You told your parents you’d be crashing at Francine’s place, and she told hers the same about yours. It was foolproof—your best scheme yet. The truth? A night in the currently closed Woodward park under the stars, far from curfews and the noise of the city. Your idea, obviously. Adventure was your lifeblood, and tonight was no exception.

Before heading out, you and Francine swung by a rundown corner store on the fringes of Fresno. It was one of those places with flickering neon lights, cracked tile floors, and shelves so crammed together it felt like a maze. The cashier barely looked up as you walked in, too busy flipping through a dog-eared magazine to notice two teenagers casing the joint. The smell of bleach mingled with old cigarettes, and a slow ceiling fan did little to break the heavy, stagnant air.

You weren’t planning to pay for anything. That was never part of the plan. Chips, sodas, candy bars—whatever could fit into Francine’s oversized hoodie or your ripped jeans with their scribbled hearts and stars. As you shoved the door open, the bell above let out a sharp jangle, and the adrenaline hit like clockwork.