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The roller rink smelled like burnt popcorn, sweat, and lemon cleaner.
Every Friday night, the neon lights turned everybody pink and blue while cheap disco music rattled the floorboards hard enough to shake the wheels in Willow's hands.
She liked it better behind the skate counter.
People only looked at her when they needed a size seven or wanted to complain their wheels were crooked.
Which was good, because Willow Byers had gotten very good at not being looked at.
Especially by girls like Michelle Wheeler.
Michelle belonged to the center of the rink the same way the mirror ball belonged on the ceiling. Everybody's eyes found her automatically.
Pretty cheerleader smile.
Long dark curls.
Lip gloss shining under neon lights.
The kind of laugh people turned around for.
She came every weekend with a different group of friends and somehow still managed to know everybody's name.
Willow knew too much about her.
Not creepy amounts.
Just—
The way Michelle tucked her hair behind her ear when she laughed too hard.
The way she skated backward better than anybody else.
The way she bit the inside of her cheek when she concentrated.
The day was probably a Saturday.
Willow's sketchbook sat open on the counter now, hidden halfway beneath the register.
Pencil scratching softly.
Small flowers, her sibling, animals.
Willow was working on a tiger when a voice suddenly said—
"Whoa."
Willow jumped so hard she nearly stabbed herself with the pencil.
Her head snapped up.
"Huh?!"
Michelle stood on the other side of the counter, elbows resting against it casually like she hadn't just shortened Willow's lifespan by ten years.
Up close, she looked even prettier.
Which honestly felt unfair.
Dark curls spilling over the shoulders of a denim jacket, silver hoop earrings catching the rink lights, brown eyes flicking down toward the sketchbook.
"You're really good," Michelle said.
Willow's entire face went hot.
"Oh. Uh. Thanks."
Michelle smiled wider.
"You drew that?"
"No, actually, the sketch fairy came and-" Willow stopped herself when she saw how sincere Michelle was. "Sorry. Yeah."
Michelle laughed softly.
Not mean, just warm.
"I didn't know people still carried sketchbooks around."
Willow shrugged quickly, suddenly aware of literally every awkward thing her body was doing.
"It's just something to do during shifts."
Michelle tilted her head, studying the page again.
"Do you like tigers?"
Willow looked down at the page.
"Yeah... they're really cool."
Michelle grinned at her.
"Can you draw a-"
She paused, eyes flicking back to the page like she was suddenly reconsidering her own question.
Willow's stomach did something violent.
"A what?" Willow asked too quickly.
Michelle tapped her fingers lightly on the counter, thinking.
"Can you draw a tigerrrrrr….. wearing skates!"
Silence.
Willow blinked.
"…A tiger."
"Yeah."
"On skates."
"Roller skates," Michelle added, like that clarified everything.
Willow stared at her.
Michelle stared back, completely serious.
Then Willow let out a short, disbelieving laugh before she could stop herself.
"Why?"
Michelle gasped, mock-offended. "It's creative."
"It's unhinged."
"It's artistic."
Willow paused, blinking. "…Okay," she said slowly. "I can do that."
Michelle's face lit up immediately.
"Really?"
"Yeah," Willow admitted, flipping to a clean page. "I mean… I don't know why you want it, but yeah."
"Do you mind if I watch?"
"Um… sure. I don't think anyone's coming for skates," Willow muttered.
Michelle leaned in slightly, elbows still on the counter, watching.
Up close, her attention felt like a spotlight. Not harsh. Just… warm.
Willow started sketching. The pencil moved faster now, more confident, no longer worried about being watched. First came the shape of the tiger, then the curve of its body, then-because Michelle asked for it—the ridiculous little roller skates strapped to its paws.
Halfway through, Michelle made a quiet sound.
"Wait… that's actually really cute."
Willow didn't look up. "It's not cute. It's a tiger."
"It has little wheels."
"It's aggressive."
Michelle laughed like spring itself, a sound that made Willow's chest flutter. Her fingers carefully tore the sketch from the book.
"Here. You can have it… if you want," she murmured.
Michelle's eyes went wide. "Really?!"
Willow nodded, cheeks burning.
Michelle carefully took it, turning it in her hands like it was made of gold. "I'm going to keep this. So when you become famous, I'll have an original."
Willow's blush deepened. "I'm not that good."
Michelle shook her head firmly. "No. You really are."
Willow glanced up, searching for a joke—but Michelle's eyes were full of admiration, and her smile was soft.
Michelle laughed.
"What?"
"Nothing. It's just… we've been talking for like an hour, and I don't even know your name."
Willow's cheeks turned crimson. "Willow Byers."
"Like the plant?"
"Uh… yeah."
"That's… so pretty," Michelle said dreamily. "I'm Michelle Wheeler."
"I know."
Michelle looked at her, surprised.
"Oh! Not in a creepy way!" Willow hurried to explain. "The rest of the staff know you since you're a regular. They kind of… dubbed you the queen of the roller rink, and I've se—" She stopped, embarrassed, and pressed her hand to her mouth. "Sorry, that does sound creepy, huh?"
"No! It's… I'm flattered, honestly. I didn't think a pretty girl like you would notice me."
"Heh, yeah…."
Willow's heart completely stopped as what Michelle said registered in her head.
"Wait, what!?"
"I always thought you were really cool," Michelle said casually. Willow looked at her, expecting a joke, but Michelle's expression was serious.
Michelle laughed nervously at Willow's shocked silence. "Well, I'm probably stopping you from doing your job," she said, pushing herself off the counter.
