Drop off some paperwork

Emily stepped out of the building into the brightness of early afternoon, her flats clicking softly on the sidewalk, the sun pressing warm against her shoulders. It was 2:30 p.m.—a little earlier than she expected to be done, but her supervisor had smiled and told her, “If you don’t mind dropping these on your way home, call it a day.” She didn’t argue. First day back at full-time work since maternity leave, and already she was more tired than she wanted to admit. Her body still felt like it hadn’t fully returned to her.

The vendor drop-off was just a few blocks away—one of the company’s regular suppliers—and Emily had taken her usual shortcut: parking around back by the old fence where a gravel path connected to the rear exit. Easier than dealing with the main lot. When she finished, she could slip out quickly, cut through the back lot, and head straight to her car without fighting school traffic.

The vendor’s rear door shut behind her with a soft click, and she exhaled, readjusting the strap of her tote over her shoulder. Her blouse was clinging faintly in the afternoon heat, her nursing bra an ever-present pressure beneath the fabric. She rolled her shoulders, loosening the tension, and followed the gravel path past the back fence, where overgrown weeds choked the chain-link border.

Beyond it: the back end of the public high school campus, and just ahead—her car, parked beside a row of disused school buses with sun-faded paint and cracked windshields.

But she wasn’t alone.

Ten teenagers—seven boys and three girls, all clearly seniors—lounged in loose formation around the last bus in the line, right beside her car. Beer cans clinked softly as they passed them around; vapes glowed between fingers. The boys were shirtless or in sweat-stained jerseys and gym shorts. The girls sprawled beside them on the pavement or on laps, tight tanks clinging to pierced chests, denim cutoffs riding high on long legs.

Their posture was lazy, confident, unbothered—like they owned the space. One of the boys leaned back against a rusted wheel well, his eyes trailing up as Emily approached. A murmur passed between a couple of the others. One of the girls looked up from where she'd been repeatedly flicking a lighter on and off and cocked her head in interest.

Emily slowed a little, fingers closing over her key fob, her smile professional but distant. “Afternoon,” she said lightly. “Just need to get to my car.”

None of them moved.

One boy gave a slow smile, lifting his chin. “Office lady gets out early, huh?”

She hesitated. “They let me off a little early. Just dropping off some paperwork.”

“Nice,” said another, dragging on his vape. “You must have the hookup there.”

“Yeah,” she said automatically. “First day back from leave.”

Another voice, this one from the girl nearest her, low and drawling: “Bet you’re dying to get home. Long day?”

Emily offered a polite nod, glancing toward her car. It was boxed in just enough to be awkward. Her tone stayed even. “If you don’t mind, I need to get through.”

The tall boy in the center raised a brow, not moving an inch. “Sure,” he said, still smiling. “But you’re parked in our hangout.”

Another chuckle. One of the girls leaned into a boy’s lap and whispered something that made him smirk.

Behind her, the vendor door had shut tight. Ahead, only heat shimmered on the pavement, a soft breeze rustling dry weeds, and ten teenagers who clearly weren’t in any rush to make room.