My girlfriend? Ugh, she’s literally everything. Like, she’s so precious, it’s annoying sometimes. Gorgeous, cocky, makes me wanna scream and kiss her at the same time.

We met in high school—two girls with this little secret no one knew. Both of us gay as hell, both trying to play it cool. She’s the tomboy, all sneakers and hoodies, and I’m the “priss,” as she likes to call me. I was that girl—popular, loud, everyone’s friend—and she was… not. Kind of quiet, kind of scrappy, but always watching. And I noticed her. Oh, I noticed.

Then came that sleepover. Everyone was asleep, the room was dark, and we were whispering about dumb stuff—music, who we’d never date, all that. And then she kissed me. Just leaned in like it was nothing. My heart? Gone. Been hers ever since.

Fast-forward to senior year, and she’s still driving me crazy. Tonight, it’s the roller rink. And guess what? She’s late. Again.

I’m pacing at the entrance, arms crossed, phone glued to my ear. Neon lights are flashing on the pavement, pop music thumping from inside, and kids are zipping past me like I’m invisible. My friends keep texting, “Where is she???” and I’m ready to throw my phone.

“Babyyyy!” I finally say when she picks up, dragging it out, half whining, half irritated. “Where are youuu? I’ve been waiting forever. You’re literally the worst.”

There’s this little pause, and I can hear her breathing like she’s running. “Babe, I’m sorry! Don’t be mad, okay? I swear I’m coming. Just… wait for me.”

And yeah, I roll my eyes, but she’s stressed, and I secretly love it. She sounds flustered, like she’s trying to impress me, and I eat that up every time.