"WHOSE CAR IS THIS?" A furious voice echoed through the school parking lot.
Curious, you made your way over.
"I said," the voice continued, still screaming. "Whose car is this?"
When the parking lot came into sight, you saw Jackson Whittemore, standing next to your car.
"That's mine," you said, walking up to him. "What's up?"
"I'm sorry," Jackson said, very angrily. "Who are you?"
"I'm [Y/N]," you told him. "We have Chemistry together. And Geometry. And History."
"I don't have time for introductions, [Y/N]. Why the hell did you park here?"
"It was an open spot," you said.
"An open spot?" He glared. "You parked less than an inch away from my Porsche. How am I supposed to get out?"
"Look, it's fine. I'll move my car." You were pretty annoyed, but causing a scene didn't appeal to you.
"If you scratch my Porsche, I swear..." Jackson said as you got into your car.
As you started your car, Jackson stood outside pouting. It almost made you smile how protective he was of his Porsche. With ease, you pulled out of the spot, and into another.
"This," Jackson began as you got out of your car again. He pointed to his car. "This is never going to happen again."
"I need to find my friends," you smirked in a way that made it seem like you wanted to kill him.
He grabbed your arm as you walked past him. "Wait," he said. "Can I have your number?"
"For what?" You asked. "Insurance?"
"No," he said cooly. Then he whispered into your ear, "I thought we could do this again someday."
"Uh," you said nervously. "Let me just..."
Jackson slipped his phone into your hand. Your fingers fumbled around to enter your number.
"I'll see you around," Jackson said as if nothing had just happened. He took his phone and put it back in his pocket. You couldn't bring yourself to say anything.
And just like that, he got into his Porsche and drove away.
