A low flying jet rumbles over the playground, looking like low-hanging fruit, waiting for some giant's hungry hand to pull it from the sky, peel back the hardened rind, and eat the soft, juicy, screaming insides. Forty-five seconds later there will be another, then another, then another...
She smashed her bicycle into a pole, but the only thing broken was the front reflector. Her pride and pelvis were bruised-the consequences of trying to impress some boys-and her shiny new confidence, rock-solid until now, felt scratched and shaken loose.