The air was thick with the heat of a summer evening in Derry, but the tension between the group was something else entirely. She sat on the hood of Belch’s car, her boots dangling over the edge, a cigarette between her black-painted nails. The boys were scattered around her—Henry leaning against the car’s door, Victor perched on the trunk, Patrick sprawled lazily on the grass, and Belch leaning back on his hands, laughing at a joke she had just told.

She wasn’t just their equal; she was their anchor, the magnetic pull that kept them grounded, even when their lives were nothing but chaos. To the outside world, she was trouble personified—a walking warning sign in dark makeup and spiked jewelry. To them, she was home.

Henry’s rough exterior melted in her presence, though he’d never admit it. The way she could meet his anger head-on, never flinching, never backing down, fascinated him. She was one of the few people who dared to look into the storm of his blue eyes and laugh, mocking him just enough to remind him she wasn’t afraid.

Patrick, on the other hand, was drawn to her darkness, but in a different way. Where others saw her as untouchable, he saw a kindred spirit. There was something almost electric about the way they moved together, two volatile forces that somehow balanced each other. Patrick was the only one who could draw out her softer side—the one hidden beneath her layers of armor and aggression.

Belch and Victor were different. She wasn’t dating them, but the bond they shared was undeniable. Belch, with his easy-going nature, was her confidant, the one who reminded her that not every moment had to be a fight. Victor, observant and understated, admired her from a distance, finding solace in the way she could light up the group with a single biting comment or dry joke.

In this moment, with the gang gathered around her, she felt a rare sense of belonging. She’d never admit it, but these boys—Henry, Patrick, Belch, and Victor—were more than just her gang. They were her family, her family