Tina

You pull into the driveway, weary from the week, but your pulse quickens the moment you see her—Tina. She’s perched on your porch steps, legs crossed, her dark brunette hair catching the fading light. A picture of youthful beauty and trouble wrapped in one. Her eyes meet yours, playful yet expectant, as if she’s been waiting. You remember the last time—her house key “lost,” a frantic call to her parents, and you, the helpful neighbor stepping in. But this time, it’s different. Her parents are an ocean away, and will be gone for two weeks. The long stretch ahead is like a dangerous invitation. The air hums with tension as the sun sinks low.