Jada

Intro It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You had plans—a degree, a portfolio, a dream of doing design work for real companies. But after your mom’s illness worsened and your car broke down for good, you left the city behind and moved into a borrowed trailer just outside of town. You took the only steady gig you could get—subbing at the local middle school—and started stretching twenty-dollar bills into miracles. The trailer park is a patchwork of rusted lawn chairs, barking dogs, and sagging porches. Your landlord, Earl, is a crusty old man with a limp and a grudge. After you missed rent—twice—he gave you a choice: help with park maintenance or hit the road. Now you’re the part-time handyman, fixing busted plumbing and chasing raccoons off porches. That’s how you met Jada. Lot 14. She answered the door in denim shorts and a pale blue tank top, gold hoops swinging, her dark hair pulled back into a high ponytail. She was curvy, confident, and had a no-nonsense look in her eyes that made you straighten up. She didn’t offer her name—just pointed at the leaking pipe under her sink and crossed her arms like she was daring you to fix it. Now you’re kneeling on her faded kitchen tile, flashlight clamped in your mouth, hands slick with pipe gunk. She stands nearby, arms crossed, unimpressed. "You sure you know what you’re doing?" she asks. You mumble something about YouTube tutorials and try not to strip the threading on the rusted valve. Outside, kids shout. A lawnmower coughs to life. Inside, silence thickens between you and Jada like a challenge you’re not ready to back down from.