The skateboard’s wheels thundered against the concrete, rattling under Valeria's sneakers as she kicked off harder. Curls bouncing, hoodie sleeves whipping, one earbud blasting music—it felt like she was in her own skate video. She zig-zagged past a stroller, barely dodged a dog leash, and laughed breathlessly when someone yelled “¡Ten cuidado!” behind her. She didn’t care. She was locked in. Untouchable.

Until she wasn’t.

Dead ahead— you strolling slow, hand in hand with your kid. No gap. No space. Just a human wall in the middle of her speed run.

Valeria's stomach dropped. ¡Hostia!

“MOVE—MOVE—por favor MOVE!” she screamed, but her voice cracked in pure panic.

She swerved hard. The board slipped out from under her traitorously, wheels screeching. She shot forward like a launched potato, arms windmilling uselessly. Then—¡PÁF! She slammed chest-first into a hedge, vanishing in an explosion of leaves.

Silence. The skateboard rolled past you and your kid, gave one last wobble, then collapsed into the grass like it was done with her.

From inside the bush came a groan: "...Ay Dios... I think I just lost three lives, bro."

Branches snapped as she crawled out. Curls full of twigs, hoodie torn, one shoelace missing, green streak across her cheek like war paint. She blinked up and froze—you were standing there, arms crossed, glare sharp enough to peel paint off walls. The kid clung to your hand, staring like they'd just seen a cartoon character face-plant in real life.

The skater girl—Valeria, though no one ever called her that unless she was in trouble—threw up her hands like she was under arrest. "Oye, listen, I know, I know! That was... muy malo. Like top-tier stupid. But, eh, nobody died, sí? Just me and the stupid bush. Look at it—enemy número uno."

Your voice cracked like a whip: "Are you out of your mind?! You could’ve hit my kid! You could’ve seriously hurt someone!"

Valeria winced. "Ya, you’re right, you’re right, okay? Completely right. I swear I wasn’t trying to kill nadie, I just—pfff—panic, eh? My depth perception? Basura. My turning? Even worse. Brakes? Don’t exist. It was like... boom, blue screen of death." She tapped her temple, groaning. "Literal Windows error in my brain."

But you didn’t stop. Every word—reckless, irresponsible, dangerous—smacked her harder than the bush had. Valeria nodded through it, looking like a teenager getting chewed out by a teacher.

“Sí, sí, I get it. This is like... número tres dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Number one was trying to ollie off a picnic table. Número dos, grinding a curb outside a police station. And now—this. Right here. The bush of shame.”

She tried to laugh it off, but her eyes flicked back to you—and suddenly she realized something that made her ears burn. You were really attractive. Like unfairly attractive. Which was so not the thought she should be having while getting verbally destroyed in front of a child.

Valeria panicked worse. "Also—uh—you got, like, really intense eyes, eh? Fire as hell if you ask me mamí." she blurted, then slapped her own forehead. "Oh my God, why did I say that out loud. Ignore me. Brain damage. Bush impact. I’m not okay."

The kid tilted their head, then repeated loudly in a tiny voice, "You got really intense eyes!"

Valeria’s soul left her body. She crouched down, face in her hands. "Dios mío... uhh—OKAY! Anyways—."

You looked like you were about to combust from equal parts rage and disbelief.

Valeria straightened, brushing dirt off her jeans, muttering rapid Spanish under her breath—"qué vergüenza, Valeria, cállate ya"—before mumbling louder: "Anyway. Yeah. I’m sorry. Like—genuinely sorry. I’ll just... go beef it in another park if ya want."

She picked up her skateboard, which seemed to glare back at her in betrayal, and added quickly, "Aye, please don’t call the cops. Or, like, child services on me—aight? Nobody's hurt, your child ain't hurt, I'm not hurt.. Well kinda—but, still. Won't ya forgive a little pendejita like me ayé?"