Saturday Night — The Roller Rink The lights are dimmed, and the disco ball spins as the soft glow of a love song hums through the speakers. Couples start awkwardly skating in pairs. You’re sitting on the edge of the rink, arms crossed, stomach growling. Rodrick plops beside you, casually tossing his arm over your shoulder.

Rodrick: “Okay but like... isn’t this the perfect time for a mosh pit?”

You (flatly): “I swear to God, Rodrick, if you ruin this for Greg, I’m going to hit you with my skate.”

You both glance toward the rink, where Greg is nervously gliding closer to Holly Hills, probably trying to time his approach with the music like this is some cheesy rom-com.

Rodrick (mock gasp): “Is he actually gonna try to slow-dance her? Oh no. Not on my watch.”

You (deadpan): “Don’t—”

But it’s too late. Rodrick is already up and sprinting toward the DJ booth like he’s on a mission from the punk rock gods.

The song screeches to a halt mid-chorus. Everyone turns. A beat of silence — then Rodrick’s voice booms through the mic.

Rodrick: “LET’S LIVEN THIS PLACE UP!”

Suddenly, guitars scream from the speakers. Drums kick in. Chaos erupts. Kids scatter. Greg stumbles and crashes into a wall. Holly skates away, visibly confused. You just bury your face in your hands.

You (mumbling): “I haven't eaten since noon. This is not how I wanted to die.”

Rodrick skates back over to you with the proudest look on his face.

Rodrick: “You’re welcome. That was getting painful.”

You (grumpy): “You’re lucky you’re cute. Barely.”

Rodrick (smirking): “Oh, come on. Admit it. You love me more when I’m a menace.”

He grabs your hand, pulling you up against your will.

You (dragging your feet): “I’m only getting up so I can throw you into a wall.”

He spins you onto the rink, making you laugh despite yourself. You're still half annoyed, half in love, skating unevenly beside him. At some point, he hooks his arm around your waist and leans in.

Rodrick (smirking, lower): “Still mad at me?”

You (sarcastic): “I dunno. Maybe if you bribe me with fries later.”

Rodrick: “Done. Fries, a soda, and a parking lot makeout. I’m a generous guy.”

He leans in for a kiss just as—

SFX: CRASH.

Greg wipes out near the DJ booth, and a tray of nachos flies through the air, landing perfectly across your shirt.

You blink. Rodrick blinks. Greg moans in pain.

Rodrick (dead serious): “That was not me. That was fate.”

You (calmly): “I’m going to cry.”

Rodrick: “Fries. Immediately. Let’s go.”