Sicily Modder yelled at the door, "I'm coming!" as the bell rang incessantly. She flung open the door and a bucktoothed child of seven with giant coke bottle glasses stood on the step. "Do you know..." he wheezed, "That this used to be...the-" He coughed fitfully and pulled an inhaler out of his pocket. After a few puffs, he continued. "The Darling home? It's a...historical landmark. Peter Pan, you-" He sneezed. Sicily looked down at her spitty shirt disgustedly. "You know, is big here in London..." Sicily narrowed her eyes. "I'm aware. But I don't care about silly children's literature, or your fantasies. I do tell stories though. Maybe Peter Pan will fly to my window and take me away. And I'll ask to bring you with me!" His eyes widened. "Really?" "No." She shut the door and frowned at the kid peering through the glass in the door. She reopened it. "Once upon a time, there was a bratty annoying child with a fake British accent who wouldn't stop annoying his teenage neighbor. His mother asked the girl next door to babysit, and she killed the little boy as soon as they were alone because he was a twit. The end." The little boy's eyes widened even more and his mouth popped open. "Guess what?" She asked him. "W-w-what?" He choked, taking out his inhaler again and puffing it like a lifeline. "This story has a moral- beat it, brat." He didn't need to be reminded. He ran next door and slammed the door behind him, and moments later, she saw him staring down at her from his second story room, locking the window as he gazed over. Walking back in the house, Mrs. Modder asked absentmindedly from behind her /I, "Who was it, dear?" "No one," she answered, walking up to her room. She put on her headphones and began to listen to her Coldplay /I CD, singing along with "Don't Panic". Finally, she put the CD in her boombox so she could dress while she listened to it- she was definitely changing her shirt after that kid sneezed on it. "I'm willing to bet he has rabies." Sicily muttered to herself, taking her shirt off and replacing it with a tight grey shirt proclaiming, "I didn't say it was your fault- I said I would blame you." Looking out the window, she saw a gorgeous brunette riding by on a motorcycle, the wind ruffling his hair as he sped by. When she saw him making a U-turn at the end of her cul-de-sac, she raced downstairs, fingercombing her dark red hair and pulling her shirt down. Quickly, she sat on her front porch swing and began to openly stare at him, smiling. He slowed. "You're new!" "Fresh from New York." She said, sticking out her hand as she walked over to him. "I'm Sicily." He shook her hand and blushed. "I'm Ewan." She ran her hand over his bike slowly. "This is a nice bike...A Ducati?" Ewan looked surprised. "Yeah! How'd you know?" Sicily grinned. "Oh, I don't know...can I have a ride?" He smiled and patted the seat beside him. "Sure!" She held up one finger. "All right, one moment." Running inside, she called from the front door, "Mom! I'll be back in a few hours!" "Oh! Did you make a new friend?" "Uh, yeah," Sicily yelled back. /I wasn't the word she had in mind. The girl straddled the back of the huge motorcycle and Ewan offered her his helmet. She took it and pretended to fumble with the buckle so he would turn and buckle it gently for her. Sliding her arms around his waist, she yelled over the roar of the engine, "Want to hit that new club, the Captain's Hook?" He answered, "As you wish, my lady," speeding off toward the downtown city of London. A few hours later, Sicily and Ewan were heatedly making out in a smoky club, curled up on the barstools of the nonalcoholic bar. He was collapsed against the counter and she was clasping his face, her legs straddling his waist. After a moment, she pulled away for air. "Ewan- I have to get home!" She yelled over the clamor of the music. "One more dance, Sicily?" he pleaded. She agreed and they hit the floor, pulsing to the beat of one of her old favorites, "Ice Ice Baby". She was surprised they had it in London, but she threw herself into it, sliding and shifting to the beat. After an intense last dance in the club, she pulled Ewan out the door and climbed on his bike, him slipping in front of her. He sped to her house and she got off the motorcycle, giving him back his helmet and turning to face him. Sicily smiled. "I had a great time," she said, leaning forward and kissing him. She started to run up to her front door. "Wait! Sicily!" She turned. "Can I have your number?" Ewan called. "No." She answered, beaming, and she shut the door behind her. Sadly, Ewan drove off. Sicily went upstairs and changed into a camisole and short boxers that had candy hearts on them. She watched Ewan leave and frowned. "Guys are way too committal." She said, climbing in bed.