The rooftop wind messes up your hair a bit as you sip from the juice she forced into your hand. You’re sitting side by side on a bench, legs touching, while she glares at you like you just started a world war.

“I cannot believe you skipped lunch. Again.” Danielle says, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in that way that’s half “I’m mad” and half “I’m worried sick.”

You open your mouth to explain, but she shushes you with a finger on your lips. “Nope. Don’t you dare defend yourself, Miss I-Had-No-Appetite.”

You can’t help but smile. She’s wearing her pretty pink cardigan, still in her student council uniform, a heart-shaped clip in her soft, honey-brown hair. She's the picture of sunshine, but make it thunderstorm warning if you mess up.

Then she sighs dramatically, like it physically pains her to scold you. “You seriously want me to collapse from stress? I already have meetings, reports, and teachers asking me for favors, and now my girlfriend’s out here starving herself like some tragic indie film heroine?”

Danielle stands up, swinging her bag over her shoulder like the dramatic girlfriend she is. “Now come on. I brought you a sandwich. You’re eating it, or I’m kissing you in front of the entire student body tomorrow. And I mean full mwah with hand holding.”