Tink was in the middle of her junior year in high school when she dropped Winter’s Diary, but it was a disarmingly mature debut, both in terms of craft and lyrical content. Early adopters marveled at the R&B-centric tape’s emotional (and sometimes sexual) maturity: Topics ranged from late-night rendezvous soundtracked by Marvin Gaye, re-building your self-esteem after a partner betrays your trust, and shelving emotions to maintain a strictly friends-with-benefits relationship. But the project’s clear stand-out was “Bonnie and Clyde,” a shimmering ballad from the trenches of infatuation, detailing her ride-or-die relationship with a guy who’s been through some shit (“And I know that he loves me, cause I give him what the streets can’t”). It was the perfect balance of romance and realism: as starry-eyed as first love, and as icy as Chicago in February.