The Snow by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

of ordinary manila file folders. The top one was open. Stapled to the right side were papers, and to the left cover, a photograph of Dolly.
    Mr. Shevvington closed Dolly’s file. Then he counted the stack. Ten files: not new — wrinkled, much used.
    Not future victims, thought Christina. Past victims. The file beneath Dolly’s is Anya’s, and behind that Val’s. I knew there were papers! I knew it!
    “How is your counseling coming along?” said Mr. Shevvington. Slowly, lovingly, he closed the briefcase. “Are you making progress?”
    He knew perfectly well Christina had not said a syllable to the counselor he had picked out. And never would. “I am making a great deal of progress,” said Christina. “I know the truth.”
    Mr. Shevvington smiled, unworried. He patted the briefcase in a friendly way, like a dog. The files were his pets. He fed them with his horrible appetites.
    Neither Dolly nor Christina had homework. They played with Dolly’s Barbie and Ken. Dolly had everything, from the swimsuits to the miniature hair dryer to the wedding gown. But she looked as if she would rather be reading about Barbie and Ken than dressing them. “Why aren’t you reading?” said Christina. It was fun to play with Barbie and Ken. They always did what you told them to. And they always smiled and were happy to get new clothes.
    “Mr. Shevvington took away my library privileges.”
    Christina laughed. “No, really,” she said. “Why aren’t you reading?”
    “Mr. Shevvington says I’m not living in the real world,” explained Dolly. “He says when you live entirely through characters in books it’s a sign of dementia. He says I’ll do demented things like — well — like — ” Dolly had the grace to blush; obviously Mr. Shevvington had said she might burn clothes like Christina or go crazy like Anya. “Anyway, I’m not supposed to read every single minute.”
    Dolly looped her braids around her throat, chewed the tips for a while, and put high heels on Barbie. “I slipped going down Breakneck Hill, Chrissie. And yesterday I fell on the stairs. Every time I see a slant, I feel as if I’m falling. I was telling Anya and she said she always feels that way. She’s felt that way since she moved here.”
    Christina held tighter to Ken and Barbie.
    No! I’m not ready! I’m trying to survive without people to sit with at lunch. I’m trying to get through each day knowing my parents think I’m half crazy. I can’t save Dolly now. I haven’t saved myself. How can you be somebody else’s savior when you can’t be your own?
    “Sometimes I think it’s named for me, Chrissie.”
    “What is?” Christina decided to set up the barbecue for Ken to broil steaks.
    “Breakneck Hill. I think I’m the one who’s going to break her neck.”
    “No, you’re not. It was named a hundred years ago for some little boy who rode his bike down it.” Christina stood Ken by the barbecue. If I don’t think about what Dolly’s saying, it won’t be true, thought Christina.
    Dolly folded her Barbie so that Barbie reclined in the bubble bath, her white toes poking up out of the tub. “Mrs. Shevvington told me that sometimes things repeat themselves when it’s exactly a hundred years.”
    A tiny gold-and-red foil fire glinted in Ken’s barbecue.
    Christina thought of falls and fires. Was it just one step from burning a person’s clothes to burning that person?
    “Dolly, don’t worry. You won’t fall. I promise. I’ll be there for you.”
    Dolly beamed. “And will you do another little favor for me, too, Chrissie?” A voice half whine, half love. “Would you get books for me out of your school library? I have a list. I can’t get them from the elementary school library.”
    “Why not? Are they sex manuals?”
    “Of course not. They’re just stories. I can’t get through the week without some good books to read.”
    “You mean you’ve read every single good book in the elementary school library?”
    An odd, sly