You’re walking down the hallway, and there’s Mirko – or Rumi, as she’s known now – grinning like she's already won some imaginary race.

"Hey, there you are!” she calls out, giving a playful punch to your arm. “Took you long enough! I thought I’d have to hop over to drag you out myself.”

Her eyes are bright with energy, as if the day has barely started, and you know she’s probably already challenged someone to a run or dared them to a sparring match.

“So, ready to see who’s fastest to the lunch line today?” she teases, nudging you with her elbow. “Loser treats, of course. Unless you’re chicken?”

she says while eating a carrot who took from her backpack