The Snow

by Caroline B. Cooney

  Christina could not help herself. “A class?” she said eagerly. “I don’t know how to ski either. May I take the class, too? I don’t mind being in with little kids.”

  Mrs. Shevvington raised her caterpillar eyebrows above her bran-muffin face. “Really, Christina,” she said. “I hardly think your recent behavior warrants such a reward.” She turned back to Dolly. “And guess what else I got for you,” she said.

  Again Christina could not help herself. She looked to Anya for comfort. Anya rolled her eyes and pantomimed.

  What if the Shevvingtons saw? What if the Shevvingtons found out that Anya was healing? What might Mr. Shevvington do to get her soul back?

  Dolly said, “I don’t care. I don’t want to ski. I don’t want to go downhill anywhere, ever.”

  Christina studied her breakfast cereal to keep herself from looking in Anya’s direction. She must never look at Anya again. It would betray them both.

  “You won’t break any bones,” said Mr. Shevvington. “You’re so light and graceful, Dolly, you’ll land like a baby bird.”

  “I won’t! I’ll land on my face. I can feel it. I dream about it. The ice will rip my face and tear my hair. Please don’t make me! Give the class to Chrissie. She wants it. I’ll just sit in the ski lodge and read a book by the fire. Please don’t make me go!” Dolly put her hands over her face, not to weep behind her fingers, but to save herself from landing face first.

  “Dolly, see the lovely gloves I bought you?” said Mrs. Shevvington. “And you won’t fall. You’ll have poles to keep you up. All those dancing lessons will stand you in good stead now.”

  Dolly took the gloves.

  Christina had never seen such gloves. A green so dark and shimmering it was like the sea underwater, fabric so supple it was like skin — yet thick and waterproof.

  The mittens her mother knitted seemed made for a heavy, ugly farm wife.

  I want gloves like that, thought Christina.

  She wanted to take them from Dolly’s hands and put them on her own hands, and —

  Jealousy was alive in her, snatching her good thoughts to make them bad. The Shevvingtons were smiling. The gloves aren’t for Dolly, Christina thought. They’re for me. To bring out the worst in me. To make me abandon Dolly.

  At lunch in the cafeteria she told Jonah everything. He listened with his whole body. His sandwich hung untouched in his hand; he ate her words instead. “It’s looking good,” said Jonah. “Blake’s a great guy. With him there they can’t do much.”

  “They did before. They convinced Blake’s parents to ship him off to boarding school, and Blake couldn’t fight back. All of a sudden he was gone.”

  “They can’t manage that in a weekend,” Jonah pointed out. “Blake will protect Anya just fine.” Jonah frowned slightly. He took a huge bite out of his sandwich. Through layers of ham and cheese, he said, “Blake always liked you. And you always liked him.”

  “I think he’s terrific. That’s why I feel so good about this weekend.”

  Jonah took a more savage bite. “He’s old,” he said contemptuously. “He’s got to be eighteen.”

  Jonah was jealous. Christina, ignoring several hundred witnesses, leaned across the cafeteria table and kissed Jonah on the mouth.

  He couldn’t kiss back — he was eating. His eyes flew open with amazement, and he struggled with his ham and cheese. By the time he finished chewing, half the seventh grade had begun a football cheer — “First in ten, do it again!”

  They gathered around Christina and Jonah, saying, “Well? Going to return the favor, Jonah? Come on. Let’s see your technique.”

  Jonah threw his lunch bag at them but paper bags are poor weapons, and nothing happened, so he threw his orange.

  Kenny threw back an apple. Jonah threw his half-empty chocolate milk. Ellen hurled her pudding, and within moments they were having the food fight of the year. People were taking advantage of this wonderful moment to even scores with people they had detested. Hot lunch people, who had spaghetti, emptied spaghetti down each other’s sweaters. Christina found a plate, its tomato sauce untouched in a puddle on the white pasta, and considered Gretchen’s white cashmere sweater.

  “Who started this?” shouted the cafeteria proctor, racing among the tables.

  “Christina did,” said Gretchen.

