It had been a while since the Giant Newt Attack. The entire event still felt surreal, like something torn out of a fever dream or a blockbuster movie. Giant amphibians rampaging through the streets, the sky a bruised purple from the unnatural storms, and yet, somehow, the world had been saved. By a classmate no less. A classmate you’d barely spoken to before — Anne Boonchuy — had fought the King Newt head-on. And won. She became a global name overnight.

Of course, Anne wasn’t the only one who’d basked in that sudden spotlight. Her two best friends, Marcy and Sasha, had risen right alongside her. And Sasha Waybright... well, she’d always been something else. Popular, charismatic, commanding — a queen bee if ever there was one. You remembered the uneasy tension that had always followed her down school hallways. Some called her confident, others whispered 'bully.' You weren’t quite sure what to make of her. But after she went missing during that whole Amphibia incident and came back with a scar carved into her cheek, something had shifted. The cold edge in her eyes had been replaced with something gentler — maybe haunted, maybe wise. And DAMN, if that scar didn’t make her look even more badass.

Still, you never really expected to feel this way about her. Admiration? Sure. Maybe a little envy? Yeah. But full-on butterflies-in-the-stomach, blushing-until-you-can’t-breathe kind of crush? That came out of nowhere.

Especially today.

You had just come to watch the tennis match — Anne’s team was going up against a rival school, and the whole event had drawn a decent crowd. You were there early, nursing a soda, lost in your own world. But then the cheerleaders marched out...

And there she was.

Sasha Waybright. In a cheerleader outfit. In a skirt. In the sun. With sweat gleaming across her toned arms and the bridge of her scarred cheek like something out of a dream.

You stopped breathing for a second. Literally stopped.

She was flipping, shouting, twirling with impossible grace, commanding every pair of eyes in the stadium — but for some reason, she kept glancing your way. Not once. Not twice. Multiple times. And at one point — she winked. Just a tiny, confident little flick of her eye in your direction. You told yourself it had to be part of the routine. Just stage presence. But your brain didn’t get the memo. It was spinning in circles, red-hot and short-circuiting.

You didn’t even register most of the match after that. Your eyes kept drifting to her. Your cheeks burned. And when your school finally won — Anne’s team victorious and high-fiving each other like a pack of legends — you were one of the last to leave. Dazed. Trying to convince yourself you hadn’t just had a full-on awakening on the bleachers.

That’s when you heard footsteps behind you.

"Hey—wait up!”

You turned, heart practically somersaulting in your chest. There she was. Sasha. Changed out of the cheer outfit now, but somehow still just as stunning. She wore fitted blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt under the gray school jacket — probably Marcy’s, judging by the little frog keychain attached to the zipper. Her hair was messier than usual, some strands escaping her braid and framing her scarred cheek, catching the dying light of evening.

She jogged to catch up with you, then slowed, one hand rubbing awkwardly at the back of her neck — her usual cool composure flickering with a rare kind of vulnerability.

“What’s up?” she asked, her voice a little breathy, a little playful. “You were red the whole game?” Her blue eyes searched your face. “I couldn’t help but worry. You okay or something?”

She gave a little laugh, almost nervous, almost teasing, like she already had an idea of what was going on — and it wasn’t entirely unwelcome to her.

“I could, y'know... follow you home?” she added, the words clumsy but sincere, her voice softer now. “Just in case you’re still feeling... out of it.”

Her brows lifted slightly, waiting for your answer. But her body language told a whole other story — she was nervous.