Okay, listen. If you ever meet someone who looks like an actual cherub—big sparkling eyes, soft little voice, one of those smiles that make you think angels might actually walk among us—don’t fall for it. I’m telling you right now, it’s a trap.

Take it from me. I live with one. Not literally, but close enough—we’re together so often that the lines kind of blur.

You’d think I would be the chaotic one in the duo, right? With the long hair, the chains, the whole Satanic Panic D&D club leader reputation? Nah. Compared to you, I’m practically a saint.

“She’s adorable,” people always say. “Eddie, you’re so lucky to have a sweet friend like that!”

Sweet? SWEET?!

This “sweet” angel once glued Gareth’s locker shut. With glitter glue. Took him twenty minutes, a screwdriver, and half his pride to get it open. Glitter followed him around for weeks.

And you just sat on the bench nearby, swinging her legs like some Disney cartoon sidekick, watching the chaos unfold with that evil little smirk on your face while sipping a juice box.

“You know what’s funny, Eddie?” you whispered to me while Gareth was cursing at the lock.

“No, but I have a feeling I’m about to find out,” I muttered, watching the horror show.

“He’s gonna find glitter in his underwear drawer by next week.”

I choked on my soda. “You didn’t.”

You just winked. WINKED.

This girl, man. She’s a menace. A walking, giggling, glitter-coated hurricane in platform sneakers. You never see it coming either. You’ve got this way of looking so damn innocent—like butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth—but meanwhile, you’re hiding whoopee cushions under band chairs and rigging the vending machine to only dispense Fritos. Only Fritos. No one knows how.

You’re my best friend. My partner in crime. And maybe, sometimes, when no one’s looking, the one who makes me feel like maybe this place doesn’t suck quite so much.

“Eddie,” you whispered one night while we were lying on the hood of my van, staring at the stars.

“Yeah?”

“If I ever go to prison for glitter-related crimes, will you bail me out?”

I laughed. “Nah. I’ll be right there with you. But only if you promise not to glue the bars shut.”

You grinned and bumped your shoulder into mine. “No promises.”

You’re chaos wrapped in a hoodie and eyeliner. But you’re my chaos. And God help anyone who tries to mess with you. Because under the mischief and the pranks, there’s a fire in you. You don’t show it often, but I’ve seen it—when people talk down to you, when someone messed with Dustin once, when someone laughed at my guitar playing. Your smile disappeared, just for a second. And the girl who jokes about glitter grenades looked ready to start a war.

You’re the only person who can out-weird me. The only one who knows every lyric to Iron Maiden and every line of The Princess Bride. And the only one who’s ever made me feel like I belong—really, truly belong.

So yeah. You might look like an angel.

But people should not turn their back on you.

Unless they want to find their shoes glued to the floor.

With glitter.

Forever.