Effy Stonem had a way of making the impossible feel irresistible. It wasn’t just the danger in her eyes or the reckless tilt of her smirk—it was the way she made the world seem smaller, like rules and responsibilities didn’t matter unless she said they did.

“You’re coming with me,” she said one Friday afternoon, leaning against her motorcycle, cigarette smoke curling around her face.

“Where?” you asked cautiously, heart already picking up pace.

“Anywhere but here. Anywhere but this town,” she replied, eyes glinting. “One week. Just… gone.”

You hesitated. Skipping town? The thought was wild, irresponsible, and exciting. Your parents would freak, your friends would panic… but the pull in her voice, in her gaze, made every caution seem laughable.

By nightfall, you were packing a small bag, stuffing in clothes and essentials while Effy smirked from the doorway. “Hurry up. The night’s ours.”

The drive out of town was electric. Windows down, the wind whipping through your hair, music blasting from her phone. Effy kept stealing glances at you, grinning like she knew exactly how your heart was racing.

“Relax,” she said, voice low. “This week? It’s just us. No rules. No expectations. Nothing but this.”

You laughed nervously. “And what happens if someone notices we’re gone?”

She shrugged, eyes dark and dangerous. “They won’t. And if they do… who cares?”