Snow: Fog, Snow, and Fire

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Michael and Benjamin and Dolly Jaye nodded.

  Anya floated, unhearing.

  Dolly slipped into a chair. She was small enough that her feet did not touch the floor, and she swung them a little, like a toddler.

  There was ice in Christina’s heart, put there by the betrayals of her parents and friends. If she melted that ice, people would be her friends again. But if she ceased to fight the Shevvingtons, nobody would fight them. They would win forever and ever, whether they wanted to humiliate Katy in English or push Dolly off the balcony.

  “We’re trying to help Dolly grow up,” explained Benj.

  Christina abandoned melting. “Why does growing up in this household always mean you can’t do the things you like to do?” said Christina. “Dolly likes to read, so why can’t she read?”

  “I suppose the corollary to that,” said Mrs. Shevvington, “is you like to burn your clothing, so why can’t you burn your clothing?”

  Christina hurled all five of the library books straight at Mrs. Shevvington. None of them missed.

  Chapter 15

  AND SO CHRISTINA LOST her Saturday privileges again. While the others went out, she was forced to stay inside. It snowed all day: a light, friendly snow, the kind you turned your face up into and held out your tongue to collect a flake from the sky.

  Mr. Shevvington went to the school, where he said he would be all day. He took his briefcase, waving it at Christina as he got into his car.

  Mrs. Shevvington went to get groceries. Dolly went with her. Dolly said she loved doing errands.

  How strange, thought Christina. Why doesn’t Dolly go out with her friends in the sixth grade?

  Dolly has no friends.

  She had not asked a single sixth-grade girl over to the Inne. Nor telephoned one. Nor talked about one. She was alone every day when she met Christina after school.

  Am I Dolly’s only friend? thought Christina.

  It was frightening. Christina’s dream of coming to the mainland had been to have rafts of friends — crowds — rooms full. At times she did. At this time she did not. But Dolly had never even used the word “friend.”

  Christina sat alone in the house. Even Anya was gone, working at the laundromat.

  Outside the tide fumbled in Candle Cove, whispering Fffffffff, Ffffffff, Ffffffff. It sounded like a giant blowing out candles on a birthday cake. In a moment the whispering would turn slushy, as the rising water crawled forward, gathered momentum, and then began slamming against the rocks like trapped thunder.

  No sun glinted through the mansion’s windows. The color of the air was gray. The white banisters of the stairwell curled above her, like twirling cake candles. Christina climbed the stairs. She did not want to be near the cellar door.

  Ffffffffffff, said the cove.

  At the second floor she paused.

  The door to the last guest room — number eight — was open.

  It seemed to Christina that she heard someone laughing.

  Fffffffff, said the cove.

  Christina slid into room number eight, back against the wall, in case the giggle or the tide began to rise up in the house as well.

  She had never noticed before that Room 8 had a definite personality. The pencil-thin posters of the high antique bed lent a fragile air to a room decorated in lace. The colors of the room were pale, the color of ghosts. And the surprise of the room was a thick black rug with silver and gray streaks, like a storm cloud on the floor.

  The colors of Anya.

  Ten file folders, thought Christina Romney. Mr. Shevvington counted out ten file folders and tucked them into his briefcase.

  The last two aren’t yet closed — me and Dolly. Because we aren’t destroyed yet. That means eight folders of girls they have destroyed.

  Eight guest rooms.

  Val, Robbie’s older sister, must be the folder beneath Anya. Folder Seven. Room Seven. Slowly, as one opening a casket at a funeral home, Christina entered the room with 7 on the door.

  She had been in these rooms several times. They were all different, but never before had she noticed how different.

  Here the carpet was blue as the sea in summer, and the walls a rich violet, like sunset. The curtains were deeper blue, like night at sea. The room was small, but the dark colors did not close it in: they opened it, like a flower in a crystal vase.

  It was a rich, sensuous room.

  Val, sister of Robbie, on your narrow cot in your hospital room. Is this you? Are you a girl of violet and blue?

  The room was as clean as a sanctuary. Waiting for its guest. But Val would never visit this room. She was trapped in another.

