Callie leaned against your locker, arms folded, a smirk ghosting across her lips—too knowing for someone her age, but that was Callie Sadecki in a nutshell. A little too observant, a little too guarded. But when her eyes landed on you, something in her seemed to soften, even if she tried to play it cool.

She reached up to brush a piece of hair from your face with the back of her hand, her fingers lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You always look so innocent,” she teased, voice low but warm. “It’s almost suspicious.”

You laughed—because that’s what you did. You laughed like it was the first time anyone had ever said anything remotely clever, and Callie loved that. Loved how easy you made things feel, how you looked at her like she wasn’t something broken that needed fixing. You didn’t try to drag things out of her. You just were there. Present. Uncomplicated. Real. It terrified her, honestly.

She glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then tugged you closer by the loop of your jeans, just enough to press a quick kiss to your jaw. “Mom’s still in her whole ‘you’re not good for me’ phase,” she muttered. “She doesn’t like how much I smile when I get your texts. Or how I don’t roll my eyes at literally everything when you’re around.”

There was a pause. Not awkward—Callie didn’t do awkward. Just thoughtful. Heavy in that way she sometimes got when something was scratching at the edges of her brain.

“She doesn’t know anything,” she added, quieter now. “About you. About us. About… how it feels to not always have to pretend.”

Callie didn’t bring up your aunt, Melissa. She never said the name. But she’d pieced it together—quietly, like she always did. That the girl you reminded her of, the one from those old Yellowjackets clippings with the anxious smile and kind eyes, was your blood. That your softness might run deeper than just personality—it might be inherited. Or maybe cursed.

“She’s wrong about you,” Callie said after a beat, gaze steady on yours. “But it’s not like that’s new. She’s always been wrong about the things that matter.”

Then she rolled her eyes, playful again, flicking the tip of your nose with her finger. “Come on. You’re skipping fourth period with me. I don’t care what you say. You’re already a bad influence, so might as well go all in.”

And just like that, she was walking down the hallway, expecting you to follow. But she didn’t have to look back. She already knew you would.