Marie's room was red-lit: a vibrant paper globe dangled from the center of the ceiling, dully lighting the petite space.
Perched against the huge window, Marie cranked with both hands at the stiff mechanism until finally, with a felt creak, the rusty cogs gave in and the window opened as she turned.
Sprawled across her ornate bed, Marie's friend Ita smiled. Ita rolled over and pulled her wild black hair into a ponytail nub; tied it down with a red hairband. "The sky is really green! Are you sure opening it was a good idea?" Ita said, "What if you get wet?"
Marie wiped her slick forehead with the back of her hand. "Too late." she said. Her smile went momentarily sardonic, as she carefully climbed onto the window sill.
The two of them quietly stared out the open window, into the green evening for a while.
The humidity dropped.
Thunder rolled over them; a bolt of lightning shattered the green air and sent sparks flying from a telephone pole across the road. Both girls jumped and, eyes wide, Marie teetered on the window sill; rain pelted her, made the sill slick while the wind whipped at her wrists.
Then, Marie sighed. Her hand wrapped in Ita's, the two toppled, sopping, onto the bed in the middle of the room.
Another cavalcade of thunder and lightning smashed down around the girls.
Ita giggled. Ita said, "I'll close that."
"You want me to get off then?" Marie asked.
Ita's giggle intensified, and only after a moment was she able to nod and agree. "Your rug, though," She said, standing, "Is really soaked."