I actually started some fiction. Got distracted again almost immediately. But here's what I coughed out. I'm just thinking I should yell, "Hairball!"

Her fingers liked to dance. Dance on the keyboard, dance on the strings, and dance in the air. She’d stop breathing before she’d stop punctuating a conversation with her hands. If her fingers really did the walking, she’d take the gold in sprinting, easy. Rob watched them traipse across the keyboard in a jig of expletives. It seems another flame war was exploding in the triple digits.

Rob stood behind her long enough to tally the total number of fucks, and went downstairs to get a drink. He still didn’t know how he had ended up with her. Day and night and dark and light… you could talk opposites all you want, and still get the same shock seeing them together. She was loud. Loud in talk, walk, and attitude. He could melt into the air and no one would notice. Gothic black with neon versus muted earthiness. Her ears were not so much pierced as laced with metal. Rob didn’t know what his parents would do if he wore any jewelry save his class ring.

But the air around her practically sizzled, she was so alive. Charisma like a black hole drawing him in. He’d stopped at the orbit point and circled in fascinated wonder, but never knew if he would come to fall in or spin out of control. He didn’t think his dad would find the same attraction.

That was the problem, wasn’t it. They’d been after him for a while to say if he was seeing anyone. His mom had visions of a genteel long engagement while the lovebirds finished degrees, and hopes of lacy pink midget dresses a year after they got out. Dad wanted to brag, pure and simple. Another fine genetic clone to take another fine company branch. Insert living example of the edge of pop culture and get…? Something of much more epic proportions than the flame war above.

But she wanted to meet them.