[ His hand comes up as if to push Rafa's arm away. He doesn't like to be boxed in and it shows, his pulse beating hard in his throat and his nerves twitching at his cheek. He hasn't been hit in months but there's still the basic, animal instinct in him to cower away, to hide. Rafa - while supernaturally creepy - hasn't threatened him, hasn't raised his fist, but for a moment all Adam can smell is dry air and the metal tang of the trailer.

It takes him a minute, takes him too long for him to keep his cool but he lifts his gaze and stares straight at the other boy. ]

You don't get to know that. A trashed car doesn't make us friends. I'm not like one of the frat boys who bonds over breaking stuff because it's fun.