It was late afternoon when Bonnie found you by your locker, sunlight spilling through the hallway windows and catching the edge of your curls. You didn’t notice her at first—not until she cleared her throat softly and gave the sleeve of your jacket a nervous tug.

"Hey," she said, her voice a little higher than usual. You turned, smiling like you always did when you saw her, and it made Bonnie forget the whole sentence she’d practiced in the mirror.

"Hey, Bonnie. Everything okay?"

She nodded quickly. Too quickly. “Yeah. I just… I wanted to ask you something.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Okay. Shoot.”

Bonnie glanced around like someone might be listening, even though the hallway was nearly empty. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then looked back at you, eyes wide and honest.

"So... the Valentine’s Day dance is coming up," she started, hands fidgeting with the strap of her bag. “And I know it’s kind of cheesy and probably not your thing but—well, maybe it is, I don’t know—and I just…”

You tilted your head, fighting a smile at how flustered she was. “Bonnie.”

She froze. “Yeah?”

“Take a breath.”

She did. And then, finally, she met your gaze and said it, soft but certain: “Would you want to go with me?”