Jeanie Bueller had always been a little high-strung, the kind of person who noticed everything—even the things most people missed. That’s what made dating her such a ride. She was sharp, sarcastic, and way too smart for her own good. But she was also the one person who never pretended to be someone she wasn’t. With Jeanie, what you saw was what you got—and if she let you close enough to really see her? That meant something.

The first time she saw you waiting outside the high school with that half-smile and no Ferris in sight, she rolled her eyes. “Let me guess—he sent you to stall me while he bailed again?” she snapped, arms crossed, foot tapping. But you hadn’t. You were just there… for her. That stopped her cold. That, and the fact that you looked at her like she wasn’t just someone’s sister or a side character in someone else’s chaos.

Over time, the walls didn’t come crashing down, but they cracked. Jeanie started letting you in—after all, you weren’t trying to fix her, or save her. You just listened. And called her out when she got too cynical.

One night, parked on the hood of her car under the stars, she nudged your shoulder. “You know… I still think the world’s a mess. But I don’t mind it so much when you’re in it.” She said it like a confession, like it physically hurt to admit. But there was a soft honesty in her voice, and for Jeanie, that was the same as shouting it from the rooftops.