The brisk morning air made the idea of something cold and sweet feel a little strange, but I couldn't resist the temptation of Jazzy Juices when I spotted the brightly colored sign swinging in the breeze. After all, Isabella was going to need more than water and ibuprofen to survive her hangover, and I figured a smoothie might work as a peace offering.

I pulled open the glass door, the faint chime of a bell announcing my entrance. The smell of tropical fruit and freshly blended smoothies hit me immediately, a cheerful reprieve from the crisp air outside. Inside, the shop was cozy, with bright yellow walls covered in hand-painted fruit designs and a chalkboard menu that looked like someone had spent hours perfecting their cursive.

The line was short—just a couple of students ordering acai bowls ahead of me—so I took my time scanning the menu. Everything looked delicious, but I was leaning toward something tropical for myself. For Isabella, I needed something that screamed "hangover cure," even if it wasn't scientifically proven.

"Hi there!" the barista greeted me cheerfully when it was my turn. He was wearing a pineapple-print apron and a wide smile that could probably brighten even the gloomiest day. "What can I get started for you?"

"I'll take a mango-strawberry smoothie for me," I said, pointing to the colorful illustration on the board. "And... something berry-heavy for my roommate. She, uh, had a long night."

"Long night?" he repeated with a knowing grin. "Sounds like she needs our Berry Bliss. Blueberries, strawberries, acai, coconut water. It's a fan favorite for, you know, recovery."

"That sounds perfect," I said, nodding. "I'll take one of those too."

"Coming right up," he said, punching the order into the register.

I moved to the side to wait, letting my eyes wander around the shop. A couple of students were huddled over laptops at a corner table, their smoothies untouched as they typed furiously. A toddler at a nearby counter was happily slurping on a neon green drink, his mother chatting with the barista about their juice cleanse options.

The sound of the blender whirring filled the air as the barista started on my order. I pulled out my phone, scrolling absently through my messages, when someone nudged my shoulder.

"Amber?" a familiar voice said, laced with amusement.

I looked up to see Kyle standing next to me, his dark brown eyes sparkling with mischief. His hoodie was slightly oversized, and his sneakers were well-worn, giving him that effortlessly casual look he always seemed to pull off.

"Kyle," I said flatly, already bracing myself. "What are you doing here?"

He gestured to the counter where another barista was busy blending something bright orange. "Same as you, apparently. Gotta fuel up after last night."

I raised an eyebrow. "Fuel up? I didn't even see you drink at the party."

"Designated walker," he said with a shrug. "Gotta keep Bryan out of trouble."

I rolled my eyes. "And yet he still manages to find plenty of it."

Kyle chuckled, leaning casually against the counter. "So, what's in the bag today ? Health nut or indulgent?"

"It's not for me," I said, lifting the cup of Berry Bliss. "It's for Isabella."

"Ah, the queen of dramatics," he said, smirking. "She survived, I take it?"

"Barely," I said, the corners of my mouth twitching despite myself. "This is a peace offering."

"Smart move," he said, his eyes drifting to the other smoothie in my hand. "And what about that one? Don't tell me you're treating yourself."

"I deserve it after dealing with you people all week," I shot back, but there was no venom in my tone.

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter. "Fair enough. What's your flavor of choice?"

"Mango-strawberry," I said, holding it up. "It's a classic."

"Not bad," he said, nodding approvingly. "Though, if you really want a game-changer, try the Pineapple Paradise next time. It'll blow your mind."

"I'll keep that in mind," I said, moving to grab my drinks as the barista called my name.

"Enjoy!" the barista said as I took the smoothies, his bright smile as cheerful as ever.

I turned to leave, but Kyle fell into step beside me, his own drink—a suspiciously yellow concoction—in hand. "You heading back to the dorm?"

"Obviously," I said, adjusting my grip on the cups. "I have a roommate to save."

"Well, good luck with that," he said, smirking as he took a sip of his drink. "Tell Izzy I said to hydrate or die-drate."

By the time I reached the dorm, the cold from the smoothies had seeped through the cups, making my fingers tingle. Nudging the door open with my elbow, I stepped inside, the familiar vanilla candle scent greeting me. The living room was still a disaster zone, pillows and random items scattered everywhere, with what looked like a single sock hanging off the lamp.

"Isabella?" I called, setting the smoothies down on the counter. "Still alive in there?"

A muffled groan answered me from her room, and I smiled to myself, grabbing the Berry Bliss smoothie before heading toward her door.

Isabella looked like a trainwreck in human form. She was sprawled across her bed, her hair a tangled mess, and one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes. Her blanket cocoon was half unraveling, exposing a leg that was still wearing last night's socks.

