Scene 4, Theory of Wind, a contemporary YA fantasy:

Scene 4: Town visit introducing the protagonist’s future allies, foreshadowing the antagonist. 

         Brushing a strand of raven colored hair from her face, Mabel handed over the last ice cream cone to Ethan with a wink. Ever since he had turned eighteen, the effusive employee at Moomaid’s ice cream shop had become overly friendly. It’s not that Mabel wasn’t nice, just—creepy.
         Ethan pushed his little brother, Jaego, out the door,  jingling the bell as they stepped onto the curb facing the sea. He had bribed Jaego with ice cream even though Mum asked them to come home before lunch. It was the only way to get him to shut up.  Sometimes the age gap between eight and eighteen was frustratingly obvious, especially when Jaego brought out his inventions in public. Once Ethan saved enough for a BMX, Mom wouldn’t insist on Jaego coming along with him everywhere. 
         “You’re not listening to me! I’ve been trying to get your attention five different ways, and none of them is workin'!”
 Jaego kicked Ethan hard in the shin. Ethan steadied himself on the uneven cobblestones, dropping his Berry-Go-Round cone in the long grass of the town green. His jaw clenched, glaring with green-blue eyes at his waif-like brother. 
          “Mate! What was that for?”
          “Maybe if you weren’t so head in the clouds, you’d see my remote-controlled car has stalled.” 
           Jaego’s eyebrows shot to his hairline as he pointed to the Special Air Service figurine straddling his 1960s-era roadster. Ethan’s six-foot frame towered over his brother as he lifted him off his feet by the shoulders, meeting his eyes, “If you have somethin’ to tell me, you pull on my arm, not kick me in the shin!” 
           He set Jaego down with a huff,  his eyes landing on a Mongoose BMX sitting in a long line of plush beach cruisers. It was nearly obscured by a gaggle of teenage girls.
          “Were you lookin’ at those girls?” asked Jaego. 
           Ethan rolled his eyes and grinned at his brother, “ I was looking at the bike.”
          “You want a cruiser bike?” Jaego asked, his head tilted, confused.
           “Don’t be thick—”
           “Well, either way, we can’t get home if you're busy gogglin’. I need you to heft this up. One of the wheels is jammed,” said Jaego. 
           Ethan squatted next to him. His brother retrofitted every scrap of leftover anything, making it into something. Most of his creations were very clever. All of them were extremely obnoxious.
           “What did you put in this, Jaego? Rocks?”
            “In fact,” Jaego said, placing both hands on his hips like a superhero, “I used iron shavings—”
            Oh, here we go.
             “—to act as a form of ballast. It can now make quick turns around corners without falling. In fact—”
            “Time to go.” He slammed the car down. “Mum said to be home for lunch.”
            Jaego shrugged, his short legs following Ethan’s long stride as they crossed the street towards the older part of town, where roads were built for carriages and carts, not lorry trucks and cars. They hugged the wall as a delivery truck whizzed by. The morning had been overcast, but now everyone with sunscreen noses and Speedos was enjoying the balmy sunshine that dried the streets. 
           They walked inside a dark shade, following one narrow strip of golden sunlight that snaked its way through the middle of the corridor. The sound of the sea grew quieter in the shadow of a long row of towering three-story walk-ups. Jaego steered his remote control car in zig zags, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls they passed.
Jaego’s thumb pushed hard on the controller, slamming the car to a stop on the edge of a large iron grate set in the curb. The brothers stood gazing into the dark pit with its constant drip into nothingness. Jaego shoved the end of his cone in his mouth before kneeling by the grate and pressing his face against it. 
           “Get up, Jaego! You look like an idiot,” said Ethan.
            Jaego lifted his face, streaked with grease. “‘Do not! 'Sides, renters don’t care. They don’t know about the tunnel.”
           “That’s the storm drain, not the actual smuggler's tunnel. And it’s not renters anymore. Nan’s myrgh-wynn lives here now, remember?”
           Jaego scrunched his nose, “Nan? Who’s Nan?”
            Ethan shook his head. “You don’t ever listen.”
            “Huh?” Jaego revealed another dark black grease smudge across the other cheek.
             A mischievous grin bent Ethan’s full lips as he feigned surprise, “Do ya hear that, Jaego?” he asked.
            Jaego perked up, “Hear what?”
            “That bangin’ sound,” said Ethan, “down below.”
            He pressed his ear against the grate while Ethan leaned in and whispered, “Beware, young Jaego, the souls o’ dead smugglers. They’ll carry you off to Olethus!” 
            Jaego turned to punch his brother, his cheeks puffed out, just missing. Ethan laughed, fighting him off, “Who’ll turn you to stone for stickin’ your greasy nose where it don’t belong.”
            “S’not funny,” Jaego muttered angrily, “You know what Mum said. I’ll tell her you’ve been messin w’ me again.” 
             The narrow strip of light suddenly disappeared as a low cloud covered the sun, plunging the street into deep shadow, all the darker for the rare quiet that accompanied it. The push and pull of crashing waves, Newlyn’s white noise, vanished. 
            CLANG
           “What was that?” Ethan involuntarily jerked his back into the lush growth of vines snaking up a back garden wall. 
            THWANG
            Jaego’s eyes darted around. “Knock it off. I’m not fallin’ for it.” He latched onto Ethan's holed-up tee-shirt and whispered, “Now Olethus is comin’ to get you.” 
            Digging his finger into his brother's chest, Ethan swatted it away. The two brothers peeked around the corner of the house. Nothing, just an empty cobbled road.
           “Do you think it was them?” Jaego’s chest puffed out in a show of bravery. “Ya know, Dark Venti?” He blew hot air into his hands as though suddenly cold. The color vanished from Ethan's tan cheeks. “Maybe—don’t know.” 
            They wandered further up the corridor, listening to the drip from the grate behind.
            “Serves you right if they are overhead right now. A bunch of invisible baddies waiting to pound your face in,” whispered Jaego.
            Just then, an arm swung out from a second-story window, closing hard above them with a loud CLANK. Jaego screamed and slid backwards into Ethan, who lost his footing and pulled Jaego down into a heap. The boys brushed themselves off and stood staring.
            A girl’s head popped out one side of a window. Her wrist seemed caught in the clasp, in a tangle of white string—focused, and entirely oblivious to their presence just below. They watched her pick at the knot, the window easing in and out of the street. 
            Dark eyes and wild hair. 
            “You alright?” he called.
             The girl’s eyes widened before dropping below the window line. Her arm hung above it, still attached to the latch. They waited for her to reappear, but nothing happened. 
            “Do ya think she’s dead then?” Jaego asked.
            “No dummy. She’s not dead,” He lowered his voice, “I think —” he whispered, “I think she’s hiding.”
            “Girls are weird,” Jaego said in a loud whisper.
             “Never mind. Get your car.”
              Jaego disappeared around the corner and returned with his car. The special forces soldier affixed to its hood shouted “Let’s go men!” over and over as Jaego pressed the button on his remote. Ethan eyed the arm in the window, then shouted much louder than necessary, “WELL, JAEGO, WE BETTER GO. MUM’S EXPECTING US.”
             The arm in the window flinched, and the top of a messy-haired head peeked out as the boys approached the end of the street. “Let’s go men!” on repeat.
              Ethan glanced back, scanning the row of windows —hoping to catch just one more glimpse of the legendary Dylan Jensen.