On the eve of senior prom, an anonymous source sent me a screenshot of the varsity football team's Snapchat group chat. In the chat, my online boyfriend, Blake, had shared a screenshot of an Amazon delivery confirmation. "I just bought a 7XL pink ruffle dress for that fat girl who only dares to voice-chat with me on Discord." "The dress is as big as a hot air balloon. She's going to look like a literal clown in it." One of his teammates chimed in: "Damn, Blake, that’s savage. I bet she’ll have a mental breakdown the second she sees it and won’t even dare to step foot inside the prom venue." Blake then sent a voice note, with the loud, mocking laughter of several guys echoing in the background: "If she actually shows up, I’m going to film her walking the red carpet and post it on TikTok. That video is guaranteed to hit a million views." I stared at the screen, then casually tossed the package containing the cheap, tacky pink mesh dress straight into the trash can. A year ago, because of severe obesity and the endless health and social problems that came with it, I had taken a medical leave of absence from school. Shortly after, I met Blake online. He was the reason I started my weight-loss journey. For him, I woke up at five every morning to run. Combined with a strict, healthy diet, I managed to lose eighty pounds. I looked in the mirror at my new face—the baby fat was completely gone, leaving behind sharp, striking, and cold features. I unlocked my phone and sent Blake a simple smiley face on Snapchat: "Got the dress. See you at prom tomorrow at eight."
I sat in the back of a black stretch Lincoln limousine. Outside, camera flashes strobed against the dark glass, and loud, pulsing music filled the night air. There were only ten minutes left before the prom red carpet officially opened. The phone resting on my knees vibrated non-stop. Notifications from a Snapchat group chat kept popping up. Initially, this group chat was only for the football players and cheerleaders. But I had used a few connections to get an alt account—posing as a junior varsity cheerleader—to slip in unnoticed. Blake had just posted a picture of himself leaning against the hood of a sleek sports car. He was wearing a sharp tuxedo, his bowtie half-undone. The comments below were overflowing with praise and hype. "Our quarterback is looking hot tonight! Ready to welcome your hot air balloon date?" "I’ve got my GoPro ready. I’m going to capture her rolling down the red carpet in glorious 4K." Then, Chloe, the varsity cheer captain, sent a voice note. "Come on, guys, don't talk about Stella like that. She might be on the larger side, but she’s willing to wear pink just for Blake. That shows she really loves him." "Just don't laugh too loudly when she gets here. I’d hate for her to run home crying." Blake replied with a laughing emoji. "Don't worry. I’ll be a perfect gentleman and escort my pink clown all the way to the door." I stared coldly at the screen. During my second month away from school, I met Blake in an online game. He thought my gaming skills were amazing, and he loved my voice, calling it incredibly sexy. Soon, he started pursuing me. Later, he found out that I was actually Stella—the "fat girl" everyone whispered about at school. I had been terrified that he would mock me, just like everyone else did. But he didn't. Instead, he told me: "Stella, they only care about looks and bodies. But I know you have the most beautiful soul." "In my eyes, you will always be the most gorgeous girl." I was deeply moved. I gave him my heart. Not only did I study by myself at home to keep up with my senior year classes, but I also acted as his emotional trash can whenever he lost a football game. In the game, he called me "My Queen." But in reality, he treated me as a twisted trophy to boost his own fragile male ego. "We're up next, ma'am," the chauffeur said, opening the door from the outside. The roaring noise of the crowd rushed into the quiet car the moment the door swung open. Students lined both sides of the red carpet, their phones raised to record everything. Blake was standing halfway up the carpet, holding a glass of champagne, leaning in to whisper something to Chloe. The moment my high heels touched the red carpet, the girls nearest to the limo stopped talking. Their hands, holding up their phones, froze in mid-air. I stepped fully out of the car, adjusting my dress. My custom black starry-night gown caught the flashing lights, reflecting subtle, cold glints of starlight. The soft, premium fabric hugged my waist perfectly, and the backless design dipped elegantly down to my lower back. The whispers and chatter along the red carpet seemed to vanish, starting from where I stood and spreading outward. In its place was the frantic clicking of camera shutters. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity? Does she even go to our school?" "That dress... is that the Paris Fashion Week runway piece? I literally just saw it in Vogue last week!" I walked down the red carpet, my gaze cutting straight through the crowd. Hearing the sudden shift in the crowd's energy behind him, Blake turned around. His eyes locked onto me, and the casual, arrogant smirk instantly drained from his face. The champagne glass in his hand tilted slightly, spilling a few drops onto his leather shoes, but he didn't even notice.
