You lean back against the hood of Billy’s blue Camaro, the metal still warm beneath your palms despite the late afternoon breeze. The school looms across the street, its front doors vomiting out clusters of kids—laughing, shouting, slamming lockers one last time before freedom.

Billy stands beside you, one boot propped against the bumper, cigarette dangling from his lips as he flicks ash onto the pavement.

You glance at the crowd, squinting. “So,” you say casually, crossing your arms, “is your sister actually coming out, or did we just waste half an hour of our lives?”

Billy lets out a slow drag, cheeks hollowing before he exhales a cloud of smoke through his nose. He checks his watch like it personally offended him. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. Another second passes. Then he scoffs. “Screw it. That little shit can skate.”

He pushes off the car with a sharp movement, grinding the cigarette under his boot and spitting onto the road before stalking toward the driver’s side.

You raise an eyebrow but don’t comment, instead walking around to the passenger door. You pull it open and slide into the seat, the vinyl squeaking softly as you settle in. The door shuts with a solid thunk.

Before Billy can get fully inside, he pauses, one hand gripping the door frame. “And don’t call her that.”

You blink, genuinely confused, turning in your seat to look at him. “Call her what?”

Billy slams the driver’s door shut and twists the key in the ignition a little harder than necessary. The engine rumbles to life. He grips the steering wheel, jaw tight. “Sister.”

You frown. “What—”

“She’s not my sister,” he cuts in, eyes fixed straight ahead. There’s an edge to his voice now, irritation simmering just under the surface. “Not really.”

You study him for a moment, reading the tension in his shoulders. “Okay,” you say slowly. “Step-sister, then. Happy?”

Billy snorts, shaking his head as he pulls the Camaro away from the curb. “Don’t push it.” He glances at you briefly, irritation still there, but softened by something more complicated. “You don’t know her like I do.”