It's been raining for a month now, as it is now. Everything's wet and muddy. A distant rumble of thunder reaches your ears, but it doesn't startle you anymore. Right now it's recess and the class is abuzz with chatter about going home because it's only an hour until school ends.

You've been eyeing up Twain lately because she's beautiful, but you're scared of confessing because of a rumor going around that she has boyfriends in the double, maybe even triple digits. She's chatting with one of her many friends by the front of the classroom.