Young Writers Society

Tell me how this works for a first scene...hope youlike it.

Josie slammed her foot down on the pedal of her old Suzuki Quad-Runner. The back tires, spinning to gain traction, swung out behind the front. For a moment she was blinded by a cloud of thick, sandy dust which drifted in front of her. She leaned over the seat and powered through the turn, successfully cutting into the inside corner. Josie pulled ahead of her opponent, leaving Jess a short distance behind. She glanced behind her shoulder to see how she was doing. Jess waved her hand in the air in frustration.

"Better keep up!" Josie yelled. Her voice was whisked away under the drowning roar of the two cylinder engines. The two raced around the back of the old building that served as the town's only school and curved past the shabby arena that served as a dead end to Pecos Street. The brown shrubs which infested the dry creek bed to the right served as a natural barrier that the girls were careful to avoid. They pulled over onto Pecos, slowing so as to not lose control on any of the weed choked cracks or buckled pavement. They skidded around the corner, neck and neck, and hit the empty main street. Jetting across it they headed north, and came in contact again with the creek bed. Jess pulled ahead for a brief moment, but Josie cut in front again when they turned to cross through at the drainage. They made long loop, driving all the way past the ruined remains of metal garages and sheds which rusted behind the Five and Dime. They looped back around onto the county road and blazed down the dirt road. At this point Jess took the lead. Her sleeker, faster, Honda Four Trax was no match for Josie's older ‘92 when it came to speed; and she pulled into their destination first. As usual. Josie skidded in right behind her, nearly clipping the old gas pump which served as a decoration to the otherwise bare gravel lot. She hit the brake and slowed to a stop right next to her sister. Jess climbed off and removed her dirt biker's helmet.

"Late as usual Josie." she said with a grin. Josie switched off the engine.

"Whatever." she mumbled. She stretched and then pulled off her own helmet. "You only win because of the straights, otherwise you couldn't keep up." Josie said.

"Or it could just be the driver." Jess retorted. “Ever think of that?" Josie jabbed a finger in her direction.

"Hey listen, I beat you last week." she said. Jess sniffed.

"Which makes what, four out of a hundred?" she asked cynically. Josie shrugged.

"What can I say? It's the dust, it gets into my engine. I need to clean it when we get home." she said. Jess laughed.

"Su-ure. Whatever you say.” She climbed off her ATV. “But you're probably right. I should clean out mine too." The girls left their helmets on the seats of their ATVs and walked across the goat-head and tumble weed infested parking lot to the front door of the “Five and Dime.” Josie pushed the chrome plated front door open and the two stepped inside. The heavy scent of fried potatoes hit them as soon as the bell above the door stopped ringing. Josie's mouth began to water, but she was mainly thirsty after riding through all that dust. Josie and Jess wandered over to the counter and climbed up into the worn, red leather bar stools. It wasn't too crowded at the moment, a few booths were occupied with the early evening patrons, but the small building was not yet rushed with the group that came in after the sun went down. Tonight, of course, was Friday. A night when nearly all of the town's one-hundred and fifty citizens stayed up late. And people who stayed up late usually stopped in to grab a bite to eat.

"Let's get the fries." Josie said. Jess looked at her quizzically.

"But I thought you wanted the malt." she said. Josie shrugged.

"Changed my mind." she said simply. "And besides, it's my turn to buy anyways." Jess insisted on the malt, but Josie was adamant, and so when Rosa came around to take their order, a side of fries it was. Jess huffed irritably at Josie's decision and glanced away. Two dollars and two minutes later and a steaming plate of grease and salt appeared in front of them. Josie, after a few bites, decided they would have been better off with the malt after all. But she didn’t mention this to Jess of course.

Josie spun the seat around and leaned against the counter. The diner was a small, old fashioned place. The kind that gave people a certain comfort of nostalgia when they walked in. It was in the classic American 50’s style, a little shabby in places, but none the worse for at least fifty years of use. Black and white linoleum checkers spanned the short distance between the counter and the red leather booths that lined the front wall. Each table was smooth plastic lined with a metal edge, the two seats on either side faced each other at a friendly distance. There were only a few tables between the front oval glassed door and the tiny enclave which housed the telephone and a stack of about five dog tagged yellow paged phone books. A fan spun lazily from the geometrically patterned silver ceiling tiles. It was about four in the afternoon, and the two large windows on the front let in barred light through their yellowed Venetian blinds; painting the pastel green walls with warm light. Josie took stock of the few other patrons in the small restaurant. There were two truckers in the corner booth, having a friendly chat and warm meal before heading back to their routes, and a group of weathered Rancheros who were sharing, ironically, a couple of #8’s, the dinner plate which was titled “South of the Border,” though the food on it hardly displayed authenticity, with the exception of the spiciness, that is. There was an elderly couple sharing a sundae, and a group of rowdy sixth graders, but other than that the diner’s seats were empty. Josie turned back to her fries.

“Hey look,” Jess said a moment later. Josie turned again. Through one of the windows they could see a light tan Chevy truck pull into the parking lot. It pulled up as always into the third spot from the door, and the driver turned off the rumbling engine. Out stepped a man wearing a white Stetson and a well groomed gray mustache.

“It’s Sheriff Hollister!” Jess exclaimed. “I thought he doesn’t usually come so early on Fridays.” she said. Josie shrugged.

“Let’s ask him when he comes in.” Sheriff Hollister did come in, his arrival heralded by the merry bell above the door.

“Hello Rosa!” he called back into the kitchen. There was a muffled reply amidst the sound of banging pans. The pans had been banging since the girls had got there, of course, since it was Manuel’s shift for dish duty. The Sheriff waved to the girls, but passed over to the truckers, welcoming them to the town and talking about the conditions of the roads these days. After a while he moved on, saying a brief hello to Mr. And Mrs. Lische, the elderly couple, and telling the sixth graders to “lower their voices a tad,” and to ask about the basketball tournament on Sunday. Then he moved over to the Rancheros, and after discussing coyotes and the weather, came up to the counter. He took the seat next to Jess.

