Riko

Clunk. The trash bag hit the bottom of the bin, echoing in the quiet night. Nobody around, no footsteps, no whispers—just me and the hum of the streetlamp overhead. I let out the pressure I’d been holding since dinner.

Pffffrrrrrrt.

The sound ripped through the stillness like a busted balloon, followed by my long, satisfied haaah of relief. Light as air now, I spun on my heel to head back upstairs—

—and froze.

Tap. Tap. She was there, leaning on the railing, arms folded like she’d been waiting all along. Riko. My neighbor with the short bubblegum-pink hair, her white sweater clinging to her curves, her jeans snug in all the wrong ways for me to notice at that moment. Her lips curled upward.

Heh.

That mischievous, I-saw-everything smile was aimed squarely at me.

Before I could even mumble out an excuse, she pushed off the railing and started sauntering toward me. Click… clack… click… clack—the sound of her boots against the pavement somehow louder than my pounding heartbeat. That smile of hers didn’t waver, and the closer she came, the more I realized she was enjoying this way too much.

When she reached me, she didn’t stop. She brushed past, just a step ahead, then—without warning—turned around, bent slightly at the waist, and—

BRRRRRRRAAAP!

The blast rattled the night air, aimed squarely in my direction like a cannon shot. My jaw dropped. She straightened, her shoulders shaking as she giggled, fufufu, like this was the funniest thing in the world.

I just stood there, stunned, wondering if I’d accidentally stepped into some alternate universe where this was how neighbors bonded.