  Christina stood very still, the spaghetti plate balanced on her palm as if she were a waitress serving dinners.

  The proctor said grimly. “Well, Miss Romney, Mr. Shevvington will not be surprised to have you brought to his office yet again.”

  Christina set down the spaghetti.

  She had unknowingly played right into Mr. Shevvington’s hands.

  He would take away the ski weekend.

  Dolly and Anya would go without her.

  Chapter 17

  “MR. SHEVVINGTON IS NOT in the office at the moment,” said the secretary, barely glancing up. It was what secretaries did best at this school — ignore the students. “He’s showing the school board members the leaking roof in the west wing. You’ll have to wait.”

  Christina sat quietly on a bench in the outer office. One secretary typed, one filed, one talked on the phone, and one scrolled down a computer screen. The clerk who was typing finished. “I’m going to take this down to the science department,” she said. The one filing said, “I’m going on break now,” and waltzed out. The clerk on the phone argued with her caller, glaring into the receiver. The computer operator moaned, pressing her hands over her eyes. “Oh, no, I did this wrong; I have to do it over.”

  Christina glided without sound across the office. She turned the handle to Mr. Shevvington’s office, opened the door, and crept in.

  The briefcase, bulging, sat under Mr. Shevvington’s desk.

  I have it! she exulted. I knew eventually I would win. Good does triumph over evil.

  She wrapped her fingers around the handle. She walked past the clerk with computer problems and the clerk with telephone problems. Neither paid any attention. She walked out of the office.

  She had taken two steps toward her locker when Mr. Shevvington appeared way down the hall, coming toward her. He was with a man and woman: the school board members.

  Christina walked the other way. She did not run. Running made people realize there was something wrong. She knew she was recognized. Only Christina had the hair of three colors. And no student, even the most geeky nerds, carried a briefcase. But Mr. Shevvington had his image to keep up. He was not going to shout, “Stop thief!” in front of school board members. Besides, she might show them the contents.

  Christina walked quickly the opposite way. It was a high school wing; the junior high students were not normally in the same halls as high school kids. The school had many wings radiating outward for the junior and senior high, with gymnasiums, auditorium, music rooms, and art department in the middle.

  “Please excuse me,” said Mr. Shevvington in a leisurely voice. “I have a discipline problem to attend to. I will telephone you after I have the figures on what it will cost to repair the roof.”

  Christina reached the end of her corridor. She could turn left or right. And once out of Mr. Shevvington’s sight, she could run.

  Any exit, she thought. Leave school. Run through town. Go to the harbor. I’ll hide the briefcase on somebody’s boat. If Frankie is there I’ll talk him into taking me back to the island right now.

  Her mind raced over hiding places, escape routes, dark corners.

  “Always a pleasure to deal with you, Arthur,” boomed the school board member.

  She wanted to look back and see if they were shaking hands or if he was already headed her way. She made herself keep going. She turned right. Shifting the heavy briefcase to her other hand, Christina began to run.

  A high school teacher lecturing in his doorway stepped backward into the hall and frowned. She smiled back. “You have a pass?” he demanded.

  Christina hoisted the briefcase instead of a pass. “Mr. Shevvington ask
ed me to bring him his briefcase,” she said, slowing her pace. The teacher nodded, watching her as she walked on. Now she could not run anymore. Heart pounding like a sprinter’s, she kept her steps slow. The corridor was horribly long. She was two thirds of the way down, approaching the next crossing of corridors, when Mr. Shevvington turned the corner behind her. “Christina,” he called after her.

  She continued walking.

  “Christina,” he said again.

  She reached the next turning. Each hall had an EXIT sign at the far end. But where did they come out? The hall had no windows for her to figure it out. What if she came out in the teachers’ parking lot, where walls enclosed the cars, and she had to run around the entire building? What if she came out the rear and had to cross the open playing fields like a rabbit in front of a shotgun?

  Passing bells rang.

  High school students spurted out of their classrooms. Screaming, shoving, laughing, shouting, they filled the hall like a volcano erupting. She turned right.

