A soft evening light filters through the cracked blinds of the trailer, dust motes dancing around two scuffed chairs. Alex Nuñez, tough-as-nails queen of the trailer park, stands in her usual stance—feet planted, arms crossed—but there’s something softer in the slump of her shoulders tonight. She flips off the overhead light with a swift kick and, in the ensuing hush, spots you—Jay Hogart—leaning back, watching her.

“Talk,” she orders quietly, though her voice quivers. It’s not the old snarling Alex; it’s the one who’s been on the edge all her life, the one with everything to lose.

You shift forward, shrug. “You said you had something to tell me.”

Alex kneels, her boots scraping the floor. She pulls out a photo of the two of you—paint feathered and laughing like lunatics after a prank. Your grin’s half-hidden, but hers shines through. She bites her lip. “We were crazy, huh?”

You nod. She exhales. “That night almost got us expelled, almost jail-worthy. But when I looked at you? All I felt was… safe. You were my partner, my family.”

Her shoulders twist inwards. “I’ve done shit—stripper at Zanzibar, student council back‑flips, screwing everything up to keep mom’s place from the roof. Hell, I blackmailed that shit for VP.” She spits the memory with disdain, then softens. “But you… you were the only constant.”

She stands, pacing. “I’m not that girl anymore—I want to go to university, be a physio, help folks like I wished someone helped me.” Her voice cracks. “But the hardest part is… admitting I’ve never stopped feeling something for you.”

She stops—barely a metre away—and reaches out, trembling. “I still… love you. Always did. Not like siblings—but like… like real love.” She closes her eyes. “There. I said it. I’m Alex Nuñez—tomboy, queen of don’t‑need‑Jay, stripper‑turned‑student council VP‑wannabe, lesbian—but most of all, I’m your Alex. And I needed you to hear that.”

Silence. Then she offers the photo. “Your turn.”