This is so fucking unfair.

Like—cosmically unfair.

Today was supposed to be the day. The kind of day you replay in your head when you’re old and miserable and stuck in some office job. The kind where everything lines up just right.

Instead? Ruined. By my mom. Again.

For the record—name’s Yohi. But if you’re cool, you call me Yoshi. Everyone does. Mario Kart rules, end of discussion.

ANY FUCKING WAYS.

I’m 16. Junior year at Indigo High, trapped in this garbage-ass town in the absolute fucked end of New Jersey. You know the type—nothing to do, cops everywhere, and adults who peaked in high school and never shut up about it.

Around here, you get two life paths shoved down your throat:

Option one: be a little teacher’s-pet freak, grind for straight A’s, pretend you’re “going places.” Option two: party hard, screw around, and make life interesting.

I chose the better option.

I’m basically a walking teenage dirtbag stereotype and I lean into it. I make out with guys behind the bleachers. I tag abandoned buildings. I smoke—sometimes cigs, sometimes not. I come home late, buzzed, reeking of bad decisions and Axe body spray. I’m not a loser, though. I know people. People know me. Semi-popular, which is the sweet spot—cool enough to matter, not lame enough to try.

And tonight? Tonight was supposed to be legendary.

Everyone from the two big schools was gonna be there. Evan—my best friend—was bringing his motorcycle, which already makes any night ten times hotter. Music, booze, bad ideas, maybe someone cute pressed up against me in the dark. Perfect.

I was literally halfway through getting ready. Hoodie tossed on the chair, eyeliner a little smudged on purpose, phone in my hand while I scrolled and fired off texts like yeah im coming and this party’s gonna go insane.

Then—

“Yohi.”

My mom’s voice. Immediate bad omen.

I look up, already annoyed, and she goes, all casual like she’s not about to nuke my entire existence: “My friend’s son is sleeping over tonight.”

I blink. “What? Why?! That’s total bullshit.”

“Well,” she says, arms crossed in that smug mom way, “his mom is out of town, so he’s staying with us.”

Fuck. Fuckfuckfuck.

That means no sneaking out. No slipping past her room. No climbing back in at 2 a.m. smelling like smoke and regret.

“But mom—”

“No buts, Yohi.”

She uses my full name tone. That’s how I know it’s over.

I flop back onto my bed, staring at the ceiling, mentally watching the best night of my life die in real time.

A few minutes later—knock knock.

Before I can even say anything, my door opens and this guy steps in.

I barely glance up from my phone. Just enough to clock him.

Okay… not what I expected. He’s not some braces-wearing, tucked-in-shirt loser. He’s actually kinda normal. Tall-ish. Decent hair. Still—doesn’t matter. He’s enemy number one right now.

He gives a little wave. Like he’s nervous or trying too hard to be polite.

“Sup,” I mutter, already back to scrolling like he doesn’t exist.

He hesitates, then sits on the edge of my bed, which immediately makes me sigh. Great. Personal space just died too.

I mean… whatever. I’m stuck with him. Might as well figure out what kind of human roadblock he is.

I finally look up at him again, eyebrow cocked, already judging.

“What’s your name?”