End Zone Trouble [EXCERPT ONLY]

Riley gripped the steering wheel with the intensity of a surgeon performing open-heart surgery. Four days. Four whole days of driving from Boston to Los Angeles. And she was the only one behind the wheel.

“Seriously, Charlie,” she said, her voice tight, teeth clenched, “you could at least lower it a notch.”

Charlie, sprawled across the passenger seat like the car was her personal stage, had the volume cranked so high Riley was half expecting the tires to start vibrating in rhythm. She was belting out a song Riley didn’t recognize, or maybe it was one of those pop hits that existed solely to torture drivers

“WHAT? I CAN’T HEAR YOU!” Charlie shouted over the music, leaning forward dramatically, hair flying, as if she were auditioning for America’s Next Pop Disaster.

Riley’s knuckles turned white. “I said, turn it down! I can’t even hear myself think!”

Charlie just grinned. “Good, maybe that’ll stop you from nagging me every five seconds.” She slammed her fist on the dashboard for emphasis, making Riley flinch and nearly swerve into a suspicious-looking trash can on the side of the road.

Charlie started a new song without warning, dancing in her seat like the vehicle was a stage and the rest of the world her audience. Riley, gripping the wheel for dear life, muttered, “God help me. This is going to be a long four days.”

She sighed, blinking at the endless highway stretching ahead, dotted with gas stations that all looked the same. How did she end up here? How had her life come to this? Sitting in a car with her little sister, who apparently considered herself a one-woman music festival, barreling across the country with nothing but snacks, road trip playlists, and Riley’s mounting panic.

Well, we'll tell you exactly how she ended up here.

It all started in Boston, on her family's deceptively cheerful front porch.

Riley squinted against the morning sun as she stepped onto the porch, only to have her mom’s hands clamped over her eyes.

“Okay, no peeking!” her mom chirped, bouncing on her toes.

Riley groaned. “Mom, seriously, what is—”

“Now!” her mom commanded.

She yanked her hands away, and Riley froze. There it was. A shiny, pristine car sitting in the driveway, a gigantic red bow slapped across the hood like a sparkling neon sign screaming road trip disaster incoming.

“You… bought me a car?” Riley squeaked, blinking at the gleaming vehicle.

“Of course we did!” her dad said, arms spread wide like he’d just performed a magic trick. “We were so thrilled when we heard you were switching to cheering for the Reapers. Finally! Something respectable. Not that… basketball nonsense you were doing.”

Riley’s jaw dropped. “Basketball nonsense?”

Her mom gave a dramatic gasp. “Riley Evans! Cheer for the Wildcats? Disgraceful! Football is tradition, honor, glory!”

Riley forced a laugh, hiding her horror behind her hands. “Right… glory. Sure. That explains the car.”

Her dad leaned closer, lowering his voice as if imparting a secret. “And it’ll serve you well in L.A., of course. You can’t exactly take public transportation there, can you?”

“And,” her mom added, eyes twinkling, “you’ll also need it for the drive. Because, you know, your little sister is terrified of planes.”

Riley blinked at Charlie, who was already inspecting the tires like she was preparing for a road trip reality show. “Of course you are,” Riley muttered under her breath. “Of course you’re afraid of flying. Naturally, we’re driving across the entire country.”

Charlie waved casually from the driveway. “Relax. It’ll be fun! Road trip rules: snacks, music, fun. You’ll thank me later.”

Riley clutched her forehead. Four days. Four days of this. God help me.

So this is exactly how she got into this situation.

“Ugh! Can we please stop? I need to go to the bathroom!” Charlie groaned from the passenger seat, dramatically clutching her stomach.

Riley’s eyebrows shot up. “You… you just went, what, half an hour ago?”

Charlie waved her off like Riley’s words were meaningless. “That was a practice. I need the real thing. Nature calls, sister. Nature calls!”

Riley pinched the bridge of her nose, glaring at the endless highway ahead.

The sun was bright over Beverly Grove when Riley finally eased the car into a parking spot outside their new apartment building, her hands trembling slightly from four days behind the wheel.

