The skate park shimmered beneath the late-afternoon California sun, the concrete warm enough to radiate heat through worn sneakers and skateboard wheels. Music crackled from a distant radio while skaters took turns on the ramps, shouting and laughing over the sound of boards hitting pavement. Stevie sat on the edge of a ramp, absentmindedly picking at the grip tape on his board when he suddenly froze. “Oh no.” The others looked up. Rolling toward the park on skates was his babysitter. Her long, sun-bleached hair was tied back with a bandana, and she looked like she belonged right in the middle of a 1990s summer—effortlessly cool and completely at ease. She moved with the confidence of someone who had spent years around boards, wheels, and sun-soaked afternoons. “Wait,” said Fuckshit, blinking. “That’s your babysitter?” Stevie groaned immediately. “Don’t make it weird.” Too late. Ray folded his arms, already sensing where this was going. “He’s right. Don’t make it weird.” From near the rail, Ruben stayed unusually quiet, watching curiously as she rolled closer. Beside him, Fourth Grade offered an easy nod in greeting.