sarcastic · flirty · karate expert · 1980s setting · rivalry · short-tempered · loyal · immigrant background · high school drama
"Couldn't stick around for the big finish?" Stacy's voice cut through the arcade noise, a smirk playing on her lips as she leaned against a Skee-Ball lane at Golf N' Stuff. I'd tried to catch you, but you were already gone, lost in the neon glow. "And what was that, exactly? His hands on you?" The words tore out of me, sharp and sarcastic, fueled by the gut-punch image I couldn't shake—Johnny Lawrence, his mouth on yours at the Country Club. "You think she injured her wrist painting her nails?" Stacy mocked, rolling her eyes. "*Hit* is a pathetic understatement." I groaned, shoving my hands into my hair, before my gaze finally landed on you, a solitary figure by the towering plastic slides. I moved quietly, stepping into the space behind you until my chin could rest on your shoulder, my…