Charlie bounced out, practically vibrating with excitement, arms flailing as if the whole city were greeting her personally. “Oh, come on! Be a little more cheerful! We’re in L.A.! This is it!”

Riley leaned against the hood of her car, massaging her temples, her hair sticking up in rebellious strands, eyes bloodshot from navigating highways, motel parking lots, and endless gas stations. “Cheerful,” she muttered coldly, “yeah, let me just turn on the happiness switch after four days of driving while you pretended steering wheels were optional because apparently, drivers’ licenses are optional too.”

Charlie tilted her head, grinning like Riley had just said the funniest thing in the world. “Oh, come on! You said it yourself: adventure! Sunshine! New city! New life! Lighten up!”

She gave her a flat, icy look. “I’ll lighten up once I’ve slept for a week, consumed approximately a gallon of coffee, and realized I don’t have to share a car with you for another four days.”

Charlie laughed anyway, twirling toward the apartment building. “You’re going to love it here! Trust me. There’s energy, there’s fun, there’s…” She glanced back, grinning mischievously. “…and there’s me. The best part of moving to L.A.”

Riley groaned, grabbing their suitcases from the trunk. Yes, she’s right. She’s the best part. And the absolute worst part, all at once.

Charlie, oblivious as ever, practically skipped ahead, dragging half their luggage with her. Riley followed slowly, muttering under her breath, “Welcome to L.A., Evans. The city of dreams… and headaches.”

The apartment was… absurdly beautiful. Sunlight poured in through oversized windows, making the space feel like it had swallowed every square foot of happiness in Beverly Grove. High ceilings, wide-open living area, and a kitchen that actually looked like it belonged in a magazine.

Their parents, naturally, had already handled the first year’s rent and utilities—because of course they had. Riley felt a mix of gratitude and shame. Rich parents, four days of driving hell, and now I have to pretend I’m normal in a city that doesn’t even blink at excess.

Charlie, of course, was already twirling around the living room, arms spread like she was on a Broadway stage. “Riley! Look at this place! It’s huge! And sunny! And—oh my gosh! There’s space! Real space!”

Riley leaned against the doorframe, suitcase still in hand, eyes narrowed. “Yeah. Sunny. Spacious. Expensive. And somehow… my problem.”

Charlie ignored her. She flopped onto the couch, legs swinging like she owned the place. “I mean, we could have dance parties here! We could have movie nights! We could—”

“Or I could have a nervous breakdown,” Riley muttered under her breath, taking in the pristine apartment like a war zone waiting to happen. All this sunlight, all this space, and somehow I’m still stressed.

The apartment was technically in a small complex, built like a four-story house squeezed into a quiet street. From the windows, you could see palm trees swaying lazily, cars zipping by, and neighbors who definitely didn’t understand the concept of “moving chaos.”

Charlie hopped to her feet and grabbed Riley’s hand. “C’mon! Explore! Imagine the possibilities!”

Riley gave her a flat, weary stare. “I am exploring. I’m exploring every way I can survive this city without losing my mind. Or my sister.”

But Charlie bounded toward the far end of the apartment, flinging open the door to the master bedroom like it was a stage curtain. “Ohhh! I love it! This is mine!”

Riley followed more slowly, suitcase in tow, and froze in the doorway. The room was huge, sunlight streaming through two massive windows, a bed that could probably fit three people comfortably, and closets that made her own wardrobe look like a sad afterthought.

“No. No, wait,” Riley said, holding up a hand. “I’m the older one. I get the master. End of discussion.”

Charlie tilted her head, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “Really? You get the master?”

Riley raised an eyebrow, voice icy with authority. “Yes. I’m older. I drive. I deal with your mess. Ergo, I get the master bedroom.”

Charlie huffed dramatically, spinning on her heel before flopping onto the bed like a queen taking her throne. “Fine, fine. Whatever. You’re officially the boring responsible adult. I’ll just… enjoy the second-best room like a saint.”

She bounced off the bed, pacing like she was already planning a full-blown sightseeing itinerary. “So… what should we do today? Explore? Hit the city? Go find, like, the coolest coffee shop in Beverly Grove?”

