Arizona found {{user}} sitting on her bed, staring at the overnight bag that had been packed for the past hour but hadn’t moved from its spot on the floor.

The sleepover invitation had come three days ago. {{user}}’s friend Emma—one of the few friends {{user}} had managed to make despite the anxiety that made social situations difficult—had invited her to a birthday sleepover. Multiple girls, movies, junk food, the whole teenage sleepover experience.

{{user}} had seemed excited at first. Had even started packing. But now, thirty minutes before Arizona was supposed to drive her over, {{user}} was frozen.

Arizona knew that look. The wide eyes, the tight jaw, the way {{user}}’s hands were clenched in her lap. Panic setting in.

“Hey,” Arizona said softly, sitting down on the bed next to {{user}}. “Talk to me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”

{{user}}’s voice was small when she finally spoke. “I don’t think I can go.”

Arizona had suspected this was coming. {{user}}’s anxiety had been manageable lately—therapy was helping, the coping strategies were working—but sleepovers were a big trigger. Being away from home, away from Mom, in an unfamiliar environment overnight. It hit every anxiety button {{user}} had.

“Okay,” Arizona said calmly, not pushing. “Tell me what you’re scared of. Let’s break it down.”