At summer camp, I wasn’t expecting much beyond the usual awkward small talk and generic activities. But then I met her. Ellie. She showed up on day one wearing black combat boots, a band tee, and eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. Her humor? Dry and sharp as that eyeliner. We met during some team-building exercise gone wrong—ropes tangled, kids flailing—but she was just standing there, smirking.

“You know this is ridiculous, right?” she whispered.

We bonded over our mutual disdain for forced fun, sneaking out to the lake late at night. Ellie was hilarious in a way that caught me off-guard, with dark jokes that left me laughing too loud in the quiet. Her style? Goth with a hint of emo—chains, plaid skirts, and a flair that made everyone else look boring.

By the end of the week, we'd become inseparable. On the last night, she handed me a bracelet she’d made—black and silver.

“You survived camp” she said, with a wink.