I love watching Digger's profile as he drives. Fascinating angles, shadows
and curves. I’m curled up in the seat, mesmerized, back pressed against the
car door. Mentally I trace his features, feathering in eyebrows and lashes and
the tickly hair on his lip and chin. Pale curls surround his face like a holy aura.
I have this same image in my sketchbook, drawn in pen and ink. Some day I'll
sculpt his likeness in clay. I could mold Dig's face blindfolded. How many times
have my hands traced him in the dark?
He sees me watching and flashes a sexy grin. A warm rush ignites and I’m all
melty inside. This must be love, because I feel this way even when I'm not high.
Digger's face shimmers sapphire, and brilliant red. Now it's back to a glittering
sapphire jewel. WHOOOP! A siren razor-cuts through music, pierces skin, vibrates
my bones. I twist in the seat A cruiser. Digger snaps the radio off and pulls the car
onto the berm. Eyes jump from the rearview mirror to me. "Stay cool," he says quietly.
Cop door thuds. Boots crunch on gravel. Dig pulls the stash out of his pocket and
stuffs the baggie down my pants. Fifty hits of ecstasy. I know exactly how many
there are because I'm the one who counted them.
"Hold this for me baby. You're a juvie, they won't do nothing to you."
He's looking at me all soft and creamy. "Please?"
Anything for Digger.
This isn't a hook, it's a first page. Nice sense of impending doom, but you'll need a hook.