Blake hurriedly shoved his champagne glass into a teammate's hand, adjusted his tie, and walked straight toward me. His eyes were filled with pure admiration. We had been in an online relationship for ten months, yet he had never once agreed to a FaceTime call. Instead, relying on school rumors and a few old photos of me from junior year, he had painted a malicious picture of me in his mind. He didn't recognize me at all. "Hey," Blake said, stopping right in front of me and blocking my path. He flashed his signature charming smile, his voice smooth and polite. "I’m Blake. I’m pretty sure I’d remember if someone like you went to our school. Whose date are you?" "Or did a movie star accidentally wander into our prom?" I stopped walking but didn't say a word. "Don't have a date to walk the carpet with?" Seeing my silence, he took half a step closer, subtly flexing his broad shoulders. "If you don't mind, I could—" "Blake, that 7XL pink dress you bought me? The fabric was incredibly cheap, and the glitter kept falling off." "I was worried it would ruin my carpets, so I threw it straight into the trash." Blake’s smile completely froze. The surrounding crowd, which had been whispering excitedly, went dead silent. Blake’s pupils contracted violently, and the muscles around his eyes twitched uncontrollably. "Stella?" His voice cracked, filled with sheer disbelief. The football players standing behind him dropped their jaws. The guy holding the GoPro shook so hard that the camera slipped from his grip, clattering loudly onto the concrete. "No way... That's impossible!" Blake instinctively took a step back, his eyes frantically scanning me from my face down to my waist, and then back to my face. "What? Disappointed?" I tilted my chin up, enjoying the sight of his face crumbling. "Sorry you didn't get to see your hot air balloon. Guess your GoPro won't be getting those views after all." Chloe quickly stepped forward at that moment. When she saw me, her sweet, perfect smile wavered. "Stella! Oh my god, you lost so much weight!" She reached out, trying to grab my arm. "If you got this pretty, why didn't you tell Blake sooner?" "He spent so much time picking out that dress as a surprise for you, you know." "Keeping it a secret like this... you really embarrassed him." I brushed her hand off. "Spent a lot of time?" "As in, spending time finding which party city sold the best clown costumes?" "Chloe, since you care so much about his feelings, next time he buys a dress like that, feel free to wear it yourself." Chloe’s face turned pale. She bit her lower lip and stepped back. Blake finally snapped out of his shock. But his surprise quickly morphed into a strange, obsessive excitement. "Stella." He suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Let me explain. That was just a joke between the guys, I—" I ripped my hand away from his grip, walked right past him, and headed straight into the main hall.
