Listening to: Barefoot Truth, "Roll if ya Fall"
Other Teasers this week: Tia, Dan, Steven, ChristaCarol.
Okay, I realize practically all I've been posting lately are Teaser Tuesdays. I'll get on that, I promise. Later this week, you'll get a little peek into how I'm fixing some problems with GL. I'll even have graphic aids.
This week's teaser comes from Battle of the Hexes, the YA/Contemporary Fantasy I finished before Grim Light. BotH is technically the last novel I wrote, since I'm still fixing GL and I stopped halfway through Pink Bandana Girls. So we're truly going back in time here.
But this is the farthest I go. Before this...meh.
The rusty blue Buick was parallel parked on the street directly in front of the quaint-looking brick building. I instructed Rilla to park down the street, two spots from the corner.
"Are you sure you can do this?" I asked as Rilla flipped the visor down, exposing a small mirror.
She ran her fingers through her long curls. "Can, yes. I can flirt like nobody's business. Want to...not really, but I'm willing to sacrifice myself for the cause." She pulled a tube of lip gloss from her purse and applied it with expert speed.
"Well, thanks in advance. I know this won't exactly be pleasant, and I appreciate it."
She shrugged and turned to me, her shiny lips gleaming in the sunlight. "I look at this like a trip to the dentist: it's not fun, and it may even be painful, but it'll be over quick, and then I can just forget all about it."
"In a way, it's even better than the dentist--you don't have to go back in six months."
Rilla chuckled, but her eyes turned serious. "I'm more worried about your part, actually. Do you really think you can break into a car in broad daylight?"
I had actually been trying not to think about that part.
"Don't worry about me," I said, struggling to reassure her as much as myself. "If you're going to worry about anything, worry about whether the secret's still in the car. This is all pointless if he took it out."
"Oh, it's there. Darren may be clever, but he's lazy and arrogant, as well. He would never imagine anyone could con him or steal from him."
"How's the traffic on this street?" I asked. The café sat among other cute little business on a narrow street that branched off the main route through town. Since we'd parked, only one car had passed, but even light traffic concerned me. If one person who knew me saw me breaking into Darren's car, I was busted. And this was a small town, so a lot of people knew my face already.
"It's not too bad," Rilla said, applying powder from a compact, "but you'll still want to watch your back. What about the people in the café? It has two big windowseats that face the street."
"Just keep an eye on the other customers. If anyone stares too long out the window, create a diversion. Drop a glass, fake a heart attack, anything."
Rilla let out a loud huff of air. "Yeah, right. No problem. Should I put on a clown suit and do a little jig?"
I grinned. "You can if you want, but I don't think Darren will be as interested." Rilla rolled her eyes.
"We need a signal," I went on. "Some way I can let you know when I've got it."
"Just come to the car and lean on the horn. Once you're done searching the car, it doesn't matter much if we draw attention to ourselves."
She took one last look in the mirror, fluffing her curls and smacking her lips. Then she flipped the visor back up. In my heightened state of anxiety, as my nerves jangled like a tambourine, the sound held the frightening finality of a prison cell door slamming shut.
I pulled the Slim Jim, a long, flat strip of metal with a notch cut into one end, from my backpack. Arching my back and bracing my feet against the floor, I slipped it into the waistband of my jeans on my right side so it rested against my leg and pulled my shirt down over the handle, which stuck out past my waistband. Rilla tried to look nonplussed.
"Ready for your close-up?" I asked when I was finished.
Rilla tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled coyly.
"Ready for your felony?"
If you don't feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then possibly what you are doing isn't very vital. If you don't feel like you are writing somewhat over your head, why do it? If you don't have some doubt of your authority to tell this story, then you are not trying to tell enough. --John Irving