The snow muffles the outside world and when my alarm goes off there is no way I want to get up and face it. Grandma Betty's house is just too safe and cozy, especially my bed. Still, I haul my tired butt up to look out the window. Snow covers everything and it's… what? The middle of October.
"This is just wrong," I announce and pull the lace curtains all the way open. The strange white light that snow reflects drifts into my room.
It's breakfast and I'm by my lonesome. Grandma Betty left me a huge note in the middle of the table, right by a water mark that looks just like South Carolina. I swallow and touch where Charleston would be. Then I check out the note: Zara… I'm off to the station. A logging truck jackknifed on Route 9. Minor injuries. There is still school.
You didn't pray hard enough. Better luck next time. Ha-ha. All juniors have PE so make sure you bring clothes. Drive careful. It's slippery out. Here's a map. It's a pretty straight shot. Do not drive after dark.
I'll be home by nightfall. Knock them dead. The keys are right here.
She drew an arrow pointing at the keys, next to the note on the table, like I'd miss them.
I scoop them up and dangle them in the air. One catches at the string around my finger. It's getting loose.
The disaster that is my morning begins when I dash down the front steps and skid into the tree. A thin layer of ice is hiding beneath the snow. I don't see it. I wobble and skid, windmilling my arms until I run right into a big pine tree. I hard-hug it to keep from smashing my face into the bark.
"Damn."
Slowly, carefully I edge away. If you don't pick up your feet, you can sort of glide across it like ice skaters do; of course, it's hard to do that in heels.
"One foot in front of the other," I tell myself. "One foot in front of… Ack!"
Another wobble, another arm windmill, and I lunge toward the car, slamming my hands down on the hood. I puff out my breath. It makes a cloud in the air. My pretty shoes I'd bought in Charleston? Totally covered with snow. Near my footprints are work-boot prints and tiny specks of gold glitter, like the kind you use in an art project in first grade. Betty must have checked out the car at some point last night.
That's right: the sticker on the side is peeled off.
I stop thinking for a second because it's not the boot prints that are interesting. Not at all.
Near Betty's footprints are huge dog prints. I mean, I think they're dog prints. Cats don't get that big. I tilt my head. I didn't know she had a dog. Maybe that's what I heard howling at midnight. Maybe that's what I saw at the edge of the woods. Or maybe it was some big Cujo rabid dog thing, waiting to pounce on me, with its red, red eyes and shiny jowls, and its monster evil teeth. Total cynophobia.
I smack my hand against my head to stop myself.
"I've been reading too much Stephen King.”
But the truth is that I haven't read those Maine horror stories since seventh grade, when my dad forbade me.
What had he said?
"Love Stephen, but he gives Maine a bad rap."
Thinking about my dad makes every breath I take seem like a gulp. I yank my purse up on my shoulder and clamber inside my car. Grandma Betty also left a note on the dashboard.
Turn on defrost. That's the button with the squiggly lines.
I find the button, but my shaking fingers have a hard time turning it on. Cold air cranks out full blast. It's like being kissed by the Abominable Snowman or a Stephen King horror monster from hell that sucks out your soul. Or is that from the Harry Potter books? I don't remember.
The air smashes against my lips. I swear I can feel them chapping.
"Great."
It takes five minutes for the windshields to clear. I use that time to slide back into the house and get my hat, keeping an eye out for rabid dogs. Then I get back in the car, pull out of the driveway, and learn something else about ice. It isn't easy to drive on. You can't go above thirty if you don't want to fishtail into the other lane.
Ice stinks.
By the time I get to school, my knuckles are white from fearand frostbite and my heart's beating a million thumps a minute, so I'm not too happy when some jerk in a beautiful red MINI Cooper cuts me off and speeds into the parking lot in front of me. He has chains on his tires. They don't spin. I love MINls.
"Hey!" I yell as my brakes lock up again.
I inch into a parking space, rest my head on the steering wheel, and let myself exhale. I'd like to pummel that guy in the MINI, which is not a very nonviolent thought. But instead I will be peaceful and good and make my dad proud. I touch the string on my finger, loose, frayed, still there.
"I will not be violent," I chant-mutter. "I will not be violent. I am peaceful and good. I am peaceful and good. I do not want to give anyone the finger."
I switch off the car, thrust myself out the door, and wait.
The MINI Cooper guy jumps out of the car with the grace that only really good jocks have and lands on an ice patch without slipping at all. He has boots on. God, the guys up here wear boots: tan, I'm-a-carpenter boots. It's like I've completely abandoned civilization.
He slams the door, turns around, and finally notices that I exist. How kind of him.
My heart stops. It starts again, but it beats a lot harder when I meet his eyes. I'm frozen there and he strides across the ice like he's moving across gravel or grass. He doesn't slip once. Each step he takes brings him closer to me, and he only stops when I make out the deep brown irises around his pupils, the tiny bit of stubble on his cheeks and chin (not too much but enough that you know he has to shave a lot).
I can actually smell the musk of him. He's so close it's like he's invading my territory-no, my personal space. I take a step backward and slip. His hand reaches out and grabs my elbow, balancing me.
"Be careful. It's wicked slippery here," he says, a smile leaking across his face.
I would smile back, but I'm too busy feeling all wiggly inside. I tough up my voice. "Oh. Yeah."
His thick chestnut hair lifts with the wind. He sniffs the air. "You sure you're okay?"
“I’ll be okay?"
"Yeah. Thanks."
He nods and gives a little half smile and waves before he walks away. He strides, really. He's beautiful, even from the back. I shake my head to stop staring, bustle off to the school's front office, and push open the door. It's a lot lighter than I expect. It slams into the wall with a big thud. My cheeks get all hot and I say, "Sorry."
The good-looking pale girl doing the announcements gives me one of those "Who the hell are you?"
looks.
I smile at her and try to channel total sweetness while I say it again. "Sorry."
It doesn't work. She flings her long strawberry blond hair behind her shoulder and lifts her lip in a little snarl. I raise my eyebrows in some sort of movie move. Touche.
My apology works on the school secretary, though. She perks right up and bustles over to the counter.
She reminds me of Mrs. Santa Claus, only without the red jumpsuit and the sugar cookies.
"Oh! You must be Zara White! Betty's granddaughter." She pushes her long, thinning hair behind her ears like a little girl. "You look so much like your mother. It's really remarkable. I would have known you anywhere. It's like twins… only different hair. You must have your father's hair."
She takes a breath in the middle of her gushing and I take advantage.
I nod, all awkward. "Yep, that's me. Hi. I need to register for classes. Sorry if that makes extra work for you."
Evil Announcement Girl huffs and her nose actually twitches but the secretary smiles and says, "How sweet. She's sorry. Your mother raised you well. I'm so sorry about your stepfather, dear."