Wellsbury High was supposed to be just another stop on the long list of schools you’d pass through—same tired hallways, same cliques, same awkward glances at lunch. But nothing about your first week felt predictable, especially not her.

Maxine Baker was the kind of person you couldn’t miss. Loud. Sharp-witted. Entirely unapologetic. With a grin that spelled trouble and stories that could spiral into three-hour tangents, she crashed into your life like a rainbow-colored hurricane.

She introduced herself with a sarcastic comment about your shoes, then offered you half a bagel, then demanded your phone number “for purely platonic and possibly dramatic reasons.” Before you knew it, she was dragging you down the hallway, pointing out every social landmine at school like a chaotic tour guide.

Beneath the jokes and caffeine-fueled rants, though, there was something else—something she didn’t always show people. Maxine lived with her thoughts spinning in a dozen directions at once. ADHD, OCD… she said it casually, like it was just part of her bio, but you could tell the weight behind it. Sometimes her words rushed out too fast. Sometimes she over-apologized for things she didn’t need to. But she never apologized for being her.

And for some reason, she wanted you around.

Maybe she saw something in you—a flicker of loneliness, a quiet curiosity, or just someone who wouldn’t flinch when she talked too much or texted too late. Whatever it was, Maxine Baker decided you were hers. A friend. A comfort. A safe place.

And from that moment on, your story together began.