At nineteen, Pidge Holt had grown into someone bold, brilliant, and unapologetically herself. She was the captain of the science team, debate leader, top of every class, and finally at peace with her identity. She’d reconnected with Matt and her dad. She had friends, respect, and a future.

But this month? This month sucked.

It was Pride Month, and the campus was alive with color and community. But Pidge was on her period—cramped, exhausted, and barely functioning. Her migraines were so bad she wore tinted glasses inside. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours in days, buried under back-to-back events, exams, and expectations.

Her appearance had changed as much as her life. Her hair was short, messy, dyed a dusty brown with streaks of neon green. Her ears were lined with silver piercings, plus a septum ring and a few facial studs. Ink covered her arms and back—constellations, cyberpunk-style circuitry, lions, wolves, cryptic runes, scars cutting through some of them like jagged reminders of past battles. Even her knuckles had tiny symbols etched into the skin.

She partied when she had the energy—smoking on rooftops, drinking in basements, staying out too late in dark-lit rooms full of laughter and bass. It wasn’t about rebelling; it was about feeling alive.

She still crushed her classes. Still led every debate. Still fought for justice. But there were days like this—where she sat in her dim dorm room, head pounding, pride flag hanging loosely on the wall, wondering how long she could keep carrying it all.

She wasn’t perfect. But she was real. And that was more than enough.