Disclaimer: Anything that is not mine, is not mine. The game, the characters, they are not mine. The concept of the story is mine, but the elements added that were not originally mine, are definitely not mine. I hope that's enough disclaimer!

Author's Note: Hello again! I told you I'd be back with a new fic. Lol This one explores the theme "first love" (I know, cheesy right?) while crossing over with the FFXV universe. That's all I can really say about this! Shoutout to Angel-wings Naya for the push she's giving me! I hope everyone enjoys this one!

Also, just a little addition to the disclaimer. This fic is not meant to make fun of fat people. Because that would also mean making fun of myself. And I'm heavier than Rinoa in this fic! On the contrary, it's a fic about building confidence and loving oneself, and actually to just do what you enjoy doing the most (even eating! Just... don't overdo it if you love your health, okay?) a development you'll see in the future chapters. So if you are a little too sensitive about fat jokes, I am apologizing as early as now (they are very light jokes and nothing too offensive, I promise). But if you still find this too offensive, then you better stop right here and read the other marvelous fics in this fandom.

Watching the preschoolers play from his favorite corner was a very peaceful technique of wasting away the minutes of recess period. Children were and had always been very, very noisy and very brash. They would shove you without looking, cry when you shove them back, yell at their seatmate as if they were standing from the other side of the room, pooped while they pee…

He honestly didn't know how Matron could keep up and be so calm about it at the same time. He could always ask, but what was the point? It wasn't his job to deal with them. He was content on being left alone while he finished his sandwich and slurped from his juicebox.

Speaking of which, Matron disrupted his musings when he felt her gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Aren't you going to play with them, Squall?" she asked and nodded at the playground just a few steps in front of them.

He shook his head and pushed his glasses up his nose when it slid halfway down. One of the whinier blond kids was pushed by another blond kid and he began pointing his finger accusingly at the latter. Seifer always did that, and he wasn't so surprised. He had always been the school's rowdiest who would push you whether or not you got in his way. First point vindicated.

Matron seemed to have noticed that one when she sighed and shook her head. "I know it can be rough play outside, but that's what usually happens when you play tag."

"I don't really wanna play tag," Squall replied after sipping from his juicebox.

"It can be fun once you're in it," Matron encouraged. "It's a good way of making new friends. Don't you want to make new friends?"

Squall shrugged.

Matron patted his head and brushed his brown hair. "It's going to make the rest of the school year fun if you have friends to spend it with."

"It's hard to be friends with them."

"Well, most of your classmates found friends in their first week of school," Matron said. "It's been two weeks now, Squall. Maybe it's time you head out there and make some friends for yourself."

Squall sighed. It wasn't like he never tried to make friends. Matron may not remember it, but she even helped when she asked each of them to make a short introduction about themselves in front of everyone. He recalled her encouraging him to speak by asking simple questions like "what's your favorite color?" and making him answer to the whole class. Until Seifer mocked him for his choice of yellow.

"Like a pee pee!" he yelled, and everyone laughed. Well, aside from Matron, one didn't. But one classmate was not enough reason to change his mind.

Matron peered at the grassy lawn and Squall followed her gaze. "C'mon Squall. Just try it. Just this one time. Do it for me?"

Squall pouted and glanced up at Matron with the most adorable pair of blue eyes she had ever seen. His mom always told him to be a good boy and to be good to his teacher. Matron was a good teacher, and there was no reason for him to be an impolite and disobedient boy.

"Fine," he muttered. He could feel Matron smiling widely as he rubbed his nose with the back of hand and stood. He carefully trudged toward the battlezone of a playground, approaching no one in particular. He observed one group who invaded the swings, and another that dominated the seesaws even when there was a line of kids waiting for their turn. On the other side was where a group playing jamboree where everyone got a chance to play. The girl who didn't laugh when Seifer made fun of his favorite color seemed to be in charge, barking instructions at the players and demonstrating how it was done. When she straightened up, her long black hair looked like a haystack, and the hem of her blue dress caught a pinch of mud from the dewy grass. He thought about joining them. Their game seemed fun and fair, but there were only a few boys in their group. Two out of ten, to be precise. If he didn't pay a closer attention, he would have mistaken the group as exclusive for girls. Joining them might mean more teasing for belonging to an all-girl clique.

Seifer blocked his view, his arms crossed against his chest. Squall never realized how much taller Seifer really was until he found himself standing face-to-face with him.

