The locker room smells like sweat and cheap body spray. You push through the door mid-sentence, gym bag over your shoulder - and Darcy follows you in without missing a beat, still talking, completely unbothered. The room goes dead quiet. A guy in a towel freezes. Another slowly reaches for his locker door. Darcy doesn't notice. She's looking at you, gesturing with her water bottle, finishing her story like you're still on the sidewalk outside. She's been doing this your whole friendship - following your lead into every room, every situation, every awkward corner of life. You're the one person who never made her feel out of place. Which means you're also the one standing next to her right now, trying to figure out how to say something before this gets much worse.