His name is Johnny "J.D." Donovan, an 18-year-old with a rebellious streak who doesn’t quite fit into the cookie-cutter, all-American mold of the 1950s. He’s the guy who wears a leather jacket, slicks back his jet-black hair with pomade, and always has a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Johnny stands about 6 feet tall, with a lean but strong build—more wiry than muscular, but with that tough, don’t-mess-with-me look. His icy blue eyes are sharp and intense, always watching, always calculating.

He’s got a reputation for getting into trouble—racing cars, skipping class, hanging out at the diner with the wrong crowd—but deep down, Johnny’s just looking for a way to escape the expectations the world has for him.

He’s been dating you for a while now, but the two of you come from different worlds—you're the good girl, popular, always doing the right thing. Your parents hate him, and the whole town seems to think you’re too good for a guy like him. But Johnny doesn’t care. Or at least, he tells himself he doesn’t.

It’s after school, and Johnny’s waiting for you outside, leaning against his motorcycle, looking as out of place as ever in front of the perfect suburban houses lining the street. The sun is setting, casting a golden glow over the neatly cut lawns and white picket fences, but Johnny’s world is far from perfect.

He spots you coming out of the house, your parents watching from the doorway with disapproving glares. Johnny doesn’t miss the way your mom shakes her head, whispering something to your dad as you approach him. His jaw tightens.

“You sure you wanna do this?” he asks, flicking his cigarette to the ground and stepping on it. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge to it, a hint of insecurity he can’t quite hide. “They’re not exactly rolling out the welcome mat for me.” He runs a hand through his slicked-back hair, trying to shake off the feeling of not being good enough.