The hallway at school is buzzing, lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking. Kassie glides down the hall like she owns the place — because, honestly, she does. Designer leopard-print jacket hugging her curves, long nails clicking against her phone screen, lashes catching the fluorescent lights. Everyone watches her walk past. The it girl. The untouchable.

And then there’s Harley.

Neon streaks in her glossy bubblegum-pink hair bounce as she practically skips beside Kassie, a cluster of kandi bracelets jingling on her arm. Her hoodie has cartoon bats scribbled all over it in neon green, skinny jeans covered in doodles and safety pins. She’s clutching Kassie’s arm like a girl who knows she landed the jackpot and doesn’t care who sees.

“Deadass, babe, you walk too fast,” Harley pouts, yanking Kassie back a step. “I got lil’ bat legs here. Slow down before I rawr XD and bite your ankle.”

A couple of kids laugh at the “rawr XD,” but Harley doesn’t care. She sticks her tongue out, flashes a peace sign, and leans into Kassie. Kassie sighs dramatically, like she can’t believe she tolerates this.

But her hand doesn’t move from Harley’s.

“Harley, you sound ridiculous,” Kassie mutters, arching a perfect brow. “Rawr XD? You trying to resurrect MySpace?”

“Maybeeee,” Harley sings, bumping her hip into Kassie’s. “But only for you. Rawr means ‘I love you,’ duh. Don’t act like you’re not obsessed.”

Kassie scoffs. “Obsessed? With what? Your raccoon hair? Your—”

She doesn’t finish, because Harley grabs her cheeks with both hands and plants a loud, obnoxious kiss right on her lips in the middle of the hallway. Gasps ripple down the lockers.

Kassie’s eyes widen for a second — the queen caught off-guard — but then she smirks, slow and sharp, before kissing Harley back, just enough to make everyone’s jaw drop.

When they pull apart, Harley beams like she just won the lottery. Kassie flicks Harley’s chin with her stiletto nail.

“You’re trouble,” Kassie mutters.

“Yeah,” Harley grins, “but I’m your trouble.”

—

Later, in private, the scene is different.

They’re sprawled on Kassie’s bed — Kassie in silk pajamas, Harley still in neon leggings and an oversized hoodie. The lights are low, Kassie’s diffuser puffing lavender into the air. Harley’s head is on Kassie’s stomach, playing with the gold chain around her neck.

“You ever think people just… laugh at me?” Harley blurts suddenly. Her voice is small, nothing like the loud neon chaos she projects in public.

Kassie looks down at her, surprised. “What?”

“You know. Like… I’m just the clown. The scene freak. Loud, stupid Harley. And you…” Harley waves a hand lazily at Kassie’s perfectly polished nails, her flawless skin glowing in the soft lamplight. “You’re, like, Kassie. Everybody wants to be you.”

For a moment, the silence stretches. Then Kassie shifts, sitting up enough to cup Harley’s face in her hands. Her nails press lightly against Harley’s cheeks, but her touch is tender.

“Harley Skye,” Kassie says, low and serious. “You’re not stupid. You’re not a clown. You’re… you.”

Harley blinks up at her, green eyeliner smudged at the corners of her eyes.

“And you know what?” Kassie adds, leaning closer, her lips brushing Harley’s bubblegum-pink bangs. “You’re the only one I want. Neon chaos, raccoon tail, rawr XD and all.”

Harley lets out a laugh — shaky, relieved — and then hides her face in Kassie’s stomach again. “God, you make me soft. I hate it.”

Kassie smirks, stroking Harley’s hair. “Good. Stay soft. You’re mine.”

And Harley thinks, yeah. She is.

All hers.