An idea for the beginning of "The Hideout":
fosi appz commander 2003The others knew when they saw him that Michael had been in a fight with his dad again. He was walking across the field toward the hideout with a branch, swinging it in the reddening, burning air against the tall grass. Little arms. Baggy t-shirt. He hadn't followed the gravel road out of the neighborhood; he'd waded in a straight line across the field, up to his tiny ribs in the dry grass that hissed in the last air of the day, shimmering red here and copper there. Rae saw him first, had been waiting really. She nudged Serena who was lighting matches. Dylan stopped playing with the radio to look. Greg continued jabbing at his pants with a safety pin until he could hear the sound of the stick swinging in the air. They watched Michael approach, framed by the door of their hideout, a gutted shack tilted in the earth, and knew by the restrained violence of his body and the hair hanging long in his dirty face that Michael had fought with his dad again. The sun exoriated the air, and they waited for Michael like little animals smelling the approach of summer thunder.