  Boys who stood a foot higher than Christina, girls whose sweaters swirled like choir robes, academic types with books stacked like chimney bricks, surrounded her. She hugged the briefcase to her and slipped through, dodging and curving.

  Taking advantage of a swarm of enormous football-shouldered boys, Christina ducked into a stairwell and ran up the stairs.

  Mr. Shevvington’s voice rang in the shaft below. “Did you boys see a little seventh-grade girl? Strange multi-colored hair?”

  “The little island girl,” said one agreeably. “Anya’s little friend.” This speaker must have pointed, because Mr. Shevvington said, “Thanks,” and his feet pounded on the stairs like pistons.

  She flung open the door and emerged on the second floor.

  Terrible place to be. If only she could dump the briefcase somewhere.

  How barren the school seemed, now that she needed a hiding place. Hallways of gleaming tile and no furniture. Doors opening into classrooms filled by waiting teachers. Every closet locked by janitors, every office staffed.

  “Christina! Christina Romney!” Mr. Shevvington was shouting now. It was too late to be subtle. He was afraid. The briefcase mattered. She had to win!

  But now she was in the junior high wing, where everybody knew her name. Where some teacher was sure to grab her and hold her prisoner. In seconds passing period would be over. The halls would be empty. She would be exposed.

  “Christina!”

  She was panicking. The hand gripping the briefcase cramped and ached. Seventh-grade faces caught hers, staring, surprised, confused. Christina rushed on. Mr. Shevvington strode after her.

  She reached the other stairwell and yanked open the door. Down she ran. Behind her the bells rang; passing period was over; when she got to the bottom and came out again in front of the office where she had begun, she would be the only child in sight. Carrying the only briefcase in sight.

  The tears began. How she hated Mr. Shevvington for having the power to make her cry! How she hated herself for being only thirteen and weak!

  Halfway down the stairs she ran straight into Gretchen.

  How could it be that Christina had prayed for assistance — and it was Gretchen who appeared! She whispered, “Gretchen, please help me. Take this briefcase. Hide it in your locker. Don’t tell anybody. It’s a matter of life and death.”

  Gretchen stared at her. Christina thrust the briefcase into her hands. “Run, Gretchen! Please!”

  “But Christina, this is Mr. Shevvington’s. I recognize it. He carries it everywhere he goes. What are you doing with it?”

  “I stole it. It has papers I have to have.”

  Gretchen gasped.

  They both heard the heavy pounding of feet. Mr. Shevvington running. She might not accomplish anything else, but she had made him desperate.

  Gretchen took the briefcase and fled.

  Mr. Shevvington yanked open the stairwell door. Christina watched his shadow. He looked up to see if she had tried to get out on the roof. He looked down to see if she had returned to the first floor. Christina caught the door behind Gretchen and let it close without a sound.

  Mr. Shevvington raced down the stairs.

  “You scared me, Mr. Shevvington,” she said calmly. “Chasing me like that.”

  He stopped two steps above her, trying to see the briefcase. Alone in the stairwell they faced each other. How tall he was, with those two extra steps for height!

  He put his hands forward, as if to shake her until her spine snapped. Christina jumped away, ripped open the door, and came out in front of the two school board members, still talking. She pretended her shoelace was undone, and knelt to tie it up again.

  “Why, Arthur,” said one pleasantly, “that was quick. You’re always so efficient. We had another thought about how to solve the roof problem. Do you have a minute?”

  Christina double knotted it. She untied and tied the other shoe.

  “Of course,” said Mr. Shevvington smoothly. “Come into my office.”

  Christina was alone in the hall. Unsteadily she got to her feet. Where was Gretchen’s locker? She tottered toward the junior high lockers.

  She heaved an enormous sigh of relief, and the extra oxygen calmed her. I’ll take the briefcase. I’ll skip the rest of school. I’ll —

  Gretchen popped out of the girls’ bathroom. “You’re safe, Christina,” she said. “I owe you for being nice to me in class. So I will never tell anybody you stole Mr. Shevvington’s briefcase. I snuck into his office and put it under his desk. Those dumb secretaries didn’t even look up. I even locked the door after me. Mr. Shevvington can’t accuse you of taking it now. It looks like it was there all along.”

