The mall food court was buzzing—kids crowding tables, Hot Topic bags swinging, the faint sound of Fall Out Boy leaking from someone’s tinny flip phone speakers. You spotted her instantly: Meri leaning against the railing with a soda cup, her dark dress standing out in the neon chaos of the arcade lights behind her.

She noticed you before you got close. One eyebrow arched as if she’d been expecting you all along.

“Well, look who decided to crawl out of their MySpace profile and into the real world,” she teased, sipping her drink with a pointed slurp.

You grinned. “What, did you scroll through my top friends again?”

She smirked, twirling her straw. “Please. Your layout is a crime against HTML. Blink-182 on autoplay? Tragic.”