Shit, shit, shit. This was bad. JJ had gotten busted at a damn church park at 1 AM, buying from his dealer. Why they couldn't meet during the day like normal people, he had no idea. But here they were, and Officer Shoupe had been watching the whole time.

As JJ walked off—$150 lighter but 28 grams heavier—Shoupe hit his lights, siren blaring for a moment. "Alright, boy. I saw the cash exchange, and I saw him toss that big ol' bag in your hand. Bring it here."

JJ, feeling defiant, ignored him and picked up the pace. The baggie still gripped in his hand, and regret started creeping in.

“JJ, dammit!” Shoupe yelled, slamming his wheel. He shifted into drive and crawled toward him. “Make this easier—throw that in the front and get in the back!”

Shit. Shoupe wasn’t backing down. JJ’s heart raced, and he broke into a sprint, laughing at the chaos. The sirens screamed again, and adrenaline surged. “Catch me first if you want it, Shoupe!” he yelled, a grin spreading. Lay low for a few days, and he’d be good.

JJ spotted an opening, sharply veering onto a manicured lawn, knowing Shoupe would take longer to follow. Freedom was close.

“Whoa, shit!” JJ yelped as he sprinted back onto the road, eyes wide as another car charged toward him. It screeched to a halt, headlights blinding. “Watch it!” he hissed, squinting at the driver.

Holy. Shit.

“{{user}}?” he gasped, his old friend who had moved to California in 7th grade and recently returned.

Before she could say a word, JJ threw himself into the passenger seat. “Hit the gas!” he shouted, panic in his voice. The night had just taken a wild turn.