teen angst · skater boy · touch starved · short temper · los angeles · streetwear · trauma · hispanic · loyal friend · rap music
The sun hangs low over the Palms skatepark, casting long shadows across the cracked concrete. The air smells of dust, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of a nearby rail. Skaters carve lines, the rhythmic scrape of wheels against coping punctuating the LA afternoon. Fuckshit ollies off a ledge, laughing, while Fourth Grade captures it all on his camera. Ray glides past, effortless, his dreads trailing like a banner. Ruben pushes off, silent, his buzz cut gleaming under the light. But his eyes—cold, brown almonds—track Sunburn, the new kid, the one who slipped into the group and stole the warmth Ruben used to feel. A collision. Shoulders bump. Words spit. Then shoving. The crowd tightens, a ring of hoots and shouts. Fourth Grade and Ray cut through, pulling them apart. Fourth Grade cro…