The first week of school passed without too much chaos. Part of my Saturday mornings were devoted to meeting Teddy and Vern in the diner. Nobody ever knew what Jenny's plans were. I hadn't worried about her when we had moved and I still don't worry about her now, but she had changed. First she was the mousy girl in long skirts and blouses who was trying too hard swore too much to be cool even for the likes of Ace or his gang, but she had smoothed that out to a low drawl, cigarettes, and slacks. Now she did fit in. She was gone evenings without telling anybody where she was going. And that happened nearly every night now. One day, she returned with a black eye and a bloody nose. Mom went through the roof. Dad exploded. I wondered, but stayed out of the way. I didn't want a part in that.

I was having Algebra homework every night. It honestly wasn't too bad. I turned in my science project last Friday, and got a B on it. I can't complain. Growing potatoes was the closest I could ever get to science.

English was becoming easier to deal with and actually a little more enjoyable. I was a little stressed about turning in that composition. Was it good? Was it bad? More importantly- would I get an A?

Okay, as much as I hated to admit it, I cared about my grades. Just a tad bit. I had that tiny stab of ambition that prodded me 24/7. If I got a 95, could've I gotten a 97? If I failed a test but still got an A, how much higher would my grade be if I had passed that test? If I got 100, could've I gotten 100 on my last assignment?

Yep. Though I would never admit it to anyone, that's me.

Today was Sunday, and I was dealing with boredom and restlessness. I had already tried taking a nap, but when you wake up at noon, it's kind of hard to sleep any more. Mom was outside hanging clothes up on the line, and Dad was in the study, working.

My father was an architect, but he couldn't get a job here yet. (If we didn't come here for a job then why the hell did we?!) Mom was working as a waitress. Dad must have been working on new plans for a new house. But what good would it do? What use would a small town have for an architect? I was still wondering how he had ever had a job in New York. The village. Still, he wasn't happy about not getting a job. And Jenny was not helping matters.

I was desperate for something to do. I glanced at my drawing for art class, which had been improved upon time and again earlier today, to the point that nothing more could be done with it. I opened my Algebra book. I had checked and rechecked my problems 6 times. No use for that. Aggravation was slowly building inside me for the lack of things to do, and now I wanted to throw something. What the fuck did people do on boring Sunday afternoons like this? I was considering tying myself to a pole and letting people shoot bullets at me

Wait. I thought to myself.

Well not that, obviously, but…

Train-dodging. Teddy had told me about standing in front of trains and seeing how long you can stand there before jumping out of the way. It had sounded dangerous, but…

When I'm desperate, I'm desperate.

When I'm desperate, I make rash decisions.

And when I make decisions, they're final.

(Go for it, Liz!)

Next thing I knew, I was walking downstairs, out the back door, to the train tracks. I sat at the side of the tracks and waited for a train to come. At first I stared at my feet and waited for the rumbling of the tracks to reach me. Then I got bored and began looking around. Suddenly, I couldn't seem to throw off the feeling of being tiny while staring at the entire universe. There was a lot of empty space out here. Anyone could've gotten lost. I shivered and thought of what must've happened to Ray Brower.

Trains were pretty much the only way to get around back in that tiny village in upstate New York; I heard the all-too-familiar rumbling and knew that there was a train coming if it were fifty miles away. But it wasn't. It was pretty close.

I walked onto the track and waited. The train, whipping around the corner into view was probably 200 feet away. Coming closer… closer…

I closed my eyes and felt the momentum of it. In alarm, I realized that that was how Ray Brower got killed. Chiding myself, I blinked my eyes open, cringing to think of what could've happened in just a few seconds…

The train was a hundred feet away.

Fifty.

I kept my eyes wide open.

When the train was twenty feet from me, I lost my nerve and leapt off the track. Watching silently as my view of the sky was blocked by rust, I felt nothing. The train, as quickly as it had come, whipped around the next corner and it was gone, leaving a slight hum in its place.

Somewhere in the silence, it occurred to me that that was fun. Really fun. Something you couldn't only do once.

And sure enough, I was out there dodging trains for the rest of the day- until the sky darkened to an early dusk.

Walking home that evening, I had seen some of the most beautiful colors streaked across the sky. I would occasionally stop briefly, just to capture the arrangement of colors in my mind forever. Then I would move, jerking out of my reverie, and set off toward my house again. What was usually a 20-minute trip had become a 45-minute trip.

By the time I had gotten home, it was pitch-black, and stars were twinkling in the sky. I hoped Mom and Dad weren't too concerned about where I had been all that time.