Harry can see what’s coming and tries to start pedaling faster toward the safety of the SUV but Loudermilk glances back and is like, “Stop.” Loudermilk even fakes accidentally dropping his keys and spends some time fumbling around, doing something with his wallet.

“Excuse me! Excuse me!” The girl hails them.

Harry is cursing under his breath. He pretends to find something extraordinarily fascinating to gaze at on the horizon.

“Hey!” says the girl. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry notes her Marilyn Manson T-shirt, the singer’s dilated, mismatched eyes gazing balefully up from under her left tit, her chin-length ash-brown hair, her commanding hazel gaze. He gulps. It isn’t even that she’s jailbait. She’s something way beyond that, an actress in an after-school special with genuine star power, an escape artist, a worthy fucking competitor. Harry tries unsuccessfully not to let himself get carried away.

Loudermilk is pivoting suavely.

“Hiya,” the girl says. “I hope you don’t think this is rude, I was just wondering, any chance you guys are in, like, the Seminars?”

Loudermilk cocks his head. “I wouldn’t put it past us.”

“Really?”

“It’s a fact.”

The girl looks back to her friends and waves her arms over her head. “Yes!” she screams. “Omigod, yes! You skanks so owe me money!”

Harry monitors the progress of a distant prop plane.

The girl has already turned back to Loudermilk. “Lizzie,” she says, proffering a tiny manicured hand.

“Charmed,” replies Loudermilk. He lets her know their names.

“You guys could totally give me a ride back to town if that’s not a problem!”

Loudermilk says that he doesn’t see why that should be a problem.

Harry doesn’t comment.

Loudermilk gallantly offers Lizzie shotgun. Her marshmallow-orchid perfume expands nauseatingly to fill the vehicle’s interior, and as soon as Loudermilk has the key in the ignition she begins messing with the radio.

Harry stews.

Lizzie puts on NPR. There is an interview with a nun who loves art. “Omigod,” Lizzie squeals. “Terry Gross! YES!” She leans forward, chin on fists. “I love her.”

Loudermilk drives studiously.

When the interview ends, Lizzie switches off the radio. She is all business. “So please pardon my asking but what are you guys up to at the moment? Are we just now settling in?”

Loudermilk says things are pretty much settled.

“That’s so good!” Lizzie commends him. “Sometimes people have, you know, kind of, I don’t know, culture shock? I’ve seen it happen before.” Lizzie purses her lips.

“You seem to know a lot about the Seminars.”

“Oh, I mean, like, the area. I’m saying, maybe you haven’t realized you’ve come to the vortex, your blood must feed the corn and whatnot?”

“That’s nice,” Loudermilk maintains.

“How about you?” She means Harry.

“Harry.”

“Thanks, Loudermilk. So what about Harry?”

“Dissertation,” Loudermilk says. “He’s writing his dissertation.”

“Oh!”