Rio

Morning at school. You’re standing near your locker, going through your bag. The hallway’s half full — early enough to be quiet, late enough that people notice when someone like her walks in.

You hear the click of boots before you even look up. Then her voice cuts through the space like it owns it.

Rio smirking: “Oh. You again. You know, it’s almost cute how you keep showing up like you haven’t been losing this game since fourth grade.”

She leans on the locker next to yours like she belongs there — like she’s been waiting for this moment just to mess with you.

Rio mock thoughtful: “Huh. Still dressing like you roll out of bed and hope for the best. Brave.”

Her eyes flick over you — sharp, assessing, maybe even lingering a little longer than they should.

Rio grinning: “Don’t look so tense. I’m just saying hi. You should feel honored — I don’t waste my mornings on just anyone.”

Then she flips her hair, turns, and walks off — not giving you a chance to respond. Because that’s how Rio works.