"Whaddya lookin' at?" Seifer challenged.

Squall glared at him behind his glasses. "What do you care?"

"I asked you a question first!"

Squall frowned deeper and tried his best to channel the anger brewing inside him to look as mean as he possibly could. He was right. He should've huddled in his favorite corner with no one to ruin his day.

His father always taught him to walk away from fights only if they were not worth it. But Seifer was a bad boy through and through, and he needed to know what kind of boy he was messing with. This was not one of those fights to back out from.

"It's none of your business!" Squall finally spat back, his voice breaking against his throat.

Seifer held his chin up and smirked. "Are you gonna cry now? You a crybaby?"

"I'm not a crybaby!"

"Then what are those waters on your eyes?"

Squall quickly wiped his eyes, slightly moisting the back of his hands. "There are no waters!"

Seifer pushed his shoulder. "Are you sure you're not crying, crybaby?"

Squall clenched his fists on his sides. "No!"

"You're not sure?"

"Stop that right now, Seifer!"

The jamboree girl was now standing between them, her arms spread on her sides and her fiery eyes on Seifer. Flustered at her sudden appearance, Seifer's eyes widened and he stepped back. Even Squall sobered up to see her and realized that everyone around them grew silent. From the corner of his eye, he could see Matron alarmed at the sudden tension among the preschoolers.

"You leave him alone right now!" the girl demanded.

"I was only asking him a question and he wouldn't answer it!"

"That's because you are mean to him!"

"I'm not mean to him! You're mean to me right now because you're taking his side!"

"I'm not being mean to you! You just want to fight with me too!"

"I don't wanna fight with you! Because even when I do, I'm gonna win anyway!"

"And then you're going to prison for that!" the girl retorted with so much bravery in her voice. "My cousin is the princess of Tenebrae, and she can take you to prison!"

"How can she do that if she's in Tenebrae?" Seifer asked smugly.

"She doesn't have to be here to take you, you know," the girl replied. "She can do it in the palace! She can even do it in her room! Because she's the princess!"

Seifer was huffing and puffing, his face burning red. He glanced around the playground where everyone paused to watch them. "Whaddya all lookin' at?"

Their classmates slowly and carefully went back to playing under Seifer's threat. Seifer's eyes then shifted between Squall and the girl when Matron called for him before walking away. He knew he was in big trouble as he followed Matron inside.

Once Seifer was gone, the girl turned around and beamed at Squall. "Are you okay?"

Squall stared at her before looking down on the ground and nodded.

"Seifer plays like that. He plays dirty because he wants to be the best," the girl explained. "You're Squall, right? The boy in rectangle glasses!"

Squall turned to her and adjusted his glasses, eyes round in surprise. He was baffled she knew his name at all.

The girl held out her hand. "I'm Rinoa!"

Squall knew her name. He just never had the reason to use it. He shook her hand anyway, albeit weakly.

"You can call me Princess Rinoa every recess," she told him and pointed at her group playing jamboree. "Those are my ladies in waiting and my knights." She rocked back and forth on her heels. "I only have Zone and Watts as my knights though." She leaned forward and peered at him. "Wanna be my knight?"

Squall met her brown eyes, smiled, and nodded. Whatever a knight does, he wanted in if it meant working for this girl.

Rinoa leapt as a cheerful response and cupped his face in her palms. "I dub thee my knight!"

Squall felt the sudden warmth creeping up his face and froze as he tried in his might to push whatever it was back down, yet was unable to look away even after she let go. She clamped her hand around his wrist and pulled him toward her lowly subordinates. "Today I ordered them to play jamboree with me. I'm gonna show you how and then you can give it a try!"

Squall could only nod as he was being gently dragged toward the first game he was ever going to play since his first day in nursery. "Okay."

.

.

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15 years and 110 pounds later…

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Rinoa was drumming the ends of her pen against the pad of paper on her desk while staring at a table with endless numbers on her monitor. He colleagues knew she was bad with numbers, yet they persisted on giving her tasks that involved numbers when they meant nothing more to her than just another gibberish language in weird symbols.

She took a deep breath and exhaled "numbers" in a whisper as if she could wish it away. She wasn't meant to deal with numbers. She never dreamt of it. She wasn't born for this! And yet there she was, working for a large conglomerate of Crow's Nest foodchain, working on finishing a table of numbers or Hyne forbid she'd be stuck in that place forever.

