Ethan Carter hears the familiar engine roar on his seventh check of the cheap digital watch. The thirteen-year-old's sneakers were long soaked by the snow, his hand clutching the sketchbook in his canvas bag containing the three-month meticulous copy of "Avril Stone: From Child Star to Oscar Winner" cover photo. As the stretch Lincoln halted like a ghost in the back alley, he saw the dream goddess, draped in a mink coat, approaching leisurely, with the scent of her endorsed Midnight Rose perfume wafting through the air.
"Oh my god!" Avril covered her mouth with both hands, the diamond watch reflecting galaxies under the streetlight, "Did you draw this?" Her trembling fingertips grazed the edge of the sketchbook, but as they touched the paper, she imperceptibly curled her fingers—damn kid, coloring with crayons, ink stained her Chanel gloves.