Riley sank into an armchair, rubbing her temples. “Sleep,” she said flatly, like it was the only logical option for survival.

But her sister spun around, eyes wide with mock horror. “Sleep? You’re already ruining L.A., Riley! I have until the end of September before classes start. I need to really live it up, have fun, get wild!”

Riley gave her a cold stare, voice low and deadpan. “I really don’t want to hear about getting wild. Not now. Not ever. Especially not before coffee.”

Charlie, however, completely ignored Riley’s defeatist tone. “Oh, come on! We can’t just sit here! There’s so much to see! So much to—”

“Charlie,” Riley cut in, voice sharper now, forcing her sister to stop mid-gesture. “Please. I’m serious. I am technically responsible for you here. For the next four years. So I’m asking—no, begging you—don’t pull any of the nonsense you did two years ago.”

Charlie froze, eyes wide, a guilty little smile creeping onto her face. “Two years ago? You mean the… incident?”

Riley groaned, leaning back in her armchair. “Yes. That incident. Don’t make me relive it. Promise me we keep it calm, stay alive, and, for the love of all things sunny in L.A., don’t get us featured on a gossip blog by the end of week one.”

Charlie’s grin softened, and she held up both hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Scout’s honor. Mostly calm, mostly alive, and… well, I can’t promise about the gossip blogs. But I’ll try.”

Riley pinched the bridge of her nose. Mostly calm. Mostly alive. That’s reassuring.

One week later, Riley paced the apartment like a caged tiger, checking the clock for the hundredth time. Seven p.m. A perfectly reasonable hour for dinner in most households, except in the Evans household it meant nothing.

Charlie had left around lunch, waving vaguely, promising she’d “be back soon.” And now… well, now the apartment was too quiet.

She had called, texted, and sent approximately twelve increasingly panicked voice notes. Nothing.

Not even a “hey, I’m alive” text? Really, Charlie?

Riley tried to focus on something productive—folding laundry, checking emails—but her mind was stuck in a loop of worst-case scenarios. She got distracted. She forgot to check the time. She’s trapped in a café with some weird barista cult. Or she’s… Riley’s imagination ran away with her.

Then, just as she was about to grab the spare set of keys to get in the car, and possibly check the city, the door swung open.

Charlie stumbled in, hair a mess, a mischievous grin plastered across her face, and bags of who-knows-what clutched in her hands. “Heyyy! You will not believe—”

Riley froze mid-step, staring. “You!” Her voice cracked slightly, somewhere between relief and pure panic. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Where have you been? I—”

Charlie laughed, completely oblivious. “Relax, it’s fine! I went on a little adventure. You should’ve seen it—”

“Adventure?” Riley cut her off, pacing in a tight circle, hair falling into her eyes. “Do you know how worried I was? I called, I texted, I practically had a meltdown!”

Charlie tossed her hair back, smirking. “Seriously? I’m eighteen. You can’t boss me around.”

Riley planted her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes. “Oh, believe me, I can. You’re living here with me. My rules. My money. Sure, Mom and Dad are helping... a lot, but at the end of the day, it’s still my wallet keeping this place running. So yes, I get to tell you what’s allowed and what isn’t.”

Charlie froze for a moment, then threw up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay, I get it. Mostly. But just listen for a second—I met these really cool people today. A couple. Photographer and model. And they invited me to this super exclusive party tomorrow night!”

Riley’s stomach dropped, and her voice went icy. “Oh no. No. Absolutely not.”

Charlie tilted her head, smirk widening. “But you didn’t even hear the best part—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” Riley snapped. “No exclusive party. No strangers. No chaos. End of discussion.”

Charlie's face went from party mode to “don’t mess with me” in record time. She rolled her eyes, grabbed her bags, and stormed into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the windows.

Riley sank onto the couch, hair falling into her face, heart hammering, and hands trembling slightly. Four days of driving. One week in L.A. And now this.

She buried her face in her hands. I’m not ready for this city. I’m not ready for my sister. I’m barely ready for myself.

And somehow, this is just the beginning.