  Christina backed out of Val’s room and crossed to Number 6. She peeked in from the hall, as if Number 6 would resent being trespassed upon.

  Number 6 liked yellow. Number 6 was sunshine and gold, glinting like sunrise on glass. Number 6 would love dancing and music and laughter.

  Christina did not want to see Number 1, or the personalities of Numbers 2, or 3, or 4, or 5.

  But she thought about Number 6 all day.

  Where are you, Number 6? From what high school did they take you? Into what laundromat or what institution did they put you?

  Several days later, over supper, Michael talked relentlessly about basketball. The team was sixteen and nine, and if they won tonight’s game, they would go into the regional play-offs. He said almost shyly to Christina, “It was nice to see you at practice this afternoon.”

  “You were terrific,” she said to him. “Especially at suicide.”

  Michael grinned. “I love suicide.”

  “You what?” said Dolly.

  “Suicide,” explained Christina, “is when the coach makes the boys run full speed into the wall, slam into it, pivot around, race back across the gym, slam into that wall, pivot, race back across the gym, slam into — ”

  “I get the point,” said Dolly. “And this is what my brother is good at? Why don’t they give it a peaceful name, like, say, Double Wall Approach?”

  “Because it’s not peaceful,” said Benjamin. “It’s supposed to turn the team into warriors. Make them want to stomp the other team.” Benjamin was teasing his younger brother.

  “What is it you guys yell when you huddle on the edge of the court just before the game begins?” Dolly wanted to know.

  Michael grinned again. “Sometimes we yell ‘Defense!’ and sometimes we yell ‘Team work!’ but last week we yelled ‘Crunch ’em!,’ and we scored so high that we’re always gonna yell ‘Crunch ’em!’ from now on.”

  Dolly said, “I hope skiing is more civilized.”

  The Shevvingtons smiled.

  Michael said, “I phoned Mom and Dad and got permission. But there’s one little problem. I don’t want to go. We’re having an extra practice that weekend and I’d rather do that. So if you don’t mind, Mrs. Shevvington, and thanks a lot for offering. I’ll spend the weekend with George instead.”

  No! thought Christina. I need you. You haven’t noticed anything wrong with Dolly or the Shevvingtons yet, but I need your body and your muscles and your presence over the ski weekend!

  “Fine idea,” said Mr. Shevvington. “George’s family are fine people. I approve heartily of your dedication to the team spirit, Michael.”

  Michael did not notice the falseness in this silly sentence; it was the kind of remark he expected from a principal. “Gotta run. You coming to the game, Chrissie?”

  “Yes,” said Christina. “Dolly and I both are.”

  “Oh, no,” said Dolly. “I have homework.” Her brother stood very still. Christina had been stabbed like that many times this year. She had not known Michael was getting stabbed. “I bought tickets, Dolly,” said Christina. “You can do your homework at halftime. We need to see Michael play.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Michael. He was into his coat and out the door in moments.

  Anya said, “I’ll go to the game with you, Chrissie. May I use Dolly’s ticket?”

 
They were so startled that Anya was still a living, speaking presence that nobody spoke. “That’s great, Anya,” Christina managed. “I’d love that. Finish your supper. We have to leave pretty soon.”

  They had plenty of time actually, but to get Anya ready to appear in public might take half an evening.

  Dolly asked Mrs. Shevvington if they could do her homework together. “It’s more fun that way,” she said, smiling up at Mrs. Shevvington.

  Benjamin said, “Listen. If Michael’s not going skiing, I don’t want to. At the gas station they’ll pay me overtime. How about I stay at George’s, too? They have lots of room.”

  Benj’s expression did not change like his brother’s or sister’s. There was no excitement, pleading, or enthusiasm. It was stolid. A fisherman’s face. He waited patiently for the Shevvingtons’ decision.

  It came as no surprise to Christina that Mr. Shevvington felt this was a Fine Idea. Dedication to a Personal Goal. It was What Growing Up Was All About. Benj grunted and left the table.

  So it would be Dolly, Anya, and Christina going skiing. Anya can’t even comb her hair, and Dolly wants to be crunched.

