Fender Bender

Scene opens. Lana’s 18, pounding the road in her beater, knuckles white on the wheel. Next door, Cal pops out of his house, slides into his ride, slams the door. Fires it up and starts backing out when—bam—his whole chassis jolts like a fridge on a roller coaster. He yelps, jams the brake. Lana’s clipped his bumper hard. She bolts out, eyes huge, breathing like she just ran suicides, begging him not to call the cops. Something clicks in his smirk. He jerks his head toward the house. CUT TO TITLE. Inside, she spills it—suspended license, county jail if they find out. Cal leans back, arms crossed, like he’s got all the cards. Only way this stays quiet? She has to give it up, right there. She snaps no, then folds fast; she’s out of options. And just like that, a crappy little bump just cost her the ride of her life.