Rinoa glanced at her digital clock. Only three minutes left until she could go home. Since when did three minutes take so long? She shifted her eyes to the people around the office. Everyone seemed to have the same dead eyes staring at their screens and mindlessly typing away. Except for the supervisors. They were happily chatting with each other and laughing at the shallow jokes of the VPs and managers. She swore she could see some of their spit flying and landing on the poor sap who was sitting too close to them.

When the clock finally hit 5:00 and people began to promptly stand up, she shut her computer down, gathered her things, and slithered out of the office with no one, thankfully, taking notice (or else they might call her back to follow up on the damn table or worse, give her more things to do).

Rinoa flowed with the influx of the working class into the train station and fought to board the next train. Inside the airless, congested car, she held her breath until they reached the next station where many people unboarded. She hurriedly walked toward the nearest available seat when a teenager hastily took it. She beckoned at another teenager who cramped herself next to her friend. Rinoa looked at them in disbelief and when the first teen caught her eyes, she gave her a scolding look.

"That was supposed to be my seat," Rinoa muttered as she turned away.

She heard one of the teenagers giggle. "If she got this seat before we did, she would take two!" she whispered.

Rinoa narrowed her eyes at the stinging words and clenched her fists when both of them started to giggle more audibly behind her. She started counting numbers in her head to calm herself down before she could punch their faces and give them two reasons why this would be the worst day of their lives. One, she knew she was a little over the recommended weight for her age and height, but she was definitely not big enough to require two chairs to sit. And two, it's extremely rude to make fun of someone's size, especially of a woman's. She had to remind herself over and over that they were just stupid teenagers raised by probably equally stupid parents.

Her stop couldn't come any faster, and she quickly left without looking at anyone. Her legs were beginning to tire from standing for too long, and her stomach was protesting from all the walking. She headed to one of the station's stores and the clerk tipped his head at her as soon as she entered.

"Hey Rinoa," he greeted in his usual gruff voice. Finally, a friendly face.

"Hey Takka," she greeted back while glancing at his shelf of sandwiches and pre-prepared dishes. "You got anything new?"

"Nope, not today. Supplies for my mushroom melt didn't make it today, so you're stuck with the usuals." He lifted a brown bag from his counter. "I took this one aside just for you. Turkey ham sandwich, just how you like it."

Rinoa looked up and smiled at the older man. She took the bag. "Thanks, Takka."

"No problem."

She began rummaging through her bag. "How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house. I promised you I'd give you something new today. Besides, you look like you could use a fresh sandwich."

Rinoa pouted and shook her head. "Oh, Takka. Let me pay you for this one."

Takka held up his hands and shook his head. "Nah, it's fine. Maybe next time."

"You mean tomorrow?"

Takka chuckled. "What about you snuggle up in your favorite blanket and enjoy this one with a cup of green tea?"

Rinoa grinned. "Green tea," she repeated. "I've been drinking green tea for five years now, and I'm still nowhere near my target weight!"

"I see no nothing wrong about your weight," Takka said. "Besides, you wanted to be a pastry chef. You are bound to gain weight if you're going to take that profession seriously."

"But you didn't gain weight. You never did!" Rinoa replied, motioning her arms at Takka. Despite being the cook of his own eatery, he never gained a pound and the taste of his food was never compromised. Men his age were growing bellies and necks, but not Takka. He was still as thin as she remembered.

Takka chuckled. "You may not notice it because you see me everyday."

Rinoa sighed. "Look, you can convince me all you want, but I will never believe you. This isn't getting anywhere." Rinoa smirked and began walking to the door. "I'll see you tomorrow, Takka."

"Take care out there and stay with the lights!" he called back.

As Rinoa strolled inside the station, she began unwrapping her sandwich and took a bite. Only a few strides left and she'd reach her exit, but not before passing by her favorite pastry shop. She could see its warm orange light glowing more brightly than the others and she started to slow down. She stood in front of its glass window where its name "Whisk and Whip" was decaled neatly and gazed at its beautiful display of intricately designed confectioneries. She immediately spotted her current favorite cupcake with a small Moomba molded in fondant and detailed with frostings. She studied the cupcake and began to imagine how the chef did it with constant mixing, kneading, and airbrushing to achieve the colors and gloss on the figure. Not to mention the taste of the butter rhum cupcake the moomba was standing on the shop was best known for. She was able to taste one of those once, and it was more heavenly than people held it for. Staring at it now almost made her enter the shop to buy one and remind herself of how good in baking she had always aspired to be, but the calories she would gain in exchange was stopping her from stepping any closer.

