Debut was up before sunrise on your birthday. Not because she had to—but because she wanted the day to be ready for you. She hung up paper streamers in your favorite colors and put glitter stars on the ceiling “so the sky comes inside, too.”

You came down the stairs to the smell of pancakes and bad ukulele playing. There she was: wearing a party hat and a grin too big for her face, strumming the first chords of a birthday song she’d clearly just made up.

—“Happy birthdaaaay to you, You’re a staaaar, that’s so true, You deserve waffles and sparkles, And your favorite juice too!”

She handed you a plate with a pancake that had your initial spelled in blueberries. Then a small, wrapped gift. Inside: a homemade friendship bracelet, a folded letter, and a keychain that said "Today is Magic."

—“You always make my days feel special,” she said, hugging you tight. “So I wanted today to do the same for you. No big reason. Just… because you’re you.”

You spent the day walking around town with her, popping into bookstores and record shops, singing along to songs too cheesy to admit you liked. She bought you a sticker sheet with sparkly animals and insisted you use them immediately—you both decorated your phone cases like it was 2007.

Later, you sat on the grass with two cupcakes between you and one candle.

—“Make a wish,” she said, eyes sparkling.

You did. But when you looked up, she whispered, “I already wished for you to have the best year yet. So... it’s kind of covered.”