She slips out the screen door, leaving the drunken kids inside with their huge bottles and fake ID's. Breathing in deeply, she puts a cigarette to her lips with shaky hands, lighting it in a practiced motion full of unfazed grace. Inhaling, she tosses long brown hair over skinny shoulders, blinking hard. She misses so many people, things, lives she never undertook as her own. And just when her eyeliner starts smudging, someone else slides the door open and walks out. She looks at him with eyelids down so he can't tell she's curious.

He's taller than her, and dressed to kill in the way only ghetto boys can pull off. Hat tilted low, she can still see his eyes, as they look her up and down. He gives a small smirk of approval. "You got a cigarette?"

"Yeah, here," she murmurs with an accent he finds erotic. She rounds her words with a soft swallow, Spanish-American mixed with the streets. Her slender fingers reach into the tight pocket of her jeans and pull out a crumpled pack of Marlboro lights. Taking one out, she reaches and gives it to him. "You need a light?"

"Nah, it's chill." He smiles with ease, watching her lips pout as she inhales, relaxing as she blows out with relief. She's watching him too, as he barely takes drags on the cigarette he had used as an excuse to talk with this beautiful girl. She's an enigma, his friends don't know her that well, except the one's she's already been with, and she walks with a strength he wants to break, to control, to have. Her lip-gloss is smeared all over the filter and she's shivering in distraction, can't focus on tantalizing some fuck up.

She glances inside, watching her best friend with an arm around some boy, taking long drags from someone's joint.

"I'm Jared, but kids call me Dirty," he says, breaking the stare she holds on the window. She starts, flicking the ash from her cigarette and laughing nervously.

"Casey. She calls me Spit," she says, tossing her head in the direction of the house, where her best friend is someone's lap, holding a red plastic cup. "Why they call you Dirty?"

"Well, it's actually Dirty Killa" he grins. "But I should be askin' you why you called Spit." She looks at him with attraction in her eyes. She might be trashed but she's conscious enough to know that there's something between them. Smiling with control, she decides he doesn't deserve an answer. She steps on her cigarette but, embers flying, and walks away so he can stare just a little more.