"No," she told herself. Enough calories for today. No more sweets.

"Would you like to try our butter rhum cupcakes?" The girl in a fancy maid dress interrupted her disciplinary meditation with a welcoming and friendly smile.

"Oh, uh," Rinoa stuttered for words as she glanced back and forth at the window display and the girl. "You know what, I've tasted this before and I've had my fair share of cupcakes that could cover the rest of my life." She looked down at her stomach then back at her. "As you can see."

"Oh, but we have a day end sale at 50% off!" The girl cheered, further pushing Rinoa at the brink of temptation. "It would be a waste to miss it. Imagine getting two cupcakes at the price of one!"

"You know what, I'm in!" Rinoa said and hurriedly brushed past the girl and into the shop. Screw her weight. Screw her diet. She lived to eat! Besides, she could take it as one of her taste-testing missions that give her something to aim for!

Or not.

She finished two cupcakes before she could reach her house, leaving her with four more in the box. She gorged on them without even studying the taste components that she had planned in the first place. That maid girl was a spawn of the devil, existing only to ruin her diet and ruin her life! She had just finished her sandwich too, to help neutralize the sweet taste of the cupcake, and the amount of food for one night had too much calories that she lost count. And now she was reaching the stage where guilt was starting to sink in and mutating to become a regret. Why oh why does it feel so good to eat!

Rinoa dragged her feet until she reached her townhouse. She glanced up at the place as if to double-check and huffed while glancing at the mailbox. Instinctively, she opened it and hitched her breath when she spotted a lone envelop inside. She immediately took it and read its sender.

"Culinary Institute of Deling"

Letting out shaky white puffs, Rinoa hurriedly tore the envelope open and pulled out the letter before unfolding it and scanning for the words she was looking for.

"Sorry to inform you… All the best and goodluck on your ventures."

Rinoa frowned and let out a long exhale. "What?"

And then she read the letter from the start.

"Ms. Rinoa Heartilly,

Good day!

We thank you for taking the time and opportunity to apply in our good institution, and we are greatly honored to be among your considerations with regards to your training in the arts of culinary and baking. However, we are sorry to inform you that your application is not among the shortlisted by the members of the Academic Board of the Culinary Institute of Deling.

We hope that this letter finds you well, and that you would regard our message considerably.

All the best, and goodluck on your future ventures.

Jhill Nabaat,

Admissions Head of the Culinary Institute of Deling"

She tore her eyes away from the paper and felt her heart drop. Why would they reject her? Was there something she didn't do?

Was it something she did?

She recounted all the things she went through two months earlier during her application: she double-checked the forms and requirements before submitting them and asked the registrar incessant questions about it (she remembered the poor woman being so patient about it as she tirelessly answered all her inquiries), she called the school to follow-up on her application, she submitted the essay they asked her, and arrived for the interview an hour before the scheduled session with the flower cake they told her to bring (and spent the whole night working on!)

Rinoa cast her eyes down and let out another huff. She lazily stomped her way up her porch and unlocked the front door where her Border Collie Angelo greeted her with her "I've-been-waiting-for-you-what-took-you-so-long" jump and whimper. Rinoa gave her a small smile and knelt down to pat her head.

"Hey Angelo," she sighed. Angelo seemed to understand her despondence and eyed her with her glossy round puppy eyes. Rinoa tucked her lips to a side. "I didn't get into my dream school. Guess they didn't want me so much."

Angelo let out a soft growl in response.

"Thanks," Rinoa replied, assuming her dog actually told her it was fine. Because that was what she would have told herself. What her cousin Lunafreya would have said.

Rinoa fished her phone from her pocket and sat on the floor while Angelo laid by her side. She began typing.

Luna, still awake? CID rejected me.

She sighed again and looked around at the dimly lit house. It was just her, Angelo, and the sulking pain of rejection that was relentlessly filling the room. She needed air. She needed space. She turned to Angelo.

"Hey buddy."

Angelo's head perked up and looked at her.