Inside the venue, colorful laser lights swept across the crowded dance floor. I walked over to the drink station and picked up a glass of sparkling water. Before I could even take a sip, Blake pushed through the crowd, pursuing me. He hadn't been deterred by what happened on the red carpet. Instead, he had put back on his usual entitled, arrogant attitude. "Stella, there were too many people outside just now. I’ll let that slide," Blake said, placing one hand on the bar counter, effectively trapping me between himself and the table. "You know I never really cared if you were fat or not. I told you, you were always beautiful to me." "But now that you're skinny, it's even better, isn't it?" He lowered his voice, his tone dripping with condescension. "The first dance is about to start. Come to the dance floor with me. I’ll overlook the fact that you threw away my dress, and we can call it even." I turned around, leaning casually against the table. I swirled my sparkling water, looking down at him. "Blake, do you have trouble understanding English, or did you take one too many tackles to the head?" "I didn't stand here tonight to show off my weight loss to you." "I threw your trash dress away. And I'm throwing you away, too." Blake’s expression darkened instantly. His breathing grew heavy, clearly furious that I dared to defy him. "Don't get cocky," he sneered. "You think losing some weight means you can just dump me? If I hadn't spent every night voice-chatting with you, you would have rotted away in your own depression!" "You belong to me—" "She belongs to who?" A cold, calm voice cut Blake off. I looked up and saw Asher standing right behind Blake. He was wearing a perfectly tailored, minimalist black tuxedo. He hadn't worn a tie, and the top two buttons of his white shirt were casually undone. Unlike Blake, who practically radiated loud insecurity and aggression, Asher carried an aura of quiet, untouchable confidence. As the son of the school board's chairman and an Ivy League-bound genius, Asher held absolute influence at this school. When Blake saw Asher, his brow furrowed into a tight knot. "Asher, this is a private matter between me and my girlfriend. Stay out of it." "Ex-girlfriend," I corrected him. Asher ignored Blake’s warning entirely. He stepped past him and stood in front of me. He looked down, his calm gaze resting on my face. There wasn't a single hint of surprise in his eyes regarding my transformation. It was as if he had always known I would look like this. "Excuse me," Asher said, extending his right hand to me, palm up. His posture was flawlessly polite. "May I have the honor of the first dance?" Blake let out a dry, angry laugh. "Asher, do you know the rules? She’s my girl!" Asher turned his head, casting a freezing look at Blake. "Rules?" "She told you to screw off. Did you lose your hearing along with your manners?"
The music transitioned into a slow, elegant waltz. Without a second thought, I placed my hand in Asher’s. His fingers were long and firm, his touch cool and reassuring. He placed his other hand lightly on my waist, guiding me smoothly onto the center of the dance floor. Behind us, the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed through the hall. Without even looking, I knew Blake was throwing a tantrum. On the dance floor, countless eyes were locked onto us. "You don't seem surprised at all," I whispered, keeping pace with Asher's steps. "Surprised by what?" "The way I look now." Asher paused his step for a fraction of a second, then drew me slightly closer. "I watched you spend three straight months pulling all-nighters in the library to write that physics paper that won the State Championship. I already knew how brilliant you were." His voice was quiet, but it cut through the music clearly. "Stella, your worth was never defined by a number on a scale." My heart skipped a beat. Right at that moment, the lights in the entire hall suddenly went out. The music stopped abruptly, followed by a collective gasp from the students. The massive projector screen at the front of the hall flared to life, casting a harsh, blinding white light over the crowd. Tonight, this screen was supposed to play a heartwarming senior year recap video. Instead, a grainy, secretly recorded video began to play. On the screen was the old me, wearing an oversized gray hoodie. My face was heavy, and I was sitting in a fast-food joint, shoving a double cheeseburger into my mouth, grease smeared over my lips. The audio playing over the video was a private Discord call between Blake and me. "Blake... do you think I'm annoying?" my past voice asked, sounding incredibly small and desperate. "If I always do what you say, will you promise to never leave me?" Back then, I had crawled in the dirt just to keep him. Then came Blake’s voice, filled with utter contempt and amusement: "Sure. As long as you remain a good, obedient girl, I might consider taking you out on a real date." The entire hall fell into a suffocating silence. A spotlight suddenly snapped on, illuminating the second-floor DJ booth. Blake stood there, holding a microphone, looking down at me on the dance floor. "Take a good look, everyone! This is the 'perfect goddess' you were all drooling over just a second ago," Blake’s voice boomed through the speakers, echoing in every corner of the room. "Stella, did you really think that shedding a layer of skin would erase the days when you acted like my dog?" A cruel, twisted grin spread across his face. "Now, crawl up here right now and beg for my forgiveness."
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