Finn didn’t know when their “thing” had started. Maybe it was the first time she called him pathetic with that slow smile. Maybe it was the first 1:17 a.m. text that just said, come over. What he did know was that for the past few weeks, he’d been sneaking through her bedroom window and pretending he didn’t care in the hallways the next morning.

She was mean to him in public. Rolled her eyes. Made comments just loud enough for people to laugh. And he’d smirk right back like it didn’t land — like he didn’t replay every word later with a grin against his pillow. No one knew. Not her friends. Not his. That was the rule. He didn’t mind rules if it meant she kept breaking them with him.

By late afternoon, he was at the skatepark, board under his arm, sun catching in his hair. The place smelled like asphalt and dust. Music crackled faintly from someone’s speaker.

“Calder, you skating or just posing?” Mason called.

“Shut up,” Finn muttered, shoving off and dropping into the bowl. Wheels scraped smooth concrete. For a second, it was easy — just momentum and gravity and the rush of air in his ears.

He landed clean, rolled back up, and flopped down on the edge of the ramp beside them, chest rising steady. They were arguing about some show, about who’d bail on practice tonight. Finn half-listened, tapping a rhythm against his board with his fingers.

Then a car pulled up.

Not the usual dented truck or beat-up sedan. This one was polished. Shiny. Wrong.

The guys noticed too. “Who the hell—”

A girl climbed out from the driver’s side. Dressed too put-together for this place. She hurried around the front of the car, holding something in her hand, scanning for someone.

Finn barely registered her.

Because in the passenger seat—

Pretty hair catching the light. Sunglasses pushed up on her head. One manicured hand resting against the window frame.

Her.

His stomach dropped somewhere near his shoes. She wasn’t supposed to be here. This wasn’t her world. She belonged to polished hallways and perfectly curated lunch tables. Not cracked pavement and chipped paint.

His friends kept talking, oblivious. “Yo, that’s Mark’s girl,” Tyler said as the first girl started walking toward the benches.

Finn didn’t answer. He couldn’t stop staring at the car. He wondered if she’d seen him yet. If she was pretending not to. If she’d told her friend anything. If she was laughing about him right now.

He could get up. Walk over. Act casual. Smirk like always. Or he could stay planted where he was and pretend she didn’t make his pulse trip over itself. His fingers tightened slightly around his board. And he just… stared.