They say it's easy to be seen when you're loud, flashy, or cruel. But I've learned that there's something even more powerful than attention:
Respect.
And this time, I wasn't chasing it.
It found me.
It started with an email.
At first, I thought it was spam. Who even checks those college club newsletters? But there it was — sandwiched between campus bulletins and discount pizza offers:
Subject: You've Been Nominated for the Student Leadership Board
We believe your voice matters, Charlotte Samson. Let it be heard.
I blinked at the screen.
Sophie leaned over my shoulder, slurping juice loudly. "Are they crazy, or just finally opening their eyes?"
"I didn't apply for this…"
"That's the point," James said from across the room. "You didn't have to. People are starting to notice who you are."
It was surreal.
Me. The girl who once cried in the bathroom after group presentations because no one remembered her name.
Now nominated to lead?
People started saying hi in the hallway.
Strangers.
Actual, breathing, blinking students looked me in the eyes and said "Hi, Charlotte!" as if I had always mattered.
Professors began recommending me for study groups. Someone even asked me to tutor them in organic chemistry.
And Zariah? She bloomed right alongside me.
With Darby's grip broken, Zariah reclaimed her voice. Her artwork — dark, poetic, and painfully real — got selected for the college's spring gallery showcase.
I stood with her at the announcement, clapping the loudest.
"You're not invisible anymore," she whispered to me.
I smiled. "Neither are you."
"Okay," Sophie said, barging into our dorm one night with a box of glitter, ribbons, and mini lights. "It's time to celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" I asked, already afraid.
"You! Duh. Student Leadership Board nomination, rising GPA, social glow-up. You've been reborn, girl."
"I didn't die."
"Metaphorically, yes. Socially, you were six feet under."
James stifled a laugh from the corner.
Sophie grinned. "We're throwing a small party. Classy, chill, meaningful. Like you. No chaos. Just friends. Just us."
Zariah offered to paint personalized cards. James agreed to DJ. I… agreed to try not to run out the door from emotional overload.
On the day of the Leadership Board interview, I walked into the glass-panelled conference room in my favorite pale blue blazer — the one Mom mailed me last semester with a sticky note that read "You'll need this when the world finally catches up to your brilliance."
I thought of her. Of Dad. Of their absence. Of their legacy.
I sat across from a panel of six professors and students. My voice was steady. My answers honest.
I didn't pretend to be something I wasn't.
I was Charlotte Samson: introverted, observant, driven, and finally done shrinking herself.
This time, I didn't need James to see me.
I didn't need Sophie to convince me.
I didn't need Zariah's approval.
I saw myself.
And maybe, just maybe…
That was the real beginning of everything.