She was heading north on the unlined country road. A cold rain storm was coming out of the west and she was a good four miles from the safety of her driveway.

She didn’t ride her bike in November very often- when skies grew dark soon after the final bell sounded. The wind whipped through her wool coat and the dried cornstalks rustled. If she hadn’t missed the bus this morning she would sitting on a cold, green vinyl seat that squeaked in response to every railway crossing.

She would be listening to Jerry make lude comments about how the girls’ breasts bounced beneath their sweaters on the bus, but she would be dry. There was no way that she was going to leave her bike chained to the stand at school. One of those creepy boys from town would surely vandalize it.

She pedaled faster past the beige stalks of corn. In the twilight each looked like a naked girl, the blackened cornsilk like exposed pubic hair. They waited in silence in rows- to be culled- just like her class mates.

The wind howled.