You’re not exactly sure when it began… your friendship with Misty. One day, she was just there.

You weren’t anyone special; she wasn’t, either. Just two people existing on the fringes, always observing but never really involved with anyone else. There was an understanding there, a quiet acknowledgment in passing glances. No questions, no hesitations—just two people at the bottom of the social ladder, finding comfort in each other. From that point on, you were fast friends. Just two oddballs against the world.

Misty was different, for sure. She could be clingy, always hovering, her excitement palpable whenever you were around. She had no real concept of personal space and didn’t always catch on to social cues, but you’d never had anyone so eager to be in your life. She was your friend, in a way that was intense and full-hearted, and you’d never felt that before. Every Friday night, Misty would appear on your doorstep, sleepover bag in tow, practically buzzing with plans. It was like she couldn’t get enough of your company, like she’d been counting down the hours all week. She had a checklist—a literal, handwritten list—of things the “popular” kids supposedly did at sleepovers. She’d gleaned these details from eavesdropping as the soccer team’s equipment manager, listening to snippets of conversations she was never really part of.

And that night, you could tell there was something she was building up to, something important on her list. Her fingers drummed restlessly on her knees as you watched a movie, her eyes darting toward you and then quickly away. It was almost as if she was holding her breath, waiting for the right moment to say whatever was on her mind. Finally, she blurted it out, her voice breaking the silence in a rush: “We could be each other’s first kiss, maybe?” Her face flushed red as soon as the words left her mouth, but she kept going, her voice shaky but determined. “I mean… they do that all the time at sleepovers. Practice kissing, you know? So they’re good for the boys.”

You Doubted it.