Freeze Tag by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

very different from the one that had been touching him these last weeks.
    Tuesday became very businesslike. She did not want this evening to deteriorate into some sort of icky romantic thing. “I think,” said Tuesday, “that you’ve given it enough of a shot, West. Now in the morning, you march up to Lannie and you tell Lannie it’s been fun, but it’s time for you to move on.”
    West looked at his sister incredulously. “After what she did to Meghan?”
    “It’s worth a try,” said Tuesday.
    West shook his head. “She’ll hurt somebody.”
    “We’ll keep our distance.”
    “She’ll run after you.”
    “Don’t be a wimp,” said Tuesday sharply. “You have to let Lannie know the score. Otherwise, this could go on forever.”
    Tuesday made it sound so simple. Meghan tried to believe her. That West could just say, Hey , Lan , been fun , see ya around , back to normal now , don’t hurt anybody , ’kay?
    “Okay,” said West, nodding, trying to give himself courage. “You’re right. It can’t go on forever.”
    Meghan ate a huge breakfast, having skipped dinner the night before. Her mother was delighted. Mothers always loved seeing you eat breakfast. Even though Meghan had fixed it herself, her mother seemed to feel she could take credit for it.
    But she was not so eager to go outside.
    For this was the morning. West was to tell Lannie to skip off and leave him alone. Leave them all alone.
    To whom was Lannie the most dangerous?
    Would she turn on West, for breaking his promise? Would she turn on Meghan, for being the one West still wanted? Would she turn on Tuesday, for being the sister who started things?
    This won’t work! thought Meghan. He mustn’t do it! Lannie isn’t going to say, oh, well, it was worth a try, have a nice life without me, West! Lannie’s going to attack!
    Meghan rushed to the telephone and stabbed at the familiar buttons, to call West, tell him no, no, no, no, no!
    She didn’t get past the second number.
    West, Tuesday, and Brown were already outside. West had his mother’s car keys in his hand; was unlocking the doors. Tuesday was getting in front — Lannie’s place. Brown was playing Indian and hollering and whooping and generally attracting attention.
    Meghan set the phone down gently. She got into her coat. She pulled on her mittens. She tightened her scarf. Perhaps Lannie’s touch could not go through clothing. Perhaps wool or goosedown could save Meghan.
    Right, she thought. There is no getting away from Lannie.
    Meghan came out her front door.
    Lannie came out hers.
    The Trevor children looked up Dark Fern Lane, and saw them both.
    West, Tuesday, Brown, Lannie, and Meghan all knew. This was a test. The game had reached another level. They looked at each other and, even from her front door, Meghan could feel the heat and the cold, the hatred and the love, the fear and the need.
    No one else did.
    Two houses up, the rest of the Dark Fern Lane children waited for the buses. There were two kindergartners at that stop, two first-graders, no second-graders, one third-grader. Then there was quite an age skip up to Brown. Lannie intended for Brown to be on that bus, not riding in the car with West and herself.
    The little children played in the snow.
    They pushed each other down and then got up and admired the dents their bottoms had put in the snow. They swung their lunches and bookbags in circles and let go, so the bright colored containers spun out like trajectiles and hit the others lightly. They laughed six-year-old laughs and made six-year-old jokes.
    The third-grader showed off, doing a cartwheel.
    The littler ones had no idea how to accomplish such a marvelous move, but they tried. They flung their legs up an inch or two and giggled proudly.
    Lannie Anveill walked through them. Stringing her fingers along as if she were hanging laundry on a line.
    Perhaps she was.
    They froze.
    The two kindergartners, the two first-graders, the one third-grader. They hung in their