  She would probably begin giggling with hysteria when they reached the ski resort, get locked up like Val or Number 6, leaving the Shevvingtons free to manipulate Dolly’s fear of heights on the Killer Slopes.

  There was, Christina remembered, a ski trail called Suicide.

  Perhaps they would start Dolly out on that one.

  Anya came running down the stairs. “Are we going?” she said anxiously to Christina. Christina could remember when Anya wore a dark navy blue coat set off by a crimson scarf and soft, supple gloves with a purse that matched. Now Anya had gotten into an old ski jacket whose down was leaking out the seams. She’d rammed a ragged ski cap over her hair without checking in the mirror. One ear showed, the other didn’t.

  Christina wanted to shake her by the shoulders. Why can’t you pull yourself together? Why do you have to keep rowing with one oar?

  But she loved Anya. “Here,” she said quietly. “Let me button your coat for you.” Anya had started with the first button, but the second hole. Christina fixed her and walked her to the front door.

  Anya took her hand when they reached the sidewalk. “Slippery,” she confided.

  You don’t know how slippery, thought Christina.

  The two girls hiked.

  If Blake were here, he’d drive us in his beautiful red sports car, thought Christina. She wondered if Anya had finished that letter to Blake and put a stamp on it and dropped it off at the post office. It seemed far more than Anya was capable of. Anyway, she hadn’t asked Blake for help. Only told him they were having tea and toast.

  By now Blake surely had a new girlfriend to match himself: beautiful and well dressed and sleek. Why would he bother again with Anya?

  Anya said, “Chrissie, I can’t wait to go skiing.”

  Christina was amazed. Anya was being brought on the ski trip rather like a suitcase or a bathrobe. Nobody expected her to ski. “That’s great, Anya,” said Christina. “Do you know how to ski?”

  “No,” said Anya. She laughed — a real laugh — her old laugh. “But Blake does.”

  Christina repeated, “Blake?”

  Anya’s joyous laugh rang like church bells. “Blake answered my letter,” she said. “His boarding school is only a few miles away from the ski resort we’re going to. He’s meeting me!”

  Christina gasped. Blake — an ally! Right there! Blake had known more about the Shevvingtons than anybody, and Blake had believed. “Anya, you didn’t tell the Shevvingtons about this, did you? They don’t know, do they?”

  “Tell the Shevvingtons?” said Anya. “What — do you think I’m crazy?”

  They both laughed. Gales of sane girlish laughter.

  At last, at last — they knew something the Shevvingtons didn’t.

  Chapter 16

  “DON’T TELL DOLLY,” WHISPERED Christina.

  Anya nodded. “I won’t. Dolly loves the Shevvingtons.”

  “But how did you get a letter back from Blake? The Shevvingtons get all the mail first.”

  “I put the laundromat as my return address,” said Anya. Her huge, dark eyes flickered in her chalk-white face, like a poster child from a country filled with starvation. “I don’t have any clothes to wear, Chrissie. I’ve never been skiing.”

  “Neither have I. The Shevvingtons bought Dolly a beautiful emerald-green ski suit. She looks like a Christmas tree ornament.”

  “I know. I saw. You and I will have to come up with something. I have to look perfect for Blake.”

  Christina thought this was the most romantic thing ever to happen. True love was going to rescue Anya.

  We’ll whip the Shevvingtons! she thought. Blake and Anya and I.

  Now Christina could hardly wait for the three-day weekend.

  The joy of revenge bubbled in Christina like soda pop. When she and Anya entered the high school, she was all but dancing. They handed their cardboard tickets to the kid at the gym door and got their hands stamped with the school initials. Biting their lips to contain their wild laughter, they took two steps — and Mr. Shevvington blocked the way.

  She had forgotten that the principal attended home games.

  “Anya,” he said. His voice was soft. He wet his lips. “You look so lively. Has something happened?”

  Anya put up quivering hands to protect herself from the piercing shaft of his eyes. They were blue tonight, blank as insanity.

  Mr. Shevvington took Anya’s wrists and lowered her hands. “Tell me, Anya,” he coaxed.

