A/N: First of all, I have to say thanks to my awesome Muse/beta EchoesofTwilight as always! MWAH, Em!

Second order of business… Disclaimer: Same as always: SM owns them, I just imagine the what ifs... Although I own most of the characters you see here. hehe

So this is the first outtake from Mars Rising. If you haven't read up through Chapter 5 yet, please go read before you read this outtake. This is actually two outtakes—one from Chapter 4 and one from Chapter 5—from a new POV. Neither of them is long enough to be its own chapter in the main story, nor are they intended to stand alone. Mars Rising is Nessie's story, so she will be telling all of it. However, sometimes it helps to know what others around her are thinking, although if you decide not to read the outtakes, you will still have the whole main story.

Some of you have speculated that the guy from the gas station will be significant in the rest of the story, and you were right. So we hear a little from him in this first outtake. Enjoy!

LPOV (From "Settling In")

We heard it up the street long before the candy apple red car came into view. The deep-throated rumble made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, and we all turned to watch it go by. It was a late '80s Monte Carlo SS, the name conspicuous in black block lettering against the glossy bright red. We stared like teenagers as it turned into the station parking lot. It eased up to the pump, and the driver revved it once before killing the engine. When the door opened, I was surprised by the slender arm and tiny hand that poked out from inside.

It was a chick driving.

She closed the door behind her, leaving the keys in the ignition, and set the gas cap on the roof of the car. As she started filling up, Nate and Mike turned back to me.

"Mmmm mm," Nate said. "That is hot." Mike murmured his agreement, beginning to talk about the car and the probable engine and horsepower. Nate shook his head and said, "I wasn't talking about the car."

Mike turned back around and gave the girl a quick once over. "She's pretty hot," he said, although it was clear that he preferred the car over the driver.

I had to agree with both of them. The car was definitely something to write home about, and the girl had a body that would fuel locker room talk and male fantasies for a whole school year. But she was too young for any of us. She looked only about fifteen—although if she was driving, she had to be at least sixteen. I couldn't help but wonder who the idiot was who let such a little girl loose with a classic Monte like that.

Mike elbowed Nate in the ribs and dared him to go talk to her. Instead, Nate only whistled, and I had to smile at his cowardice. It was typical of him to see a girl he'd like to get with only to chicken out in the end.

Her head snapped up, and she glared at us under the afternoon sun. I watched as she glanced briefly at Nate and Mike, their backs to her. I looked at the car, noting that the tag was brand new but there was a good amount of dirt on the underside. It seemed she didn't stick to paved roads. When I looked back at her, she was staring straight at me, and I couldn't resist running my eyes down her slender frame. She had on tight blue jeans and low-heeled boots that made her feet look tiny. I dragged my gaze back up and couldn't help but notice how her little red top matched the paint on the car and outlined her curves just as closely. She had dark eyes, reddish-brown curly hair, and a clear complexion—despite the blush that stained her cheeks. And when she stretched up to retrieve the gas cap, a sliver of creamy skin showed under the little red shirt.

Too young, I reminded myself. But I couldn't stop myself from teasing her.

"Can you drive it, sweetheart?" I called across the lot.

Nate and Mike laughed. I had to grin when she smiled before sliding into the driver's seat and revving the engine again. She eased over to the exit and then broke the tires loose, smoke streaming out behind her.

I felt my mouth drop open, and I started to rethink whether the Monte was too much for her after all—and whether she was as young as she looked. And that took my mind in a whole other direction.

I found myself hoping that I would see her again… soon.

Nate and Mike started to talk again about the party we had been to the night before and the girls they had hooked up with. I listened with only half an ear, the rumble of the Monte's engine still in my head. I could still make it out, a couple blocks up the street. And then it suddenly cut out.

I had half a mind to jump in my truck and ditch my friends to follow her. I had even straightened up from my position against the hood when I realized how stupid—and desperate—that would look. Especially as young as she probably was. Although I had chased my fair share of girls—most people around here would say more than my share—I was in no hurry to get involved with a little girl. Even one as stunning as she was. And I was still reeling a little from my last girlfriend. I knew most people wouldn't consider three weeks long-term, but it was one of my longer relationships.

I stopped myself as Nate and Mike stared at me. "Let's go play pool," I said, covering up my momentary stupidity. They readily agreed, and we piled into my truck to head over to the pool hall.

~ * ~

LPOV (From "Breaking Out")

On Friday night, Tristan and I stopped in at Daisy's Diner for a bite to eat. The burgers at Daisy's were always good, and since Molly had gone back to college, I didn't get quite as many glares from Shirley.

The little bell over the door rang, and a few people turned to see who had walked in. Most of them quickly went back to their conversations; some turned to stare at the clumsy waitress who had just dropped somebody's dinner. She squatted down to pick up the broken plates and ruined food, and I turned to Tristan and said, "I hope she's not our waitress."

He laughed and followed me in and to the table that was farthest from the counter where Shirley usually stayed during the supper rush. Considering the way my relationship with her niece had ended, I wasn't in any hurry to have a conversation with the feisty redhead.

The little waitress was walking away, her arms full of the mess she had made. I drummed an idle beat on the tablecloth, my arms resting on the edge of the table. I caught a glimpse of reddish-brown curls and a trim figure, but she was gone before I really had a chance to get a good look at her.

"So which would be worse?" Tristan asked, glancing around. "The clumsy one or Shirley? 'Cause those are your choices."

"No question," I answered. Without a doubt, I'd rather have my dinner dropped than have to talk to Shirley. I was already rethinking coming to Daisy's. It had definitely been a mistake.

