short with his knife, and hands the bouquet across the table to her. “You were a really beautiful angel.”
She smiles shyly at him and puts the flowers in her water glass, punch-drunk. “Thank you,” she demurs.
Oh, Willa—not you, too.
Kate starts back up with Owen, flirting hard like she’s out to save her own life. She is stunning in that dress, and Willa and I watch the show until—“Here we are!” A line of servers swoop in to whisk away our empty dinner plates and put delicate chocolate sand castle cakes before each of us, even Luke—because they are flourless chocolate, dusted with crushed almond “sand.”
“Ohhhh…,” Willa breathes, the disappointment of the fancy scallops forgotten with the first bite of dense, heavy cake.
“I will go to my grave trying to replicate this,” Dad murmurs, eyes closed.
“Harp,” Mom says, leaning forward around Hannah and Willa. “Just try it. It won’t kill you. Seriously, this is the best thing in the world.”
Smells so good. But I can’t screw it up this close to the end—no, the
beginning
—the start of our lives, the entire point of our existence so carefully crafted every day of every year for so long.
It is nearly here.
I see Owen watch this exchange with interest.
“I’ll have it later,” I tell her. “I’ll take it home, I swear.”
And I do. In the kitchen that night, I wrap it in foil with a note reading,
HARPER’S! DO NOT EAT!
Tonight’s snow is the best I’ve ever danced. I felt it. Fourteen years and I’m ready.
We’re
ready.
No thinking about Owen or Owen with Kate or Owen at all
until the safety of January, when, SF Ballet contract in hand, I’m going to eat this entire sand castle of chocolate, all of it, because it will be my reward.
“See you after auditions, little chocolate minx!” I whisper.
The sun is going down this afternoon, April 25. It will stay dark until late August, and tonight there is a party. A dance to celebrate or say farewell to the sun or something. This is not the Midwinter Formal, but Charlotte says it is nuts and mostly everyone drinks themselves into oblivion. The condom bowls are being refilled daily.
“Be there for sunset. It’s gone at one-forty-three; do
not
be late. Both of you. Promise?”
It’s only ten in the morning, but we’re taking the rest of the day off. Charlotte’s pinning her curls up off her face and pulling her shoes back on. “Stupid feet keep swelling,” she says. “The heaters are on too high. Sunset! I’ll see you out on The Ice, right? Viv?”
Vivian shrugs but nods as she lugs a box of beakers to a cabinet.
“Harper? Sunset?”
“Yes,” I say, “of course.” I smile in the half daze I’ve been in the last few weeks. I think the heaters
are
on too high. “Charlotte.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“When do planes start going to the pole? Can they go before Winter Over is…over?” I laugh quietly to myself. Vivian sighs.
Charlotte strides to me, holds my face in her hands, and looks into my eyes. “You’re eating, yes?”
I nod.
“Staying warm? Taking vitamin D?”
“Yep.” She studies me.
“I don’t know.” She frowns. “If you’re not more with it on Monday, I’m sending you to the infirmary.”
“What?”
I whine. “Why?”
She shakes her head. “I promised your mom. You’ve got to be careful.
Never look a Winter Overer in the eye
—you know why people say that?”
I shrug.
“She’s got it,” Vivian pipes up from across the lab.
“Not necessarily,” Charlotte says.
“Oh my God, what? I’ve
got
something?”
“T3,” Vivian says flatly.
“What the hell is
that
?”
“You don’t want to know,” Charlotte says. “Just stay hydrated. Get some exercise…and you’ve got to socialize. I’m not kidding. You
have
to.”
“I
am
!” I wail. “I go outside all the time with Aiden. What is T3?”
It is true; I walk outside with him in the afternoon. Sometimes.
“Take a class, get in the Ping-Pong tournament—there
She smiles shyly at him and puts the flowers in her water glass, punch-drunk. “Thank you,” she demurs.
Oh, Willa—not you, too.
Kate starts back up with Owen, flirting hard like she’s out to save her own life. She is stunning in that dress, and Willa and I watch the show until—“Here we are!” A line of servers swoop in to whisk away our empty dinner plates and put delicate chocolate sand castle cakes before each of us, even Luke—because they are flourless chocolate, dusted with crushed almond “sand.”
“Ohhhh…,” Willa breathes, the disappointment of the fancy scallops forgotten with the first bite of dense, heavy cake.
“I will go to my grave trying to replicate this,” Dad murmurs, eyes closed.
“Harp,” Mom says, leaning forward around Hannah and Willa. “Just try it. It won’t kill you. Seriously, this is the best thing in the world.”
Smells so good. But I can’t screw it up this close to the end—no, the
beginning
—the start of our lives, the entire point of our existence so carefully crafted every day of every year for so long.
It is nearly here.
I see Owen watch this exchange with interest.
“I’ll have it later,” I tell her. “I’ll take it home, I swear.”
And I do. In the kitchen that night, I wrap it in foil with a note reading,
HARPER’S! DO NOT EAT!
Tonight’s snow is the best I’ve ever danced. I felt it. Fourteen years and I’m ready.
We’re
ready.
No thinking about Owen or Owen with Kate or Owen at all
until the safety of January, when, SF Ballet contract in hand, I’m going to eat this entire sand castle of chocolate, all of it, because it will be my reward.
“See you after auditions, little chocolate minx!” I whisper.
The sun is going down this afternoon, April 25. It will stay dark until late August, and tonight there is a party. A dance to celebrate or say farewell to the sun or something. This is not the Midwinter Formal, but Charlotte says it is nuts and mostly everyone drinks themselves into oblivion. The condom bowls are being refilled daily.
“Be there for sunset. It’s gone at one-forty-three; do
not
be late. Both of you. Promise?”
It’s only ten in the morning, but we’re taking the rest of the day off. Charlotte’s pinning her curls up off her face and pulling her shoes back on. “Stupid feet keep swelling,” she says. “The heaters are on too high. Sunset! I’ll see you out on The Ice, right? Viv?”
Vivian shrugs but nods as she lugs a box of beakers to a cabinet.
“Harper? Sunset?”
“Yes,” I say, “of course.” I smile in the half daze I’ve been in the last few weeks. I think the heaters
are
on too high. “Charlotte.”
“Mm-hmm?”
“When do planes start going to the pole? Can they go before Winter Over is…over?” I laugh quietly to myself. Vivian sighs.
Charlotte strides to me, holds my face in her hands, and looks into my eyes. “You’re eating, yes?”
I nod.
“Staying warm? Taking vitamin D?”
“Yep.” She studies me.
“I don’t know.” She frowns. “If you’re not more with it on Monday, I’m sending you to the infirmary.”
“What?”
I whine. “Why?”
She shakes her head. “I promised your mom. You’ve got to be careful.
Never look a Winter Overer in the eye
—you know why people say that?”
I shrug.
“She’s got it,” Vivian pipes up from across the lab.
“Not necessarily,” Charlotte says.
“Oh my God, what? I’ve
got
something?”
“T3,” Vivian says flatly.
“What the hell is
that
?”
“You don’t want to know,” Charlotte says. “Just stay hydrated. Get some exercise…and you’ve got to socialize. I’m not kidding. You
have
to.”
“I
am
!” I wail. “I go outside all the time with Aiden. What is T3?”
It is true; I walk outside with him in the afternoon. Sometimes.
“Take a class, get in the Ping-Pong tournament—there
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