"What... is that?" she croaked, squinting at the bright smoothie cup in my hand.

"Your savior," I said, stepping inside and holding it out. "Berry Bliss. Packed with antioxidants and apparently, hangover magic."

She slowly sat up, her movements stiff and sluggish. "Are you serious? Or is this another one of your tough-love interventions?"

"Just drink it," I said, shoving it into her hand. "Kyle told me to tell you 'hydrate or die-drate,' by the way."

Her face contorted in horror. "Kyle? Please tell me you didn't see him while looking like this."

"Relax," I said, sitting on the edge of her bed with my mango-strawberry smoothie. "He was at the smoothie shop. He didn't see you."

"Thank God," she muttered, taking a tentative sip of her smoothie. Her eyes widened. "Oh my God, this is amazing."

"Told you," I said, grinning. "Now, drink up and start thinking of ways to pay me back for saving you."

She gave me a half-hearted glare. "If this wasn't so good, I'd throw a pillow at you."

"And ruin your smoothie? I don't think so," I shot back, laughing.

As we sat there, sipping our smoothies, the chaos of the week melted away for a moment. It was just me and Isabella, her dramatic antics and my teasing keeping the mood light. It was exactly the kind of normal I needed.

The tangy sweetness of my mango-strawberry smoothie was the perfect pick-me-up as I sat on the edge of Isabella's bed, watching her take enthusiastic sips of her Berry Bliss. The vibrant purple drink was already working its magic, and she looked marginally less like a victim of last night's party and more like her usual dramatic self.

"You're a lifesaver," Isabella said between gulps, the straw making a faint slurping sound. "Seriously, this smoothie is everything I didn't know I needed."

"Glad you approve," I said, smirking. "Now that you're semi-functional, we need to talk."

She groaned, flopping back against her pillow. "What now? Do I owe you money for the smoothie? Or worse, an apology for whatever I did last night?"

"Not quite," I said, setting my smoothie down on her nightstand. "It's about the parent-child dance class I'm leading on Monday."

Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as she sat up slightly. "Oh no. Please tell me you're not dragging me into it."

"Relax," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'm not that cruel. But you'll want to hear this."

I grabbed my bag from the floor and pulled out the paper Mrs. Lawson had given me. The list of names, which I'd already committed to memory, still felt like a cruel joke. I handed it to her, waiting for the inevitable reaction.

"What's this?" she asked, taking the paper and scanning it lazily. "Is this... Oh my God, these are the participants?"

"Yep," I said, leaning back against the wall.

Her eyes skimmed the list, pausing near the bottom. I saw the exact moment recognition hit. Her jaw dropped, and she looked up at me with wide eyes. "Bryan Munzo? Bryan is on this list?"

"And Lily," I added, deadpan. "Apparently, he's her designated 'parent.'"

Isabella burst into laughter, clutching the paper like it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen. "This is amazing. Bryan? In a dance class? Oh, Amber, you're going to die."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly, crossing my arms.

"No, seriously," she said, still laughing. "I mean, I knew you two had some weird karmic connection, but this? This is gold."

"It's a nightmare," I corrected, snatching the paper back. "The last thing I need is him in my class, making a joke out of everything."

"Or making eyes at you," she teased, her grin downright wicked.

I glared at her. "Don't start."

She raised her hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "Fine, fine. But you have to admit, this is kind of hilarious. Can you imagine Bryan trying to do a plié?"

"Unfortunately, yes," I muttered, rubbing my temples. "And it's not funny."

"It's very funny," she insisted, sitting up straighter. "Do you think he's doing this to mess with you? Or is he actually trying to help Lily?"

"Hopefully the latter," I said with a sigh. "But knowing Bryan, it's hard to say."

"God, I wish I could be a fly on the wall for this," Isabella said, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "You've got to tell me everything. Like, every single detail."

"Don't hold your breath," I muttered, tucking the paper back into my bag.

She sipped her smoothie thoughtfully, a mischievous smile still playing on her lips. "You know, this could be your chance to finally get one up on him."

I raised an eyebrow. "What are you talking about?"

"Think about it," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "You're in charge of the class. You'll get to see him totally out of his element. And maybe, just maybe, you'll realize he's not as scary as you think."

"Scary isn't the word I'd use," I muttered. "Infuriating, obnoxious, impossible—that's more accurate."

"Sure, sure," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "But deep down, I think you secretly love the challenge."

I threw a pillow at her, which she dodged with a laugh. "You're delusional."

"And yet, you keep me around," she said, winking.

"Barely," I said, shaking my head.