“So how have you two been holding up?” he asked in his casual, unhurried way.

“Pretty good.” Jess said.

“But don‘t order the fries.” Josie said. Jess gave her sister a look of triumph. Josie stared back at her in sullen resentment. Sheriff Hollister chuckled.

“Why’d you come by so early tonight?” Josie asked quickly, changing the subject. The Sheriff raised his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t aware that you kept track of everyone’s schedule, Miss Topahaz.” he said. Josie grinned.

“Not unless they have a regular one.” Sheriff Hollister tapped the counter thoughtfully.

“Well to answer your question, actually, I have to get a head start. County surveys are coming up and they want me to do a review on the roads in the National Land Reserve. So I’ll be out late tonight. Figured I’d better get my coffee while I could.” he scratched his chin. “So how was school?” he asked. Jess told him (with a few interjections from Josie) while Rosa took his order for “the usual.” Jess had just finished her short narrative when a steaming mug of black coffee appeared before the Sheriff.

“Good, good.” he said. At that moment a pan slammed violently back in the kitchen and Rosa emerged again, red faced and apparently quite flummoxed.

“You tell that boy.” she waved her hands in the air. “If he breaks another plate I‘ll…that‘s the fifth one this week!” she huffed. “If can‘t learn to grow up and take responsibility and life seriously I don‘t know what I‘ll do!” she exasperated.

“But Rosa, he‘s your nephew.” the Sheriff put in. Rosa shook her head.

“I know, I know, but he‘s just so…so…”

“Big headed?” Jess suggested (Manuel happened to be in her class.)

“Annoying?” Josie asked. (She also, was not very found of this particular character.)

“Rebellious?” said Sheriff Hollister.

“Stubborn!” Rosa blurted. “If that boy doesn‘t start paying more attention…” she sighed and pursed her lips. Then, looking both ways, leaned over the counter in a furtive manner. “But you know,” she said quietly. “Mrs. Camp was telling me about her son and she said that when he was the same age as Manuel he…”

“Um Rosa,” Sheriff Hollister cut in. “How about a spoon?” Rosa stared at him, then at the cup, saucer, sugar, and curiously absent spoon on the counter.

“Oh, right, right. I‘ll get that for you.” she wandered back to the kitchen muttering to herself about what so-and-so had once said about young men and so forth.

“I guess you can blame Manuel for the fries, huh Josie?” Jess asked.

“Don’t get all smart about it.” Josie mumbled. The two were in the process of glaring at each other when Manuel emerged. He tossed the spoon onto the counter with a clatter.

“Here’s your spoon.” he stated. All three of them looked up and stared at him. Manuel, two years behind in school, tall, and with dark fuzz which served as a “beard,” looked the worse for wear. He had dark circles on the lower half of his sockets and his eyes were red. The Sheriff picked up the spoon and tapped it on the edge of his saucer.

“Out pretty late last night were we?”

“Well uh…” Manuel stuttered.

“I heard that someone was shootin’ paint at Wayne’s barn again. You wouldn’t happen to know the fellas who did it now, would you?” he asked with a skeptical raise of his eyebrow. Manuel shook his head vigorously.

“Tell you what.” The Sheriff put his spoon down. “If you make Rosa happy this whole next week, I might just keep this little “secret” between us. Deal?” Manuel wagged his head assertively, and then vanished back into the kitchen. The Sheriff chuckled to himself as he fixed up his coffee.

“So Josie, how’s that old horse of yours?” he asked.

“You mean Ned? Doctor Travis gave us some powder for his hoof, so far he’s been doing pretty good.” she said.

“She’s a good vet.” Jess put in. There was a moment of silence as the Sheriff raised his mug.

“And, uh…how’s Joaquin doing?” he asked. The tone of the conversation changed subtly, growing more serious in nature. Josie and Jess looked at each other.

“He gets paid tomorrow.” Josie said quietly.

“I see.” Sheriff Hollister set his mug back down. “Is there anything I should be worried about?” he asked. Josie shook her head.

“I don’t think so.” Jess said. “He’s been fine for a while, he didn’t drink at all last month.”

“That’s because we used all the money to fix the windmill.” Josie pointed out.

“But still, it’s a good sign right?” Jess, always optimistic, said.

“I suppose.” Josie agreed.

“Perhaps.” Sheriff Hollister said to himself. He looked at them. “Call me if there’s any trouble, all right?” Jess nodded.

“Okay.” Josie choked down the last few fries, now grateful for the salt that burned in the back of her throat. “Better get home Jess.” she said, standing up quickly and shoving in the bar stool.

“Alright.” Jess said, reluctant as always to leave. “See you next week, Mr. Hollister!” she said.

“Aren’t you two forgetting something?” he asked when they were almost to the door. They both stopped.

“I don’t think so.” Josie said.

“What did I tell you girls about racing through town?” he asked.

“Uh…” Josie began.

“How could you tell?” Jess asked.

“You’re covered in dust. How could I not tell?” he pointed out. He turned around, a wide grin on his face. “Just make sure you always wear those helmets.” he said with a wink. This caused both girls to smile.

“Okay, bye!” and with that they had dashed out the door, eager to reach home before sundown. The Sheriff got up and traveled over to the window as he finished his coffee. He watched pensively as the two girls started the engines of their ATVs and drove off down the road. Two trails of dust followed after them. Sheriff Hollister frowned. He was very fond of those two, and worried about them often. Tomorrow would be no exception.

“Stay out of it.” he murmured quietly.