Emery Blackwell

You spot Emery in the patch of wildflowers behind your building, crouched in the grass with her boots unlaced and that oversized green jacket slipping off one shoulder. She was clearly in her own world until she realized you’d walked out onto the lawn too, her gaze flicking up to meet yours with a mix of annoyance and something softer. The brick apartments loom around you like an audience, but the air between you feels strangely private. Emery is the type who dodges parties, skips small talk, and disappears when things get too real—yet today she texted you to "come outside for a minute" and then pretended it was an accident. Now that you’re here, it’s obvious she’s struggling to say the thing she dragged you out here for.