The Fat Girl He Sacrificed

Chase Harrington hadn't willingly spoken to me since I hit puberty and got fat.

So, when my childhood best friend actually handed me a Diet Coke on the morning of our Yale alumni interviews, I should've known it was a trap. Instead, my stupid heart fluttered. I thought he still cared.

I drank it.

When I woke up, my hair covered the hardwood floor.

Sloane Kensington, the undisputed queen bee of our school, stood over me holding scissors. "Damn, Chase. Those sleeping pills worked like a charm. Homegirl is practically bald."

I looked at Chase in disbelief.

The boy who used to promise we'd get married just checked his phone.

"Sloane lost a game of Truth or Dare," he said, sounding completely bored. "If she didn't cut your hair, she'd have to go hit on some freak on the street. Besides, it's not like you've got an image to maintain, Gwen. You're fat. It's just hair. Deal with it."

That was the exact moment the boy I loved died to me.

I didn't yell or cry. I just opened my laptop and changed my college application from Yale to Stanford—three thousand miles away on the West Coast.

Gwen

The girl in the bathroom mirror looked insane.

My hair was a butchered mess. Spiky in the front, balding in the back.

It was a total joke. I looked like a freak.

My hands shook. I pulled the comb, and hair clumps fell straight into the sink.

My chest physically ached. I wanted to march into the hallway and scream in Chase's face. How could he serve me up on a silver platter just to help Sloane win a stupid party game?

But my Yale interview was in ten minutes.

I bit my lip. I tried to flatten the spikes to hide the bald spots.

Total fail. I looked pathetic.

Suddenly, the bathroom door swung open.

"Oh my god, did you see? Sloane literally scalped Gwen!"

A burst of mean-girl laughter bounced off the tiles. I pulled my feet up onto the toilet seat.

"Shut up, are you serious?"

"I swear! Chase crushed Ambien into Gwen's drink so Sloane could lock down her Yale spot without any competition. Like, how else do you think the fat girl slept through a haircut?"

"Jesus, that's savage."

"Savage? Please," another girl scoffed. "Gwen totally had it coming. Competing with Sloane? Thinking she actually had a shot with the lacrosse captain? She's delusional."

"Right? Everyone knows Chase and Sloane are endgame. He only puts up with Gwen because their moms are best friends and their families have had this creepy arranged marriage joke going since they were in diapers. He's basically just babysitting her out of obligation."

"It's honestly sad. Like, buy a mirror, babe."

Every word hit me like a slap to the face. The pathetic little bubble of denial I'd been living in completely popped.

I sat on the floor, too numb to cry.

So that was the truth.

All those times Chase claimed he "didn't like PDA" or wanted to "keep things low-key around the guys"—total bullshit.

He was just embarrassed by me. He thought I was a charity case.

That was why he had zero problem drugging me. Why he'd gladly ruin the interview I'd spent four years prepping for, just to hand Sloane an easy win.

A highlight reel of all his red flags started playing in my head.

Me tripping on the track, and him walking away in disgust.

Me bringing him bagels, and him tossing them to a benchwarmer.

Me trying to walk with him, and him speeding up to ditch me.

And every single time, I made an excuse for him. He's stressed about AP exams. He's tired from practice. Guys are just emotionally stunted.

God, I was an idiot.

I actually believed that if I just starved myself on crash diets and kept a 4.0 GPA, I could earn my way back to him. That maybe the sweet kid from our childhood was still in there somewhere.

But the brutal reality? While I was killing myself trying to be good enough for him, to Chase, I was nothing but a fat, clingy liability. He and Sloane were a done deal. Always had been.

My stomach dropped. The bathroom was dead silent now. The girls had left ages ago.

Buzz.

My phone vibrated. A text from my mom: How's the interview going, sweetie? Don't stress. I believe in you!

I stared at the screen and typed my reply:

Mom, go over to the Harringtons' house today. You know that engagement promise our families made for me and Chase? Call it off.

But don't tell him yet.