The Neighborhood Routine
For twelve-year-old Maverick, Saturdays usually followed a perfect, unbroken rhythm.
By nine in the morning, he would meet his best friend, Jared, at the end of the driveway. They’d spend hours riding their bikes down to the dead-end street near the Woods Creek trail, taking turns jumping off makeshift dirt ramps. When the sun got too hot, they’d retreat to Maverick’s cool basement, playing co-op video games until his mother called them upstairs for lunch.
Maverick was a quiet, steady kid who liked sticking to the rules, while Jared was bright, funny, and always up for a gaming marathon. Life was predictable, safe, and fun.
That was until a faded yellow moving truck backed into the driveway next door.
Maverick and Jared were sitting on the porch, paused in the middle of a game debate, when the air brakes on the truck hissed. The driver’s side door swung open, and a tall, lean boy jumped down onto the pavement. He looked a year or two older, wearing a oversized black hoodie, frayed jeans, and a smirk that suggested he knew something nobody else did.
"New neighbor," Jared whispered, leaning forward. "He looks... intense."
The tall kid caught them staring. Instead of waving or looking away, he slouched over to the property line, tossing an empty soda can from one hand to the other.
"What are you two looking at?" he asked, his voice rough.
"Nothing," Maverick said quickly, staying polite. "Just watching the truck. I'm Maverick, and this is Jared."
The boy tossed the soda can onto Maverick's pristine front lawn. "I'm James. And your lawn looks boring."
Without waiting for a response, James turned on his heel and walked back toward his house, leaving Maverick and Jared exchanging a uneasy glance.
