There are two girls from her class up ahead of her heading for school. She slows her step down. One of the girls turns and looks back at her, whispers to her friend by her side. They giggle and skip further away.

Her face turns hot in the cold November morning. She imagines it has also painted itself red. She thinks she may be a chameleon and wonders if she could wish hard enough she could make herself the color of air.

She hasn't noticed, doesn't see, what the two girls have left behind in their path. She comes upon it so suddenly, stops short and shivers with tears. From behind her someone calls her name. She hears footsteps rushing up to her.

She is a statue moved by the sight of a small hand holding hers.