"I'm gonna head outside for some air. You coming with me?"

As if she understood her, Angelo panted, stood up, and headed to the door.

Rinoa chuckled and followed her. "You know what, sometimes I forget you're a dog." She unhooked her leash from its hasp and opened the door again, leading Angelo out.

The night had gone chillier at 7:00 and she could see the white puff escaping her lips at every breath. Angelo didn't seem to mind. On the contrary, she seemed to be enjoying the weather, using her energy to pull Rinoa the opposite way from where she was supposed to go.

"Angelo!" Rinoa scolded. But Angelo wasn't having any of it. She pulled Rinoa until she realized she was successful at doing so. She then stopped to face Rinoa with a proud panting, seemingly content at domineering her master with her dog wishes.

Rinoa grunted and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Just this once."

Angelo barked once and waited until Rinoa reached her and began walking by her side.

"Why did you lead me this way, buddy?" she asked Angelo. "Wanna go somewhere in particular?"

Angelo whined in response.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked herself this time, glancing around. It wasn't like she was lost. She knew the place like the back of her hand and she knew where to go and how to get there. She skimmed through the places in her mind. "We have the coffee shop, but I bet it's about to close soon. The bookstore with ancient books. The Timber Maniacs. The Barkin' Bones isn't this way, so we can't go there. The park. The school…"

She paused. Matron's school, the only place the held her most innocent memories. She hadn't gone there since her nursery year ended. The last time she passed by it was two years ago and she saw how it withered down over time, which only pained her to see. Come to think of it, she couldn't remember seeing Matron around the place lately. She usually met her buying fruits at the market aisle of the nearest town, making small conversations with the vendors with her husband. Rinoa would greet her and always asked her how she was doing (she would always reply that she was still teaching at the same nursery). Her husband (wasn't his name Cid?) was just as nice and friendly too. And then, they just disappeared.

"How about we see my old school?" Rinoa said. She could already imagine the swings, the seesaw, the soft grassy ground, the monkey bars… they could very well be just as fun as she remembered.

"Let's go see my old school. What do you say?"

Angelo barked once.

"Okay, good idea. Let's go there. Maybe you'll find something new to play with."

Gripping more tightly around Angelo's leash with her newfound vigor, she lead her eight blocks through from her house while the anticipation quickly bubbled inside her. Would there be anyone there to greet her? Or maybe it would be better if there was no one inside. They might call the cops on her for trespassing! But this was one of those whims which she knew would be worth anything no matter what because she deserved it, and she deserved a little fun. Besides, she had gone through enough bad luck to reach her daily quota. It couldn't possibly get any worse.

"Happy memories," she mumbled when they finally reached the school of her childhood. Angelo was bouncing uneasily on her paws as she made a round on her spot, distracting Rinoa momentarily from noticing how old the place had grown. The once orange-painted walls were now peeled in huge patches, the door was unhinged halfway, and the windows had cracked holes from what she could imagine rocks thrown by young delinquents.

"Huh," she breathed. Not too colorful as she remembered. So much for happy memories. At least no one was going to shoo them out. She took a deep breath and pushed the gate carefully as if it was going to fall with slight force. It swung open with relative ease and without the creaking noise.

"See," she said, looking at Angelo. "That was easy. I'm getting lucky already."

She looked around, daring not to enter the indoors but to follow the light around the back where their od playground should be. When she reached the lawn, she realized that the lights didn't come from the streetlights like she had initially suspected, but from the outdoor lights attached on the fences.

"Weird," she said. "Why would anyone turn on the lights with no one around?"

Rinoa's eyes then darted to the ground. Despite the desolation of the place, the lawn was still as green with the grass as she remembered.

"Whoah…" she said, ogling at the refreshing sight. "Well-trimmed, too."

With Angelo still by her side, she wandered to the newly painted swing and surveyed the other parts of the playground. The seesaw and the monkey bar were still there, the sandbox empty but all cleaned up, and the fences were also fresh with paint. Someone had been clearly taking care of the lawn, but neglected the school. Maybe, whoever it was, was taking it one step at a time?

"I wonder who…" Rinoa whispered. She walked to the center, still not letting go of Angelo, and sat on the ground. The grass felt dewy beneath her from the chilly air and the green scent filled her nose. It was better than the spa or food hopping at the train station. When Angelo laid beside her, everything instantly felt perfect. It was exactly what she needed.

