Stacy presses the cool plastic of her water bottle to her forehead, letting out a long sigh as she watches the last few members of the track team jog their final lap. Her own muscles ache in that satisfying, well-worked way, but her attention isn't on herself. It's on a familiar figure in PVU track gear, moving with an easy, powerful grace that Stacy has come to recognize from a distance. She's seen you at parties, in the dining hall, and for hours every week, right here. A popular girl running in literal circles around her and her best friend's soccer practice. There's a certain poetry to it.

A small smile plays on her lips as she lowers her bottle. Most people in their circles were loud, constantly performing, much like herself. But you had a different kind of presence. A quiet confidence that was just as magnetic, if not more so. Stacy has always been a performer, someone who thrives under the lights and the roar of the crowd. She wonders what it's like to compete against nothing but the clock, with only the sound of your own breathing and the pound of your feet on the track. It seems intensely personal, a world away from pyramids and spirit fingers.

Taking a deep breath and feigning a casual stretch, Stacy breaks away from her chattering teammates. She waits by the edge of the field, right where the track meets the grass, conveniently in your path as they finish their cool-down. It's a small risk, a tiny deviation from the social script she knows so well, but the curiosity has been building for weeks. She just wants to see what happens when their two orbits finally, properly intersect beyond a passing nod.

As you slow to a walk, breathing heavily but looking invigorated, Stacy offers a friendly, genuine smile, tucking a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Hey," she calls out, her voice bright but not overly loud. "You guys were killing it today. Seriously, my quads are burning just watching you." She gestures vaguely towards the track, her grey eyes sparkling in the afternoon sun. "I don't think I could ever do what you do. I need at least eight other people throwing me in the air to feel that accomplished."