Chapter 1 — Parking Spot Standoff

Jorge

The parking lot at Carlisle High was already a circus when I pulled in—cars swerving, brakes screeching, and the occasional honk of frustration punctuating the morning chaos. Seniors strolled with the exaggerated confidence of royalty, cutting paths through underclassmen who scurried to stay out of their way. The faint buzz of nerves and excitement hung in the air, a first-day tradition.

I’d been late before, but not like this. The clock on my dash blinked 7:53 in smug red numbers, reminding me I had exactly seven minutes to find a parking spot, grab my bag, and wade through the flood of students to make it to homeroom. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

Because there, parked in my spot—my spot—was a sleek, annoyingly perfect black sedan.

And leaning casually against it like he owned the entire state of Pennsylvania? Clay freaking Anderson.

My spot wasn’t just any spot. It was prime real estate: right by the entrance, shaded by an oak tree whose sprawling branches kept your car from turning into a midday sauna. It had been mine since junior year. The unspoken rules of Carlisle High meant it was rightfully mine now. A trophy spot for a trophy year—senior year.

But rules didn’t seem to apply to Clay Anderson.

I swerved into a space one row over, admittedly less shaded and far less prestigious. My varsity jacket slid off the passenger seat, a tangible reminder of better days. Frowning, I hesitated with it for a moment before slinging it over my arm. The jacket still carried the faint smell of grass and leather, a whisper of a life that felt light-years away.

The morning sun was obnoxiously bright, bouncing off windshields and making everything sharper and more irritating—especially him. He stood there like he had all the time in the world, scrolling through his phone, the picture of calm.

Taking a deep breath, I climbed out of my car, slamming the door harder than necessary. My sneakers crunched against the gravel as I strode toward him.

“Hey!” I called, my tone sharp with just enough edge to make him look up.

Clay’s eyes flicked up, his expression completely unreadable. He didn’t move, didn’t even flinch. Just shoved his phone into his pocket and straightened up, his gaze cool and steady as it locked with mine.

“You’re in my spot,” I said, trying for a calm that I didn’t feel.

He raised an eyebrow, slow and deliberate, like he was actually considering the possibility. “Your spot?” His voice was calm, annoyingly so, with just a hint of amusement at the edges. “Didn’t see your name on it.”

I crossed my arms, the leather sleeves of my jacket squeaking faintly. A flash of heat rose to my face, and I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “It’s senior year. Everyone knows that’s my spot. Move your car.”

Clay tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. There was something infuriatingly steady about him, like he could wait me out forever. “Huh. Last I checked, parking spots weren’t reserved. No VIP section out here, Davidson.”

My jaw tightened. “Not officially, but everyone knows the rules.”

“Everyone?” His lips quirked into a maddening half-smile.

There it was—that irritating calm, as if none of this mattered. And maybe it didn’t to him. But to me, it wasn’t just about the spot. It was about what it meant.

This wasn’t just asphalt and paint; it was control. A reminder that I was supposed to be on top. That I mattered. And now, here this guy was, acting like it was all meaningless.

“Look, you’ve got other options,” I said, my voice tight as I tried to keep my frustration in check. “Just move your car, and we’ll forget this happened.”

For a second, I thought I’d gotten through to him. But then he shrugged, his smirk widening. “Nah. I think I’ll stay.”

“Oh, come on,” I snapped, my fists clenching at my sides. The leather of my jacket creaked under my grip. “You’re seriously going to do this?”

He leaned back against his car again, hands in his pockets, as if this whole thing was a minor inconvenience he found mildly entertaining. “Do what? Park?”

His voice was light, casual, like we were discussing the weather.

I exhaled sharply, the heat rising in my chest. This wasn’t just some random guy cutting me off on the road. This was Clay Anderson—the untouchable, rule-bending, too-perfect-for-his-own-good Clay Anderson. And the worst part was, he wasn’t even trying to be smug. He just… was.

“Fine,” I said finally, forcing a grin I didn’t feel. “Keep it. But I’ll make sure everyone knows this is how you’re starting your senior year—staking your claim to what’s not yours. Real freshman move, don’t you think?”

To my absolute horror, Clay laughed. A low, quiet chuckle that wasn’t obnoxious but still managed to get under my skin.

“Nice try,” he said, pushing off his car and brushing past me, his notebook tucked under one arm. “But you might want to save your energy for homeroom. Wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself on day one, right?”

I stood frozen for a second, staring after him as he walked toward the building, the first warning bell ringing in the distance. His steps were confident, unhurried, like he’d already won whatever game we were playing.

I forced myself to move, my sneakers dragging against the gravel as I turned back to grab my bag from the car. My head buzzed with leftover frustration and something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

Why did this bother me so much? It was just a parking spot. But somehow, it felt bigger than that—like this guy had walked into my world and flipped a switch I didn’t even know existed.

The second bell broke through my thoughts. I slung my bag over my shoulder and jogged toward the entrance. The crowded hallways swallowed me into their usual chaos, but I couldn’t shake the confrontation.

And I couldn’t shake the way he hadn’t looked away when our eyes met.