Just then the clumsy little waitress came out from the kitchen with two menus and silverware bundles in her hands. She stopped by one of the tables and told them their food would be out soon before coming over to our table. It took everything I had to keep my mouth from falling open like a teenage kid. I looked down at the menu she had just set in front of me.

It was the chick with the car.

"Hi, I'm Vanessa," she said in a soft musical voice. "Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Two cokes," I said without looking up.

"Coming right up," she said and turned quickly away.

"Hey, did you hurt yourself?" Tristan called after her.

She turned back, blushing, and said, "No, I'm fine."

"I mean when you fell from heaven," Tristan said.

She just smiled, shook her head, and walked away.

"What the hell, Trist?" I smacked his arm.

"What?" he said. "She's hot."

I rolled my eyes. Tristan was as big of a player as I was, but it bothered me that he was flirting with her. I didn't know why it should, but... it still did.

She came back and set the glasses of soda on the table with a smile. Two paper-wrapped straws joined the drinks, and she asked, "Are you ready to order or do you need another minute to decide?"

I looked up at her then, and the sparkle in her eyes took my breath away. They actually sparkled. And when did I become such a girl?

"I'll have a burger and fries, hold the broken plate," I said, unable to resist teasing her. Just like the other day at the gas station.

She laughed and said, "You got it," before turning to Tristan for his order.

"Same for me," he told her.

She nodded and walked away to give our orders to the guys in the kitchen. I wondered idly if Mark and David were still here. Probably, because where else would two losers like them find steady jobs? I had to admit that I was lucky to have the job I had, even though it wasn't what I wanted to be doing. It paid for the things I needed. And it kept me—mostly—out of trouble.

The burgers and fries were just as good as I remembered, and Tristan kept up a steady flow of talk as we ate. I responded whenever he paused, but my attention seemed riveted to the pretty little waitress as she wove her way around the tables, bringing out orders and checking people's drinks. She moved with an ease and confidence that seemed too mature for the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old I had pegged her for, and I began wondering just how old she was. Once or twice, I saw Shirley glaring at me from the corner of my eye, but I refused to make eye contact with her.

The waitress—Vanessa—came back to check our drinks. Tristan swallowed the bite in his mouth, looked up, and asked, "Is your dad a thief?" She scowled at him, and I looked down to try to hide my smile because I knew what was coming next.

Sure enough, Tristan said, "Because he stole the stars and put them in your eyes."

I stifled a laugh, popping another fry in my mouth. Did he even realize what an idiot he sounded like?

She didn't say anything but took our glasses and came back with the refills. Tristan kept his mouth shut this time, and she left again.

"Leave her alone, man," I said.

"What?"

"Give it up."

The next time Vanessa walked by our table, I asked her for a piece of chocolate cake, thinking of how her eyes reminded me of melted chocolate, and Tristan ordered a slice of apple pie. She smiled and brought them back quicker than I had expected. As she set the desserts on the table, Tristan opened his big mouth again.

"Hey, Vanessa, what time do you get off work?"

At least he seemed to have given up on the lame pick-up lines.

"We close at nine," she said, not really answering the question. She glanced at her watch. It was one of those fancy bracelet things, and it looked expensive.

"How would you like to come hang out with me and Luke?" Tristan asked.

She looked over at me, and her cheeks were slightly pink. I took a bite of my cake, and Tristan started in on his pie.

"I don't know," she said.

"C'mon," Tristan urged. "It'll be fun."

She looked like she was thinking about it. I was hoping she would say yes, but if she did, it would be because she liked Tristan. Maybe I'd rather she said no.

"I don't even know you," she finally said.

"So you hang out with us, and you'll get to know us," Tristan said.

I felt her eyes on me. Was she checking to see if I wanted her to come? I could lay it on just as thick as Tristan. Getting girls had never been a problem for me, but there was something different about this one. And I still didn't know how old she was. At first I had thought fifteen. And then sixteen, because of the car. But working here, she had to be at least seventeen; Shirley didn't hire anyone younger than that. And if she was still in high school… that still made her too young. That was one brand of trouble I didn't need to borrow.

I finished my chocolate cake and pulled out my wallet.

"I really need to get home," she said softly.

"You sure?" Tristan pressed, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as I fished out several bills.

Give it up, man!

"I'm sure," she said, her voice firmer now. But then she gave him an opening when she added, "I don't even know your names."

"I'm Tristan, and this is Luke."

She stacked up our now empty plates and murmured something about being glad to meet us. And Tristan tried again.

"You still won't come hang with us?"

She shook her head and pulled our check out from the apron tied around her tiny waist, drawing my eyes to her hips. Before she could set it on the table, I reached out my hand and gave her the wad of cash. It would more than cover the check and the tip. She deserved it for putting up with my idiot friend. And just in case she wasn't as young as she looked, I wanted her to have a good impression of me, even though I knew Shirley, who had glared at us—at me—repeatedly over the last hour and a half, would do everything she could to destroy it.

"Keep the change," I said as her fingers closed around the money. "C'mon, Trist," I muttered. "She's not buying what you're selling."

Tristan shook his head, disappointed at his failure to get the girl, and said, "We'll see you around, Vanessa."

We stood to go as Vanessa picked up the plates. And he just couldn't resist one last try, the dumbass.

"I'll be sure to tell God he's missing an angel," he said, winking at her as I grabbed his arm and shoved him toward the door. He just didn't know when to give up.

The bell jingled as we left, and I could swear I felt her eyes on my back. Was she looking at me or just in shock over Tristan's asinine behavior?

End Notes: So what do you think of Gas Station Guy—I mean, Luke? Let me know in your reviews, or come play on my Forum thread at Twi'd. :)