.

She spent the entire next day scanning every corner of campus, hunting for Emma. In the dorms she made a point of visiting every room on the art floor.

No sign of her.

The itch grew unbearable.

Finally, she went to Emma’s dorm. Three girls sat together chatting; only the bed labeled “Emma

Carlson” sat empty.

One of them told her, “She twisted her ankle running. She’ll be a couple days late.”

Brittany nodded, then asked, “Have you guys actually seen her in person? Or have any photos of

her?”

They shook their heads. “No, we were all going to meet in person when she gets here.”

Brittany smiled and excused herself.

Then she posted in the class group: [@Emma Carlson, heard you hurt your leg and won’t be here for a few days. What happened?]

Predictably, the vultures swooped in.

[Hurt her leg? More like she’s too scared to show up after posting fake photos.]

[@Emma Carlson, say something. Or are we right?]

My phone buzzed nonstop. I hit mute and tossed it aside.

Mom was re-bandaging my foot while giving me a mild scolding. “Running on that mountain trail the day before move-in? Really?”

Dad packed my bags, sneaking glances at me. “Emma, I put pepper spray and a personal stun gun in

the inner pocket. Keep them on you at all times.”

I laughed. “Dad, that’s overkill.”

My parents exchanged a look and sighed in unison.

Their daughter had absolutely no clue how she really looked.