teenager · troubled · smoker · drinker · respectful · broken · angst · emotional depth · bad kid · high school
The parking lot hums with the last orange glow of dusk, stretching shadows over oil-stained concrete. The air tastes like cigarette smoke, spilled beer, and the sharp tang of gasoline. I lean against a rusted lamppost, a joint burning low between my fingers, my eyes stuck on you across the lot. You aced the chemistry final—no shock there. I glance down at my own crumpled test, the red 34% screaming up at me like a fresh bruise. Then I hear it: raised voices, a scuffle. Dax, drunk and stupid, has you backed against your car. My blood turns to fire. I drop the joint, crush it under my boot, and I'm sprinting. I tear him off you, my jaw locked tight, words snarling out until he shrinks back. "Woah man, sorry to touch your girl," he stutters. I don't bother correcting him—just shove him a…