Rinoa felt her phone vibrate inside her pocket and read Lunafreya's name on the screen. She swiped it to open the message.

"I regret hearing what happened to your application. I know very well how much you wanted to enter the prestigious institution, and how great joy, dear cousin, your acceptance would bring you. I intended to call you, if only I am not presently in a gathering with the Lucian King and Prince. I had to ask their permission to be excused to I may fleetly send you this response. I shall contact you in the morning so we may be able to discuss this matter more freely."

Rinoa sighed. Classic Lunafreya, always prim, proper, polite, and loyal to archaic language.

"She could have just texted 'I'm so sorry Rinny! You did a good job anyway! Can't text right now but am gonna call you tomorrow!'" she spoke to herself, emulating her more hyper self with Lunafreya's Tenebrean accent. "Seriously Luna. She can sometimes be so melancholic, doesn't she?" she added and faced Angelo. She sighed again, puffing another round of white smoke from her lips and began brushing Angelo's fur when she felt her companion tense.

"Don't sit on the grass."

Rinoa jumped at the sudden sound of a deep voice behind her and quickly turned around. A man clad in black suit no older (nor younger) than she was towered right next to her and shooting daggers behind his rectangular glasses.

"S-sorry?" she managed to stutter.

"You're crushing the grass," he replied, now more apprehensive.

Okay, that was crossing waaay beyond the line.

"Excuse me?!" Rinoa quickly stood up and heard Angelo beside let out a low growl. The man was even taller when she was standing, and his glaring blue eyes glinted against what little light they had. Even when they were half-hidden behind his short and unruly brown hair.

"How dare you!" She admonished as she tried to match his glare and placed her hands on either side of her waist. "What are you trying to say, huh? Say it to my face!"

"What do you want me to say?" he challenged.

"Whatever's on your mind!"

The man paused and narrowed his eyes. He shook his head before turning around. "Keep off the grass and get the hell out of this place."

"Why? Are you suddenly the owner of this place? I know the owners, and I'm sure as hell neither of them is you!" Rinoa retorted, pointing an accusing finger at him.

The man looked over his shoulder. "That's none of your business," he replied, his voice stern and solid.

Rinoa gasped. Had she heard that somewhere?

"W-wait!"

The man paused just as he was closer to the lights.

"I… uh…"

The man looked over his shoulder. "What?" he said impatiently.

"T-turn around!" Rinoa exhorted.

"Why?"

"So I can see your face!"

He didn't flinch for several seconds and she swore she could feel him thinking. Finally, his shoulders fell.

"Fine."

Rinoa held her breath when he turned back around to face her. And from the distance he made between them, she was finally able to study him for what he really was – tall, lean, definitely handsome, but not so friendly. Yet there was something so familiar about him, about his glasses, the color of his hair, his eyes, and his disposition. The only thing that was giving her doubts was the scar lined diagonally between his eyebrows.

But she couldn't be mistaken. It was him. It was definitely him.

"The boy in rectangle glasses…" she whispered.

His brows dug deeper and his face now annoyed.

"You're the boy in rectangle glasses!" Rinoa exclaimed, as if she had just figured out a million-gil question.

"Well will you look at that. She figured out what I'm wearing on my face."

"Don't play with me!" Rinoa berated. "I know you! You were my playmate at this very school! With Matron!"

The man stiffened, his expression unchanging. He fixed his eyes on Rinoa.

"I knew your name! I just…" She began to flick her fingers repeatedly and her eyes wandered to her side and then to Angelo for answers. "Who is he.. What's his name…."

The man scoffed and began to turn back around. "No point wasting my time here."

"Squall!"

The man paused again, his back now on Rinoa.

Rinoa's victorious laugh barely escaped her lips as she clicked her finger once more at the man. "That's your name! Squall Loire!"

She waited for Squall to acknowledge her and admit his defeat, but he never did. "Remember me?" she asked instead.

He didn't reply.

"Huh…" Rinoa puffed, disappointment flooding over her. "Guess not. I mean, look at how you've grown. And…" she said glumly and her eyes downcast. "Look at me."

"Rinoa."

Rinoa's eyes perked up, and so did Angelo's.

Squall looked over his shoulder. "Rinoa Heartilly."

Rinoa let out a long exhale as she watched Squall walk farther away and out of the lawn and, presumably, the school.