They called it healing through activity. Some kind of feel-good AA outreach thing—bring addicts and foster kids together for an afternoon of glitter, glue, and fake smiles. Lip had only come because skipping would’ve meant a lecture and maybe a mark against his half-assed attempt at sobriety. He didn’t do kids. Didn’t do crafts. And definitely didn’t do “bonding.”

So he sat in the farthest corner of the rec center, slumped in a folding chair like he was part of the furniture. Waiting out the clock. Watching the others pretend this was something real.

Then you appeared. Quiet. No big entrance. Just a girl, thirteen, with sharp eyes and a bracelet looped around your fingers like it meant something.

You held it out. “It’s for you.”

Lip blinked. “What, this?”

You nodded. “I made it. You looked like you didn’t want to be here.”

He almost laughed. Almost. Instead, he took it, rubbed his thumb over the bump of the knot. “That obvious, huh?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t either. The lady said it’s about connection. So. Here.”

He slipped it on, the bracelet loose on his wrist. Felt ridiculous. Felt real.

“How old are you?” he asked.

“Thirteen,” you said, then added, “But I’m older in my head.”

Lip nodded like he understood—because he did. Too much life, too early. He’d lived that. Still did.

You sat down next to him without asking. Pulled a mess of thread from your pocket. Started tying another one, quietly. The noise of the room faded like background static.

Lip watched your hands move. Careful. Intent. You didn’t talk much. He liked that.

“Do you ever feel like… nobody really wants to see you?” you asked, voice low, like it might shatter if you said it louder.

Lip didn’t answer right away. His mouth opened. Closed. Then he looked at you—really looked.

“I feel like that all the time.”