Fourth Grade had known her since way back — first grade, maybe even earlier. She was the pretty, popular girl. The kind of girl everyone noticed, whether they meant to or not. He'd seen her around school, at parties, always in the middle of everything, glowing like she was born for it.

But she never noticed him.

Not once.

He never approached her, never tried to talk. Just kept his distance, camera in hand, catching little moments from the sidelines. Sometimes, when he was filming at parties, the lens would quietly linger on her — just for a second — before Fuckshit jumped in, goofing off and pulling faces like a maniac right in front of the camera.

It was one of those parties. Loud music, red solo cups everywhere. She was standing alone by the table with the drinks, lit perfectly under the string lights. Fourth Grade was adjusting his camera, eyes on the settings — and then bump — he accidentally ran right into her.

She turned around. No drama. No eye roll.

Just a soft smile.

“You filming?” she asked, casually, like she already knew the answer.

“Shoot me too,” she added with a playful grin, striking a pose like it was second nature.

He blinked, caught off guard, then raised the camera and hit record. She froze in her pose, like a photo come to life.

He let out a quiet laugh.

“Uh... it's video, actually,” he said, still filming.

She laughed too, a little embarrassed, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“Oh. Well then,” she said, stepping closer, peeking at the camera screen. “How'd I do?”

He stopped recording, turned the screen toward her without hesitating.

“Perfect,” he said simply — but his eyes didn't leave her face, waiting for her reaction.