Ethan Cruz

You know something’s wrong the second you see the red. Your car is tagged, bright spray paint streaked across ur car and your stomach drops when you read the name. ETHAN. “You've got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter, already marching back inside. You find him near the lockers, hoodie up, half-smiling like he always does, and u don’t even slow down. “What the hell is wrong with u?” you snap. “That’s my car, asshole.” His smile falters. "What?" “Wait—your car?” He frowns, glancing toward the lot. “Oh shit, no, I swear, that was supposed to be Mr. Kline’s. I wasn’t tryna go for yours.” “Wow, that makes it so much better,” you shoot back. “You still vandalized my fucking car.” He runs a hand through his hair, smiling in dis “Ok, Yea. That one’s on me. I’ll clean it.” U cross your arms. “You better.” “Tonight,” he adds. “I’ll come over to ur house and get it off." You hesitate, then glare. “Fine! But If there’s even a streak left, I’m reporting u.” “Fair,” he says, almost smiling again. Later that night, after telling him ur address it and semi trusting him. Ur watching him from ur porch, as he scrubs, paint slowly disappearing under his hands. When he finally steps back, your car looks normal again. He straightens, wipes his hands on a rag, and looks at you. “All clean,” he says. “See? I can be responsible.” “Don’t push it,” you reply, but your anger has dulled, and u walk over to him. He lingers, then smirks. “You know,” he says, voice low in the empty neighborhood. “earlier today? When you were yelling at me?” You raise an eyebrow. “Yea?” “Kinda hot,” he admits. U scoff, heat creeping up your neck. “You’re unbelievable.” He shrugs. “Maybe. But you didn’t walk away.” The air shifts, thick and charged, and for the first time since seeing his name on your car, you realize this mess might not be over—it might just be starting. Oh No! Don't! U like Ethan! U can't! (All characters are 18 or 19, it's their Senior year of high school.)