Always no.
But tonight—I don’t want to sit here.
I don’t want to think. I don’t want to replay that moment on the field over and over again. I don’t want to feel like the only person standing still while everyone else moves on.
“I’m coming.”
The words leave my mouth before I can second-guess them.
The room goes still.
Delia blinks.
“…Wait. What?”
“I said I’m coming.”
She grins slowly. “Oh my God.”
One of the girls gasps. “Who are you and what have you done with Stella?”
I roll my eyes. “Relax.”
But something in my chest shifts. I stand. Walk to my closet.
And for once—I don’t reach for comfort. I don’t reach for function. I reach for impact. Shorts. Denim. Cut high enough to show the muscle in my thighs.
Legs I’ve built.
Earned.
A fitted cami with thin straps. Soft fabric that clings just enough.
I let my hair down.
Brush it out until it falls smooth down my back.
No braid.
No bow.
No armor.
Just me.
Makeup.
Not heavy.
But intentional.
Gloss.
Mascara.
A little shimmer at the corners of my eyes.
Enough to catch light.
