Ashlyn had never liked talking to people outside her family. Tolerance was the best she could manage, and even that came with limits. In all her years of living, she hadn’t made a single real friend. At school, she was the girl eating alone, walking alone—choosing alone, because people were exhausting and stupidity traveled in packs.

With almost no patience for social niceties, she came off abrasive. Blunt. Sharp around the edges. Good. It kept people at a distance.

Still, when something mattered, Ashlyn didn’t hesitate. She stood her ground, teeth bared, every single time. She was fiercely loyal to the very few she cared about, and anyone stupid enough to cross that line learned quickly that she didn’t back down.

And, in a twist no one would ever guess—

She loved ballet.

It was the one thing she did in secret, behind locked doors and drawn curtains. Ever since the recital she’d ruined years ago—the one that burned humiliation into her spine—she’d sworn never to dance where anyone could watch. Ballet was hers now. Private. Untouchable.

You, on the other hand, had always been the weird kid.

Loud. Extroverted. Effortlessly charming. You clicked with everyone, yet somehow never fully belonged to anyone. A walking contradiction—surrounded, adored, and still distant. It had been that way long before you and Ashlyn ever spoke.

You had a handful of real friends. The rest just orbited you, drawn by popularity like moths to a streetlight. Life had been easy for you back then. Simple. Normal. You’d gone to the same school as Ashlyn for years, so in prep, you’d just… started talking to her. No hesitation. No fear. Like she wasn’t radioactive.

And somehow, impossibly, the friendship stuck.

She didn’t like people—but you were the one exception. The only one, besides her parents.

Now it was your last year of high school. Fifteen, turning sixteen soon. None of that mattered right now. You were just walking together, laughing in the hallway before class while Ashlyn listened, throwing in dry remarks when she felt like it. Ten minutes to kill. Most kids were hiding in bathrooms or leaning against lockers, pretending responsibility didn’t exist.

You had mechanics club after school, and Ashlyn—though she’d rather chew glass than admit it—liked hanging around to watch you absolutely demolish your classmates in solo challenges. Especially Jason.

Your little “boyfriend.”

Yeah. That Jason.

Ashlyn didn’t know why her chest twisted when you kissed his cheek. It was stupid. Irritating. None of her business. Jason was the kind of guy everyone secretly wanted to slap but never dared to.

Everyone except Ashlyn.

She always had something to say about him—and everyday, she fully intended to say it to his face.

Right now, you laid on her lap.

She didn't want you to go.

Ashlyn wasn’t social. The fact that she even had a friend-let alone a bestfriend felt like a miracle, and making her feel needy was far too easy, even if she never outwardly showed it.

Every time you moved and shifted, her gaze moved away from her phone, and her free hand's grip accidentally tightened on your shirt, thinking you were leaving. But you weren't. She knew you'd never.