THE PLUS SIZE PLAYBOOK

Mia pov The lights buzz, they always buzz. Same sound every afternoon, every time I hide back here behind the reference section where nobody goes. I've got my earbuds in, Dr. Patricia Williams talking about body politics and marginalization, and I'm actually paying attention because this is the third time I've listened to this lecture and I still find new things in it. My coffee's getting cold. Caramel latte, my one splurge for the week. I should probably drink it before it turns into sludge, but I'm at a good part and I don't want to pause. This corner is mine. It has been for three years. The table's covered in graffiti—initials, half-erased love declarations, a d**k someone drew in permanent marker. I know every scratch, every carve. I've sat here through three winters, two breakups I never told anyone about, and more all-nighters than I care to count. Well, afternoon-into-evening-ers, anyway. I'm not that dedicated. Nobody bothers me here. Nobody sees me here. That's the point. Then the chair scraped across the floor, it was very loud and deliberate. The kind of sound that says I'm here and you're going to notice me. I look up. Alex Sullivan. Of course it's Alex Sullivan. Maroon and gold jacket, the school colors. Hair like he just rolled out of bed but definitely spent time making it look that way. Jaw sharp enough to cut glass. He's holding my book. My copy of Wuthering Heights. The one I left on the table when I went to grab a coffee from the vending machine downstairs. The one with my annotations in the margins. My highlighted passages. My name is written on the front cover in my own handwriting. He's holding it like he's never touched a book before. Like it might bite him. "Hey," he says. Like we're friends. Like we've ever spoken. I pull out one earbud slowly. "That depends on who's asking." "Alex." He says it like I might not know. Like his face isn't on posters all over campus. Like I haven't watched him date every thin, perfect girl in a ten-mile radius for the last three years. Blonde, petite, polished. The kind of girls who don't have to hide in library corners. "I know who you are." I said in a flat voice. The one I use for people like him. The one that says I'm not impressed, I'm not interested, and I'm definitely not available. "What do you want?" He pushes the book toward me. "I need your help." I blink. Then I laugh. I don't mean to. It just comes out. This incredulous sound that makes his jaw tighten even more. The golden boy. The lacrosse captain. The guy who's never once looked at me like I exist is sitting in my corner of the library asking me for help. "What makes you think I'd help you?" "I'll pay you." "With what? Your dad's money?" Something flickers in his eyes, hurt, dark but it is gone before I can read it. Yet, I caught it. I catch everything. That's what happens when you spend four years being invisible. You learn to see what other people miss. "With whatever you want," he says. "Tutoring rate. Double it. Triple it. Name your price." I study him up close, he's even more annoying. Those eyes, that jaw. The way his jacket stretches across his shoulders. But there's something else there too. Something I wouldn't have noticed if I wasn't looking. His fingers tapping against the table are very nervous. The shadows under his eyes that he couldn’t hide away. The way he won't meet my gaze for more than two seconds, Like he's ashamed of something. "You're failing," I say. "Aren't you?" His head snaps up. "What?" "English. You're failing English." I gesture at the book. "And you need to pass to stay on the team. Coach's rules. I heard about it." "Small school. People talk." I shrug. "Especially when the golden boy's crown starts to slip." The silence stretches. He's staring at me like he's never seen me before. Like I'm something unexpected. "You're not what I expected," he finally says. "What did you expect? Someone who'd fall all over herself to help you? Someone who'd be grateful for the attention?" "I didn't—" He runs a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not good at this. The asking for help thing. I've never had to be." "I know." I lean back. Cross my arms. "That's what makes this interesting." His eyes drop. Just for a second. Just long enough for me to catch the way they flicker down my body and back up. I feel the weight of that gaze. The assessment. The calculation. I know what he sees. I've seen it in a thousand other eyes. The curves. The size. The things that make people look away. But he doesn't look away. He looks at me. Really looks. "You're not even going to ask why?" His voice is rougher now. "Why do I need help so badly?" I should say no. Tell him to find another tutor. I've got papers due. A job interview at the campus bookstore. A life. I don't have time for the campus golden boy and his daddy issues. But I'm tired. Tired of being invisible. Tired of watching people like him walk through life like they own it. Tired of being the quiet girl in the back. Tired of being nobody. Tired of being safe. "You can tell me when you show up for the first session," I say, pulling out my phone. "Sunday. 3 PM. Don't be late." His eyebrows shoot up. "Just like that?" "Just like that." I type out the reminder. "But I have conditions." "Conditions?" "Condition. Singular." I meet his eyes. "You want my help? You follow my rules. My schedule. My methods. You don't argue, you don't complain, and you definitely don't act like this is beneath you. Because right now? You need me a hell of a lot more than I need you." He stares at me. The light buzzes overhead. Someone drops a book somewhere in the stacks. Through the window, I can see students crossing the quad, laughing, living their lives out in the open where everyone can see them. "Fine," he says finally. "Sunday. 3 PM. I'll be there." He stands up. All six feet something of lacrosse player muscle. For a second, I think he might say something else. Something that might c***k that perfect facade just a little bit more. Instead, he walks away. I watch him go. His broad shoulders disappearing between the stacks. His jacket, a flash of maroon and gold before it vanishes entirely. My heart's beating faster than I want to admit. My palms are sweating. My whole body is vibrating with something that feels dangerously like excitement. This is a mistake. A huge mistake. The kind that gets invisible girls noticed for all the wrong reasons. The kind that ends badly, with broken hearts and shattered illusions and the harsh reminder that some people were just born to be seen, and others were born to blend into the background. But when I pick up my book and see the sticky note he left on the inside cover, I feel something I haven't felt in a long time. Thank you.