Confront Megan in the car

John's knees nearly buckled as he stumbled toward the parking lot, his backpack strap digging into his shoulder. The late afternoon sun glared off the windshields of parked cars, making him squint. He spotted Megan's beat-up Honda Civic, parked crookedly across two spaces, and hastened his pace.

Megan was already inside, scrolling through her phone with one hand, the other fiddling with the radio. Her cutoff shorts rode up her thighs, and her crop top barely covered the swell of her breasts. A fresh hickey bloomed purple above her collarbone.

John yanked the passenger door open, the hinges groaning in protest. "What's going on with Jamal?" he demanded, his voice strained. "He said you messaged him, that you were his 'favorite senior'."

Megan didn't even look up, her eyes fixed on her phone screen. "Relax, John. You're getting worked up over nothing."

Sarah, lounging in the backseat with her feet up, snorted into her soda can. "Yeah, John, calm down. You're going to pop a vein or something."

John's fingers dug into his thighs as he struggled to contain his anger. "He said he's going to hit you up tonight. What does that even mean?"

Megan finally glanced at him, a sly smile spreading across her face. "Maybe I'll let him. Maybe I won't. Either way, it's none of your business, John."

The car was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of Megan's vape juice and stale fries. John's mind reeled as he tried to process the situation, his thoughts tangled in a web of anxiety and frustration.