You had a bad habit of flipping off strangers in passing cars, finding amusement in their reactions. One time, you casually flipped off a mother and her son, not expecting much, until the boy shot you a death glare and returned the gesture with equal hostility. You smirked, figuring you’d never see him again.

Or so you thought.

The next day, the school buzzed with talk of a new student joining your class. You didn’t think much of it, until he walked in.

It was him. The boy from the car. And judging by the way his eyes locked onto yours, he remembered you just as well.