"THERE! That's them!" Tyler's voice cut through the parking lot's greasy air like a rusty can opener. He came sprinting around the bumper of a minivan, face flushed under the neon lights, dragging some middle-aged guy in a polo shirt stamped with the carnival logo. The manager—or whatever he was—had the harried look of someone who'd just been interrupted mid-cigarette break to deal with "some damn kids."
Walker's glitter-streaked forehead twitched. "*Run*," he hissed, already backpedaling toward the gas station's glowing sign across the street. Valerie didn't need telling twice—she hooked Oakley's elbow and yanked hard, sending him stumbling after Jovie and Joel, who were already vaulting over a sagging chain-link fence. Amberly lingered just long enough to flip Tyler the bird before darting after them, her pink-streaked hair a neon blur in the dark.
The gas station's automatic doors wheezed open just as Tyler and the manager hit the curb. Valerie skidded past a pyramid of energy drinks, nearly taking out an entire display of beef jerky with her backpack. "Split up," she gasped, shoving Oakley toward the refrigerated drinks aisle. "Act natural!"
Walker, still glittering like a disco ball, immediately hunched over the nacho cheese dispenser with the intensity of a man defusing a bomb. Joel grabbed a pack of gum and started aggressively chewing, eyes darting to the windows where Tyler's shadow paced like a caged animal. The manager had stopped at the door, rubbing his temples like this was the third dumb teen drama he'd dealt with tonight.
The gas station's flickering fluorescents buzzed like angry hornets overhead as Amberly pressed her back against the Slim Jim display, her neon pink streaks glowing under the harsh light. She nudged Jovie with her elbow—hard enough to make her drop the Twizzlers she'd been pretending to examine. "Psst," Amberly hissed, grinning like a fox in a henhouse. "Truth or dare?"
Jovie froze mid-reach for the fallen candy. "Are you *serious*?" she whispered, jerking her chin toward where Tyler was now arguing with the gas station clerk, his phone clutched in one white-knuckled hand.
Amberly rolled her eyes. "Best time for it." She plucked a beef jerky stick from the rack and pointed it at Jovie like a baton. "Dare's gotta be gas-station themed. House rules."
Joel, crouched behind a stack of motor oil cans, made a strangled noise. "What house? *Whose rules?*"
Jovie shrugged, her fingers twitching toward the Twizzlers again. "Dare."
Amberly's grin widened. She reached into the pocket of her paint-splattered overalls and pulled out a crumpled bag of chips—the kind with a skull-and-crossbones-level warning label. "Scarf down my abuela's favorite *El Diablo* habanero chips," she said, shaking the bag with ominous rustling. "House rules say you gotta eat at least five."
Joel's eyebrows shot up. "*El Diablo*? As in 'literally banned in three states'?"
Amberly tossed the bag to Jovie, who caught it reflexively. "Abuela's taste buds died in '92," she explained, leaning against the beef jerky display. "Now she eats these like they're Cheetos. Dips 'em in ghost pepper salsa for breakfast."
Jovie's fingers clenched around the chip bag, the crinkling plastic loud as gunfire in the fluorescent-lit silence. She remembered—vividly—the way Valerie had bailed on her dare last month ("I'm not licking the bus stop bench, that's hepatitis waiting to happen"), and the memory burned hotter than any pepper ever could. Without breaking eye contact with Amberly, she tipped the entire bag into her mouth.
Joel's horrified "NO—" was drowned out by the sound of Jovie's molars crushing a dozen habanero-coated death chips at once. For one blissful second, there was only the salty crunch, the faintly citrusy aroma—then the heat hit like a freight train coated in barbed wire. Her tongue went numb. Her sinuses evaporated. Tears welled up so fast they streaked down her cheeks before she could blink them away.
Amberly's grin faltered. "*Dios mío*, you were supposed to eat five, not commit culinary suicide—"
Jovie couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe. Her vision swam with orange-tinged spots as she blindly grabbed a gallon jug of milk from the nearest cooler, unscrewed it with shaking hands, and upended it directly into her face. Half of it sloshed down her shirt, soaking her shoulders in icy lactose, but the other half hit her tongue like a mercy from the gods. She gasped, milk dribbling down her chin. "*House rules*," she groaned, voice shredded.13Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUyzOdgMzkL
"Aw man, if Walker could see this," Joel thought out loud for a second.
and then Add to home screen.