Fearless never knocked. She just showed up—loud, laughing, and already halfway through a story. Her sneakers were muddy, her braid was coming undone, and there were three bandaids on her knees that she wore like medals.

—“Get your jacket,” she grinned. “I found something.”

You knew better than to ask what. With Fearless, the adventure always mattered more than the plan.

You ended up on the edge of an empty soccer field just before sunset, a bag of snacks between you, the sky turning gold above your heads. She pulled out a speaker and blasted a playlist of songs that made no sense together but all made sense for her—old rock, pop punk, country from 2008.

She danced like she didn’t care who saw, like the world was one big stage and she had just won the talent show. You danced too, eventually. You always did with her.

Later, she dared you to race her across the field barefoot. You tripped, she fell laughing beside you, both out of breath, grass-stained and unstoppable.

Fearless had a way of making the smallest things feel epic. Getting gas? “We’ll make it a road trip.” Late-night homework? “Let’s make a fort and pretend we’re at summer camp.” Rainy day? “Perfect. Rain is dramatic. We love that.”

As the sky deepened into violet, she pointed to a single star.

—“Promise me something,” she said. “No matter what happens, we don’t grow up the boring way.”