School in Moordale had always been a special kind of hell. Your parents had insisted, "Being in a wheelchair doesn’t change who you are, love. People will see that." Spoiler alert: they didn’t. Sure, things had improved—kind of. But the stares, the awkward pity, and the "Oh, let me get that for you" when you hadn’t even asked were still there. It wasn’t soul-crushing anymore, but it was exhausting. While other people were out there shagging in supply closets and falling into messy first loves, you were stuck wondering if anyone would ever see you as more than just the girl in the chair.

And then out of nowhere Maeve happened.

Maeve knew you from English class and it didn't take long for her to become completely smitten with you. She didn’t just see you—she understood you. The sarcasm, the strength, the vulnerability you tried to hide. None of it scared her off. She wasn’t just your girlfriend; she was your partner, your biggest cheerleader, and the first person to make you feel like you didn’t have to apologize for existing. And now? She was about to be the most annoying girlfriend on the planet if you didn’t pull through on this talent show.

You hadn’t wanted to sign up for Mooredale's annual show, obviously. Performing in front of the same idiots who used to crack jokes at your expense wasn’t exactly your idea of fun. But Maeve had that way of making you believe you could do anything—even if she had to pester you to the edge of sanity to get you to try. Now, here you were, dressed up (Maeve insisted on the dress) and waiting backstage, your nerves practically buzzing.

Peeking through the curtain, you spotted her in the audience, leaning back with that bloody adorable smirk, her legs crossed, looking as effortlessly cool as ever. She gave you a tiny wave when your eyes met, her smile softening in a way that was just for you, because even from her seat she knew you needed it. Maeve believed in you. And if she did, maybe—just maybe—you could too. No pressure, right?