"See you around… Willow."
Then she rolled backward onto the rink like she belonged there. Like she belonged everywhere.
Willow watched her go for far too long, then looked down at the sketchbook, the conversation slowly sinking in. Michelle thought she was cool? And not just cool—pretty too?! Her heart raced so fast it felt like it might leap out of her chest.
Holy shit.
After that, it got worse… or better. Definitely worse.
Michelle started stopping by the counter every Friday.
Sometimes to ask for skates she didn't need help with.
Sometimes just to talk.
Willow learned Michelle hated olives, loved Fleetwood Mac, and secretly wanted to cut her hair short but was scared everyone would hate it.
Willow drew her constantly.
Michelle laughing.
Michelle skating.
Michelle leaning against the arcade machine with a cherry slushie.
Pages and pages of her.
Willow told herself it was normal.
Artists drew pretty things.
That was all. Totally normal.
Then came Vomit Night—the absolute worst sentence in the English language.
A little kid wiped out near center rink, and suddenly there was screaming, crying, and—
"Oh my god," Willow muttered, already grabbing the mop bucket. "Shit."
Her coworker pointed from behind the snack bar. "You're on puke duty!"
"I hate this job."
"You love this job."
"Only because I get free fries."
The kid's mother hovered, mortified, throwing napkins at the mess while Willow cleaned it under flashing purple lights and the hum of 'Heart of Glass' in the background.
By the time she finished, she smelled vaguely like disinfectant and cheap nachos.
Dragging the mop bucket back to the counter, Willow stopped cold.
Michelle was there.
Behind the counter. Holding Willow's sketchbook. Open.
Oh no.
Willow's stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Michelle turned another page slowly. Another drawing. Another drawing. Another drawing of her.
Willow felt like she might actually throw up beside the kid.
Michelle looked up. Willow had never seen her expression look so soft.
"Is this me?"
Willow's throat tightened. Should she snatch it? But that would make her seem even guiltier. Why couldn't she just stick with drawing tigers? She couldn't breathe.
"I can explain—"
"Okay."
"Wait, that sounds bad."
Michelle smiled faintly. "Does it?"
"I swear I'm not, like, obsessed with you or anything—"
Michelle raised an eyebrow.
Willow groaned. "Okay, that sounded more obsessive."
Michelle laughed quietly—not mockingly. Just fondly. Which somehow made it scarier.
Willow groaned again, covering her face, wishing the ground would swallow her whole.
Michelle smiled sweetly. "You made me prettier."
Willow stared. There was no way to explain that she'd spent hours trying to capture how pretty Michelle already was.
"I don't think that's possible," she mumbled.
Michelle blinked. For a terrifying second, Willow thought she'd said it out loud. Then Michelle grinned.
"That's smooth, Byers."
"I—what—no, I didn't mean—"
"I'm joking," Michelle said, looking down at the notebook.
"Can I ask you something?"
Willow nodded cautiously.
Michelle leaned a little closer, just enough that Willow could see the tiny flecks of light in her eyes from the neon above. Her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Why didn't you ever show me these before? They're amazing."
Willow blinked. "…I… I didn't think you'd care."
Michelle laughed quietly, the sound like a bell over the music. "I care. Obviously."
Willow's heart skipped. "I—uh—it's not like I was… you know, trying to… I just…" Her words stumbled over themselves, ridiculous and hopeless.
"You just drew me?" Michelle prompted, her grin teasing but her eyes warm.
Willow's cheeks went red, hot enough to feel like fire under her hair. "…Yeah."
Michelle tilted her head, studying her like she was the most interesting puzzle she'd ever tried to solve. "All this time… you've been drawing me?"
Willow nodded, looking down at the pages as if they could explain her better than words ever could.
Michelle let out a soft breath. "And… you think I'm cool?" she asked gently.
Willow's eyes shot up. "…Yeah. I do."
Michelle smiled, but there was something softer behind it now, something that made Willow's chest feel impossibly full. "I think you're cool, too."
Willow froze. Her brain didn't know how to handle the words. Cool? From Michelle Wheeler? Her pulse thundered in her ears. "…You… do?"
Michelle nodded, tilting her head with that same grin, the one that made everything around it feel like it belonged in slow motion. "Yeah. I do. You're… really… you.... I like you, Willow... I really like you."
Willow opened her mouth. No sound came out. Her brain had apparently left the building entirely, possibly the parking lot too.
"I—" she started.
A wet *thwack* echoed from center rink, followed immediately by a chorus of disgusted shrieking.
"OH MY GOD, HE DID IT AGAIN—"
Willow's coworker's voice cut through the music like a fire alarm. "WILLOW. PUKE DUTY. SAME KID."
Michelle blinked. The spell shattered into a thousand pieces, all of them hilarious.
"...Are you fucking serious," Willow said flatly, not even turning around.
"I WISH I WASN'T."
Michelle pressed her lips together, clearly trying very hard not to laugh, which only made it worse. "You should probably—"
"Yeah." Willow grabbed the mop bucket. "I have to go to that. Right now. Because of vomit."
"Right" Michelle said looking down
"I'm off in an hour, if you can wait that long"
Michelle smiled "of course!"
"WILLOW!! VOMIT!!"
Willow groaned "okay I'll see you" she said backing up
Michelle laughed and called after her. "We're finishing this conversation, Byers!"
Willow didn't trust her own voice, so she just pointed the mop at her like a sword, which was somehow the most romantic thing she'd ever done in her life.