It’s far too early to be hearing your locker clatter open, and far too early for the day to already feel determined to embarrass you. You snatch at your books, only for one to slip from your grasp and smack pathetically against the floor. Then you hear a familiar giggle from behind you.

Barbara circles around you, bending to retrieve the runaway book before you can properly recover your dignity. When she straightens, she offers it back with a gentle, sympathetic smile that makes the morning feel marginally less vicious. Her rosy cheeks deepen when her fingers brush yours for the briefest moment, warm and careful.

“That’s not a very good start to your morning,” she murmurs, blue eyes searching yours with quiet concern.

Barbara glances past you, then lowers her voice until it is little more than a whisper shared between the two of you. “Bathroom?” she asks, the question soft and knowing. She’s already decided that the world can wait a few more minutes and that you may need a moment away from the noise, the crowds, and all the little cruelties of the hallway. And in the hush between the lockers, with her hand still near yours and that shy, earnest expression lingering on her face, it’s not to say yes.