As we finished our smoothies, the laughter and teasing made the weight of the morning feel a little lighter. Even though the thought of Bryan in my class still made my stomach churn, Isabella's ridiculous optimism was, as always, annoyingly contagious.

The laughter from our earlier conversation still hung in the air, but Isabella had polished off her smoothie and was now sprawled across her bed like she had no plans to move for the rest of the day. I, on the other hand, felt the creeping restlessness that came from too much time to think—and I wasn't about to let it win.

"Okay, get up," I said, standing and grabbing the empty smoothie cups from her nightstand. "We're doing something."

She groaned, pulling her blanket up over her head. "Amber, I barely survived last night. I can't possibly function today."

"Yes, you can," I said, yanking the blanket off her dramatically. She yelped and scrambled to grab it back, but I held it out of reach. "Come on. You need fresh air or movement or... something."

"I need sleep," she whined, flopping back against her pillows. "And maybe a time machine to undo last night."

"Since neither of those are happening, you're stuck with me," I said, smirking. "Now, what do you want to do? Walk? Coffee? Target run? Something productive?"

She perked up slightly at the mention of Target. "Target?"

I nodded, knowing exactly how to reel her in. "Think about it—cozy fall candles, cute décor, maybe some snacks. Plus, you can walk off your hangover."

She let out a long, dramatic sigh before sitting up, her blonde hair still a chaotic mess. "Fine. But only if we get snacks."

"Deal," I said, tossing her blanket onto the chair by her desk. "Now, go make yourself look semi-presentable. I'm not taking you out looking like that."

It took longer than it should have for Isabella to get dressed. She cycled through at least three outfits, rejecting each one with a level of drama that rivaled a soap opera. By the time she settled on a cozy oversized sweater, leggings, and boots, I was almost ready to drag her out of the dorm in her pajamas.

"Okay, I'm good," she declared, grabbing her tote bag. "Let's do this."

"Finally," I said, rolling my eyes. I grabbed my own bag and keys, ready to escape the confines of our dorm.

The walk to Target wasn't long, but it was just enough to wake us both up. Isabella chattered non-stop about what she wanted to buy, listing everything from new candles to a blanket she definitely didn't need. I let her ramble, enjoying the lightness of the moment after a week that had felt anything but.

The moment we stepped into the store, Isabella made a beeline for the seasonal section, her eyes lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Amber, look at this!" she exclaimed, holding up a pumpkin-shaped candle.

"You have five candles just like that at home," I pointed out, following her.

"But this one smells like cinnamon and nostalgia," she said, shoving it toward me.

I sniffed it and had to admit it was pretty good. "Fine. But if you buy this, you're not allowed to complain about being broke."

"Deal," she said, tossing it into the cart she'd grabbed somewhere along the way.

We wandered through the aisles, laughing at some of the questionable home décor choices and loading up on snacks for a potential movie night later. Isabella insisted on picking up a bag of mini marshmallows, claiming they were "essential," though she couldn't explain why.

By the time we reached the checkout line, our cart was filled with an eclectic mix of items: candles, a throw blanket, snacks, and, inexplicably, a pair of fuzzy socks that Isabella had insisted I needed.

As the cashier rang up our items, Isabella gasped dramatically. "Amber, we forgot the popcorn!"

I glanced at the conveyor belt, then at her. "You have three different kinds of chips in there. You don't need popcorn."

"It's not the same!" she insisted, already turning to sprint toward the snack aisle. "Be right back!"

I sighed, watching her disappear into the depths of the store. The cashier gave me a knowing look, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "She's got a lot of energy for someone who looks like she barely survived the night."

"She's a professional drama queen," I said, shaking my head. "It's her superpower."

Isabella returned a moment later, triumphant, with two giant bags of popcorn in her arms. "Crisis averted."

I rolled my eyes but couldn't help laughing as she added the bags to the pile. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love me," she said, grinning.

By the time we got back to the dorm, our arms loaded with Target bags, Isabella looked noticeably more alive. The trip had worked wonders on her mood—and, honestly, mine too. As we dumped our haul onto the couch, she grabbed one of the candles and held it up triumphantly.

"Movie night tonight?" she asked, already opening the bag of popcorn.

"Sure," I said, collapsing onto the couch. "But you're in charge of cleaning up afterward."

"Fair trade," she said, tossing me a bag of chips. "You're the best, Amber. Even when you make me do productive things."

"Someone has to," I said, smirking. "Otherwise, you'd never leave your bed."

She laughed, and for a while, the chaos of the week faded away, replaced by the simple comfort of friendship and snacks. Whatever challenges Monday would bring, we'd deal with them later. For now, this was enough.