Kid Turboni, 12, has a plan to make it rain. His friend (and maybe more) Kelly, 11, is helping him.

(Warning: Using this scene without permission is illegal, as is reproducing it on a website or in print in any way.)

KELLY: Do you think we'll be able to pull it off tonight?

KID: No. Well, I don't know. Maybe. I want to make sure I do it right, if we're going to do it at all.

KELLY: What do you mean?

KID: Nothing.

KELLY: Hey, Kid?

KID: Yeah?

KELLY: ...You ever sit by the garden in the courtyard and think?

KID: ...No.

KELLY: You ever sit anywhere and just think?

(For a brief second, the scene darkens to the confessional spotlight and the sound of a sparkler is heard. Kid stares out toward the audience. As soon as the moment rises, it falls, and Kid's back in the courtyard with Kelly. The whole sequence should only take a few seconds.)

KID: No...

KELLY: Sometimes I sit there and think about school, the times when everyone thinks I should be understanding something that doesn't make sense.

KID: ...Like what?

KELLY: Like... You know how they go around the room and make everyone take a turn reading a paragraph or two out loud?

KID: Yeah?

KELLY: I just have trouble with that, sometimes.

KID: What kind of trouble?

KELLY: Letters not being where I think they should be. Like a puzzle that was put together wrong.

KID: You should tell Ms. Finster. I bet she'd help you.

KELLY: I don't want to tell anyone.

Except you, I guess.

I'm sorry, that was weird.

(She stands up and goes to leave.)

KID: I keep having dreams about my mom.

(She stops, sits back down.)

KELLY: What kind of dreams?

KID: One dream over and over.

We're crossing Washington Street on our way to Taqueria Veracruz for dinner.

She was real excited about it. I can smell her perfume, in the dream.

I feel the street under my shoe, and I see the car. The yellow headlights.

I feel her push me hard, and then my face hitting the street, breaking my nose.

Then I see Mom on the ground, and the broken bumper with the glass from the headlights everywhere.

A police officer picks me up and I see the red and blue lights reflect off every window on the way to the hospital.

KELLY: Kid.

KID: The dreams have been coming on real strong lately, stronger even than the night after her funeral, and I thought it'd never be worse than that.

KELLY: Maybe it's the heat?

KID: Yeah, the heat.

KELLY: Truth.

(Pause.)

(Kelly reaches over and holds Kid's hand.)