🎭 CASTING SIDE — YOUNG MICKY
EXT. SCHOOL BUS STOP / STREET — DAY
A group of kids cluster under a bus shelter. Young MICKY (16) stands with a friend and a chaperone. She watches the street with an impatient, dangerous calm.
YOUNG MICKY
(whispering to her Black friend, sly)
“Come on, let’s go use that payphone.”
FRIEND
(aghast, low)
“Girl, are you crazy? No.”
Micky smirks—already moving. She tugs at the sleeve of the chaperone.
YOUNG MICKY
(to CHAPERONE, innocent)
“I left my scarf on the bus, can I grab it?”
The CHAPERONE, distracted, nods without looking. Micky slips away like a practiced shadow.
EXT. PAYPHONE — CONTINUOUS
The payphone crouches under a flickering light. A cluster of BOYS loiter nearby, laughing too loud. They hush as Micky approaches. One boy steps forward—DREW (19), slick grin, a trouble magnet. He watches her cross the street like he’s been waiting for the exact rhythm of her steps.
DREW
(smooth, testing)
“You lost, lil’ mama?”
Micky freezes — not from fear, but because the air around him snaps electric. She sizes him up with a look older than her years.
YOUNG MICKY
(cool, clipped)
“No. I know where I’m going.”
Drew leans an elbow on the payphone booth, charm turned up like a radio. He studies her like he’s cataloguing what he can take.
DREW
(grinning)
“Ain’t often I see a girl brave enough to come to a spot like this alone. You got a name, or you just trouble in short skirts?”
Micky’s smile is small and sharp.
YOUNG MICKY
(defiant, playful)
“Name’s Micky. I don’t do ‘trouble’ — trouble finds me.”
The boys snicker. Drew’s smile widens—this is bait, and he likes bait.
DREW
(low, flirt)
“Alright, Micky. You got fire. I like that. You ever ride with someone who actually knows how to keep up?”
Micky’s chest tightens — the kind of constriction that feels like possibility and dread all at once.
YOUNG MICKY (V.O.)
(soft, regretful)
“If I only knew then what I knew later… Drew would be the worst mistake of my life.”
Drew drops his voice, closer now, a whisper that smells like cigarettes and fast money.
DREW
(leaning in)
“Come on. One ride. I’ll show you Houston different. No chaperones. No rules.”
Micky hesitates — the world of curfew and consequences on one side, the glittering, dangerous promise on the other.
She glances back at her friend and the bus — the safe life — then at Drew — the unknown.
YOUNG MICKY
(breathing, decision)
“Two blocks. That’s it. You pull any stunt, I walk.”
Drew’s grin is a claim.
DREW
(purring)
“Two blocks is all I need.”
He scribbles a number on a napkin, pockets it like handing over a secret. Micky tucks it into her sleeve the way she stashes coins — careful, guarded.
DREW
(casual, dangerous)
“You look good. Don’t let them tell you who to be.”
Micky smiles — brittle, halfway to brave.
YOUNG MICKY
(soft, defiant)
“I know who I am.”