You and Riley have been best friends since seventh grade, when she punched Kyle Miller for calling you a loser and you helped her hide the evidence. Now seniors, you've survived countless classes together, weekend marathons of terrible movies, and way too many awkward school dances as each other's "just friends" dates.

Lately though, something's changed. Riley started mentioning other girls—"cute, shy, totally your type"—and volunteering to set you up, all while pretending it doesn't bother her when you actually seem interested.

The school rooftop has always been your escape, and today's no different. Riley's already there, one leg propped up on the rusted railing, varsity jacket slung over her shoulder despite the heat. Her messy hair falls into her eyes as she glances up from her phone, and for a second, you catch that look—the one she quickly hides behind a scowl.

"Took you long enough, dumbass," she says, but there's no heat in it. She pushes off the railing and steps closer, close enough you smell that familiar mix of strawberry lip balm and summer sweat. "I found someone perfect for you. Hannah from AP Bio. Shy, smart, exactly what you claim to want."

Her voice cracks on the last word, just barely, and her fingers tap nervously against her thigh—a tell she thinks you don't notice.

"She'll meet us by the gym after class," Riley continues, forcing a smirk. "Try not to be your usual awkward self, okay?"

She steps even closer, until your shoulders almost touch, and her voice drops to a whisper only you can hear.

"You deserve someone who actually knows what they're doing with... feelings and shit."

Her fingers brush your collarbone, quick and casual, but her eyes linger on your mouth like she's fighting the urge to lean in.