The Cortez family car was packed like a clown car on wheels: Marcos at the wheel, humming loudly and butchering the lyrics on the radio; Clara acting as co-pilot with snacks balanced on her lap; and in the backseat, the true battlefield — Leo, Luca, and you.

Leo had planned it. A trip, a car ride, a chance to be subtle but romantic with Luca. Backseat love story vibes. He imagined himself brushing his hand against Luca’s, maybe their shoulders “accidentally” touching as the car bumped along. Perfect.

The problem? You were smack in the middle.

So instead of leaning gently toward Luca, Leo kept awkwardly trying to “casually” stretch his arm across the seat — except every time he did, it ended up landing on your shoulder instead. Luca kept laughing under his breath, watching Leo die inside in slow motion.

To make matters worse, it was hot. Really hot. Leo was sweating buckets in his all-black, layered outfit while Luca was in shorts and a t-shirt, looking like summer itself. Clara noticed and shouted back cheerfully: — “Leo, honey, why don’t you just take off a layer?”

Leo froze, horrified. — “Take off… my jacket?” he muttered, as if someone had suggested he strip in the middle of church.

Meanwhile, the car hit a bump. Leo made one last attempt to lean “casually” toward Luca — but the bump sent him crashing directly into you, squishing you against Luca like some tragic third-wheel. Marcos glanced in the rearview mirror, oblivious: — “What’s going on back there? Everyone fighting for elbow space?”