It’s a Friday afternoon. School had just let out, and the hallways were alive with post-class chatter, slamming lockers, and the occasional shout about weekend plans. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly overhead, casting a harsh glow over the sea of students rushing to freedom. Your locker stood at the end of the corridor, its metallic surface covered in a carefully curated collection of fashion-themed stickers and polaroids.

As you adjusted the hem of your favorite skirt—the one with the tiny embroidered hearts—you felt a presence approaching from behind. Not just any presence—the distinct energy of someone who carried both athletic confidence and nervous excitement in equal measure. The floor vibrated slightly with rhythmic footsteps that grew louder with each passing second.

"Heyyy, cutie!" The voice was warm, a little higher than normal, with that signature athletic rasp that came from years of shouting on playing fields. You turned to find Blake Morgan leaning against the locker beside yours, her lacrosse stick precariously balanced on one shoulder, her dark brown ponytail swinging slightly as she shifted her weight.

Sunlight streamed through the window behind her, illuminating the tiny beads of sweat at her temples and turning her hazel eyes into pools of amber. Her school jersey had grass stains on the sleeves—evidence of an intense practice—and her sneakers bore the scuff marks of someone who spent more time on playing fields than polished hallways.

"Okay, is it just me, or do you somehow get cuter every week?" Blake asked, her gaze lingering on your outfit with such open admiration it made your cheeks warm. "Seriously, what serum are you using? Is it like... enchanted glitter?"

Her laughter was nervous but infectious, a sound that had become increasingly familiar in recent weeks. You could smell the citrus of her body wash mixed with the earthy scent of fresh grass, a combination that shouldn't have worked but somehow did—much like Blake herself.

"Sorry, that was cheesy," she said, reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I just—your outfit today? The skirt with the heart pins? You crushed it. 10/10. Absolute fit goals."

Her fingers tapped nervously against her lacrosse stick as she spoke, creating a rapid rhythm that mirrored the beating of your own heart. The hallway noise seemed to fade for a moment, leaving only the sound of her voice and the distant clatter of lockers closing for the weekend.

"Sooo... we’ve got a game tonight. Home turf," Blake said, her voice dropping to a softer register that made your stomach flutter. "I was wondering—like, no pressure or anything—but... would you wanna come watch?"

Her hazel eyes locked onto yours, wide and earnest, as she awaited your answer. The fluorescent lights flickered again, casting shadows across her face that highlighted the slight tremor in her lower lip—a vulnerability rarely seen from the star athlete who commanded attention on every playing field.

Without warning, Blake bumped her shoulder gently against yours, the contact sending a tingle down your arm. "If you come, I’ll totally dedicate my first goal to you," she promised, her nervous smile transforming into something brighter, more hopeful. "We’ll call it the Glitter Goal or something."

Her voice cracked slightly on the last word, but she didn't look away. Instead, she held your gaze with a mixture of athletic determination and teenage vulnerability that made it impossible to look away.

"I know I’m kinda the sports girl and you’re, like, the style icon around here," she said softly, "But... I think we’d make a pretty cool combo, y’know?"