  She would tell. Christina knew it. Then the Shevvingtons would know, could protect themselves, and what was worse, would laugh at Christina for deluding herself that she could beat them.

  “I decided to kick butt, Mr. Shevvington,” Christina said crudely. “I’m gonna shape her up. I put lots of makeup on her. She’s gonna scream for the team or else.”

  Legs flaring left, pompons rustling right, the cheerleaders were shouting, “Michael, Michael, he’s our man, if he can’t do it, no one can!”

  “Christina, Christina, she’s our man,” said Christina to the principal. “If she can’t do it, no one can.”

  Mr. Shevvington laughed. “Getting her cheeks rosy with rouge, Christina, is hardly putting her back together again.”

  Anya said fretfully, “It’s noisy in here, Chrissie. I wanna go home.”

  “I’ll be with you,” said Christina. “Don’t whimper.”

  Anya dipped further into baby talk. “I’na go home,” she mumbled.

  Mr. Shevvington smiled and turned away to greet a basketball parent.

  “Oh, Arthur,” said the parent adoringly. “You’re not only here for every game, you don’t miss the Junior Varsity either. It gives the boys such a boost that their principal always supports them. With your schedule I just don’t know how you do it.”

  Christina yanked Anya by her coat collar. On the bleachers the kids were kicking the boards with their heels. “Air ball, air ball, air ball!” screamed the kids hopefully.

  At games the kids bunched by grade, and within that bunch by cliques. Christina had never been to a game before and did not know where to sit. Anya no longer had a grade or a clique. There’s Jennie, Christina thought with relief, and behind her is Robbie.

  Christina hauled Anya over coats, between couples, and up four rows. Anya continued whimpering and resisting. Christina could not tell if Anya was acting for Mr. Shevvington’s sake or if she had slipped back into her old self. She could hardly ask. (“Are you sane or not right now, Anya?”) Christina found a space big enough for two and shoved Anya down. She sat — and found Gretchen and Vicki on her right.

  “What’re you doing here?” said Gretch.

  “We came to see Michael.”

  “It’s about time,” said Vicki.

  They watched the game. Two minutes by the time clock, eight minutes in real life.

  Gretch said cr
itically, “Anya looks pretty decent. She must be getting someplace with her psychiatrist.”

  Anya’s cheeks stained red. Christina considered snapping off Gretchen’s fingers, when she realized it was the first time in months that Anya had been sufficiently aware to be hurt. Christina squeezed Anya’s hand for comfort, and Anya squeezed back. She’s in there! thought Christina, and her joy soared to the gym ceiling.

  “So are you going skiing on the three-day weekend?” said Gretchen to Christina. “We always go. We have our own condo, of course. And season passes, so we don’t have to wait in line the way you’ll have to. What kind of boots do you have? Mine’re new this year, of course.”

  Christina had nothing.

  Gretch said, “You’ve never seen my new ski outfit either, Christina. It’s the height of fashion. I’m a very good skier, of course. Which slope will you be on? The bunny slope?” She giggled. “Last weekend when we were skiing, two kids broke their legs right there on the bunny slope. We laughed so hard.”

  You are pond scum, thought Christina. Sewer sludge.

  Vicki leaned over. “I suppose you’ll have blue jeans on. The first time you fall you’ll be soaked.”

  “That’ll be in sixty seconds,” said Gretch.

  Vicki and Gretch laughed and laughed.

  Anya flushed.

  Christina had seen the outfit Gretchen had ordered. She had shown it to the whole seventh grade. Gleaming synthetic skiwear that clung to the body like colored water. The kind of clothing perfect people wore.

  Christina thought, Blake will be a fine skier. He’s that kind of person. He won’t want an Anya who falls over and is clumsy and wearing wet jeans. He’ll want somebody beautiful and graceful and brilliant.

  What if Anya did not measure up? What if Blake abandoned them?

  Christina shut it out of her mind. She watched Michael play. He was very good. Not enough height, but he made up for it in speed.

  I don’t have enough height, either, thought Christina. But I am going to make up for it in cleverness. So there.