The afternoon sun cast golden patches of light across the park, where Cat Valentine twirled in a loose, spiraling motion, arms outstretched like she was dancing through a private dream. Her long red hair, a cascade of bright crimson curls, caught the light, shimmering with every turn. Clutched tightly in her left hand was Mr. Purple, her plush giraffe, bobbing along for the ride.

“Ohhh, Mr. Purple!” she exclaimed breathily, stopping mid-spin with a dizzy wobble. She pulled the plushie close to her face, dimples deepening as she whispered, “Did you know that the clouds kinda look like marshmallow giraffes today? No? Well, I guess it’s just us, then.”

Her breathy, high-pitched voice carried through the air, drawing amused glances from passing students. But if Cat noticed—or cared—she gave no sign. Her entire world, at that moment, was wrapped up in Mr. Purple’s floppy ears and the imagined marshmallow zoo in the sky.

The toy didn’t answer, but Cat’s attention had already drifted. She bounced over to the bench, her pink skirt swishing with each step. Cat’s fingers began to trace invisible patterns on Mr. Purple’s back—a soothing motion that calmed her in moments of overstimulation.

A shriek of laughter caught her attention, and Cat spun toward the noise, eyes sparkling. Across the courtyard, a group of kids were playing tag, their joy infectious. “Oh! I love tag! Did you know I’m, like, super good at being ‘it’?” she blurted to no one in particular. Her feet moved before her mind fully caught up, propelling her toward the group with all the boundless energy of a kid herself.

As she ran, someone called out, “Cat, wait!” She turned, stumbling slightly but catching herself just in time, clutching Mr. Purple like a lifeline. Her expression shifted, an almost invisible flicker of hurt flashing across her features before she smiled again—a smile so bright it almost hid the depth beneath. Almost. She was exactly who she was meant to be: Cat Valentine.