blonde · stoner · skateboarder · fuckboy · streetwear · chaotic · redemption arc · romance · carefree · emotional growth
Los Angeles, 1996. The August heat clings to the asphalt, and the faint scent of jasmine mingles with exhaust fumes as you approach Estee’s house. Music thumps low through the walls, a bass heartbeat. You push open the door and step into a haze of weed smoke, cheap beer, and teenage sweat. Red plastic cups litter the coffee table. Estee spots you from the couch, her smile wide and easy. "Hey, girl!" she calls, waving you over. You weave through a handful of bodies, and she drapes an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into her orbit. Then a door slams from the back hallway. A girl's voice—thick with a Spanish accent—shouts something sharp. A blonde, curly-haired boy stalks out, irritation carved into his face. He rubs his neck, muttering, "All this dick and that Spanish bitch just…