  Christina stood very still.

  “Are you all right?” whispered Gretchen nervously.

  He was in his office right now with the school board. When he sat down, his polished shoes would hit the briefcase. He would have the last laugh.

  He will always have the last laugh, thought Christina.

  I am no longer sure that good triumphs over evil.

  I am afraid that evil will win.

  Chapter 18

  AFTER SCHOOL THE CHILDREN all gathered around Christina. “What was your punishment?” they said. “What did he do to you?” The food fight was ancient history. She had almost forgotten it.

  My punishment, she thought, is knowing that he has won and will always win. Knowing that someday an empty room in an empty inn will be decorated with my personality. “Nothing. Just gave me a hard time.”

  Jonah marvelled. “You must have a silver tongue, Chrissie,” he said.

  Mr. Shevvington had thought she put the briefcase under his desk herself, from fear of him. He couldn’t figure out how she had done it, but he had excused the food fight because the briefcase was such a joke.

  “Everybody come to my house,” Jonah called. “I turned on the outside water faucet and sprayed the snow maze with the hose. It iced up. We can slide on it!”

  Half the seventh grade wanted to go to Jonah’s. Christina said she was coming but she had to wait for Dolly. The children ran on.

  Dolly appeared almost immediately. Christina extended her hand, but Dolly didn’t take it. “I’ve outgrown holding hands,” said Dolly. “Mrs. Shevvington says I must learn to stand alone.”

  Christina knew that none of them could stand alone against the Shevvingtons. “How awful!” said Christina. “Dolly, sometimes you need to hold hands.”

  Dolly was blue from cold. She looked, in the island phrase, peaked. Christina told her about Jonah’s ice maze and how they would all slip and slide together. Dolly was not enthusiastic.

  Jonah’s mother gave everybody old holey socks to slip over their shoes. About twenty seventh-graders — kids Christina most and least liked: Robbie, Katy, Gretch — slithered through the ice mazes on socky feet. They collided at intersections, made trains of themselves, and pushed each other into dead ends.

  Dolly refused to go into the maze. �
�I might get lost,” she said seriously.

  The seventh-graders howled with laughter. “It’s just my backyard,” said Jonah nicely. “And the maze isn’t very deep, Dolly. If you stand up straight, it’s waist high. Nothing can happen to you.”

  “It looks like Breakneck Hill Road,” said Dolly. “All ice and downhill.”

  The seventh-graders ignored Dolly and chased each other, slipping, sliding, and shrieking in the maze.

  Kenny had a long stadium scarf, knitted in purple-and-white squares. Everybody hung onto it, and Kenny dragged them after him.

  Dolly went inside to have hot chocolate with Jonah’s mother. Mrs. Bergeron said, “Christina, honey? I wonder if you’d come in, too, for a moment. I have something to show you.”

  Christina was suspicious of adults with something to show her. She went in uneasily, keeping her back to the wall.

  Outside, Jonah led an ice war.

  Mrs. Bergeron poured a mug of hot chocolate for Dolly and dropped five tiny marshmallows into it. Dolly stirred happily, watching them melt.

  Mrs. Bergeron put a large white cardboard box on the table. Tissue poked out of the sides. “Ooooh, clothes,” said Dolly. “I love clothes. Did you buy something new, Mrs. Bergeron?”

  “Yes, but this is the old one. I wore it only once, and it just wasn’t me. It made me feel sallow and fat.” She took off the lid. Color as bright as lemons sang from the box.

  Mrs. Bergeron unfolded a ski jacket so beautiful, so sunny-yellow and snowy-white that the little girls blinked. She held it up against Christina. “It’s a tiny bit large,” she admitted. “But that doesn’t matter when you’re skiing.” She unfolded the ski pants. “A tiny bit long,” she said. “But when you ski, you need that extra room for flexibility.”

  Christina trembled.

  Mrs. Bergeron said, “Let’s just slip it on. Make sure it’s right for you, Christina. I will feel so much better if this ski suit gets some use.”