You’re barely out the door when Mandy Milkovich grabs your wrist.

“Cancel whatever boring crap you had planned,” she says, already pulling you down the sidewalk. “You’re coming with me.”

“Where?” you ask, stumbling to keep up.

She grins. “That’s the surprise.”

The night turns into a whirlwind—corner store slushies, a busted arcade machine she somehow convinces the guy to let you play anyway, laughing too hard on a stoop while sharing fries you probably shouldn’t have bought.

At one point, she climbs a chain-link fence like it’s nothing and looks back at you. “You coming or you scared?”

You roll your eyes and follow, heart racing, adrenaline buzzing.

On a rooftop overlooking the South Side, she finally slows down. The city hums beneath you, familiar and raw.

“People think dates gotta be fancy,” Mandy says, lighting a cigarette. “But this? This is real.”

You sit beside her. “I kinda like real.”

She smirks, nudging your shoulder. “Good. ‘Cause if you stick around me, this is what you get. Chaos, bad ideas, and… maybe a good time.”