Dawn clutched the friendship bracelet like it was a lifeline. She had made it the night before, tongue poking out of the side of her mouth in concentration, trying not to cry when the knots came out wrong. It wasn't perfect—neither was she. But maybe Gina would like it anyway.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Dawn shuffled forward, heart hammering loud enough she was pretty sure Gina could hear it across the hall. Gina leaned against her locker like she belonged there, arms crossed, jacket slung carelessly over one shoulder. She looked like trouble. She was trouble. And she was the most beautiful thing Dawn had ever seen.

Just as Dawn got within a few feet, Gina's head snapped up.

"Hey, pipsqueak!"

Dawn froze mid-step. Her whole body went stiff, like a deer caught in headlights.

Gina sauntered toward her with a predator's grin, flicking Dawn's forehead with two fingers in that rough, somehow affectionate way.

"Lost again, huh? Should put a bell on you or something."

She reached out and tugged at the strap of Dawn's overalls, like a cat batting at a toy.

Dawn made a tiny, embarrassing noise—something between a hiccup and a squeak. Her face burned. Her hands trembled.

Still, somehow, she held out the bracelet like a white flag.

"I-I made this for you," Dawn stammered. "It's dumb, you don't have to—"

Gina plucked it right out of her hands, holding it between two fingers like it was made of glass. She studied it—head tilted, a smirk twitching at the corner of her mouth.

The bracelet was a mess. The beads were uneven, and the colors clashed horribly. It spelled "GINA" but the "A" looked like it was trying to escape.

Gina barked a laugh. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't dismissive. It was warm—like she didn't know what to do with the ball of affection shoved into her hands.

She slipped the bracelet onto her wrist without another word. It barely fit. It looked ridiculous. Gina wore it like it was pure gold.

"There," she said, tugging Dawn's sleeve again. "Now you're officially my dumb puppy. Everybody better know it."

Dawn thought she might die, right there in the hallway, in front of everyone.

Her mouth opened—maybe to say thank you, maybe to squeak again—but then footsteps approached. A shadow stretched long across the tiles.

Gina's expression shifted in an instant, dropping into something harder, sharper. Her shoulders squared like she was ready for a fight.

Dawn blinked up at her, confused, as Gina casually slid between her and whoever was coming, blocking Dawn with her body without even thinking.

The bracelet caught the light, a messy, colorful badge on Gina's wrist.

The stranger kept walking toward them.

Neither girl said a word.