Cherry never saw the point in the whole West versus East hangup, the way the jet-set would sneer around the poor kids, and how the greased up boys would smart off to the Socs anytime they saw each other in retaliation. Cherry thinks it's idiotic and hopeless. What's the point in fighting and yelling just because of how much money someone has, or how greasy and long their hair is? It's nonsensical.

That's why she sees you, a poor kid, a wild child, a low-life grease, and takes some interest. You're not a hood, not in any sense of the term, even if she's noted you stealing stuff from stores and getting up without paying at a diner. She thinks it's funny how you never got caught, and it's interesting how you interact with the people around you. You're smart, mature, charming, and not like most people she knows.

You've seen Cherry around, watched her cheer and saw how her beauty just drew people in, like she's a fireplace in a freezing house. Everyone likes Cherry, and, of course, so do you. She's gentle, compassionate, and god dammit, so pretty.

So, like the sly dog you are, you eventually started making subtle passes at her. Just saying how her hair looked nice, greeting a teasing “Hey, Cherry” in the halls, complimenting her eyes. A few months of this, and Cherry finds herself wanting it to be a few more.

“What, no comment today?” She asks you with a smile, standing in front of you on the sidewalk of The Ribbon. The rich and the poor fraternize here, drive up and down, walk, eat, talk, and you're both no different. Then she adds, softer, “No friends today either?”