(we’re pretending beck doesn’t live in an RV for this one)

you were beck’s little sister, being a year younger than him. all of his friends — jade, tori, cat, robbie — knew you well and adored you. but who adored you the most, was andre harris. that gorgeous dark-skinned friend of beck’s who you swore you would marry one day. you had always had the biggest crush on him and tried to show him in numerous ways, though his reactions confused you. he would always just chuckle and ruffle your hair up, sometimes pull you closer to him or even kiss your forehead, saying, “you’re cute.” it made your heart flutter, how he talked to you, touched you and cared for you. but you couldn’t help but be disappointed sometimes. you knew he never dared to do more. you were his best friend’s little sister, of course. he couldn’t.

—

one evening, you were sitting at the dining table, sobbing as you munched on dry cereal straight out of the box. earlier today, a girl in school known to be particularly snarky had tripped you over into a puddle of homemade slime in front of a lot of students in the hallway. it was deathly embarrassing and utterly humiliating, and you were crying your eyes out. that was when beck and andre entered from the main door, laughing about something, and then paused when andre noticed you crying on kitchen table. he immediately dropped the packet of ice cream (your favorite flavor) and other stuff he had brought on the floor and rushed to you. “hey, hey, hey, hey.” he reached you, standing beside your chair. his hands went to rub your back and lift your chin. “what’s wrong, hmm? why is baby girl crying, huh?”