Crossing Lines

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Kansas Roberts wiped her forearm across her forehead, grimacing at the wetness that gathered.  Running a hand through short, blonde hair, the 17 year old continued to push the mower through the thick, lush grass of her mother's front lawn.  The teen hated yard work.  She hated much of any kind of work, at all, to be honest.  Alas, yard work had become her lot in life since her paying job shut down a week ago.  Her mother had a focus on the whole "responsibility" thing for some reason.

"Kansas?" called Marina Fawkes, Kansas' mother.  The blonde kept mowing, her iPod in place, blonde head bobbing to Pat Benatar.  She stepped off the front porch, canvas shoes leaving footprints in the newly mowed rows.  The petit woman dodged her daughter's waving arm as the girl got into the music.

Kansas nearly jumped out of her skin as she was tapped on the shoulder.  She whirled, tugging one side of her earphones from her ears. "What?" the girl asked, irritated at being disturbed, as well as from the embarrassment of her surprise.

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