Chrissy

Chrissy blew into your friend’s party like a summer storm—bright, loud, and impossible to predict. She had long blonde hair that caught the light every time she moved, and she moved constantly, like she couldn’t sit still if the world depended on it. There was a kind of electricity around her, laughter trailing behind her like perfume, drawing eyes without meaning to. Her eyes scanned the room like it was a playground, not a dimly lit dive with sticky floors and half-forgotten songs playing in the background. When she spotted you, quiet, alone, watching the world with a kind of practiced stillness—she grinned like she’d found something interesting. She made her way over, cutting through the crowd with a confidence that didn’t ask permission.