“It’s fine,” she says, but I don’t feel like the tension is gone. It’s like we’ve talked about the stuff on the surface, but something is still there. I want to push her on it, but Yoshi walks up to join us.
“Ready for Marcus’s decorations meeting?” he asks, and then pauses as he glances back and forth between the two of us. But if anything, Lark looks less happy than before.
She nods and then shrugs with one shoulder. “Let’s go.”
And she starts walking ahead. Without me.
* * *
It turns out that Marcus isn’t bad when he’s in charge. He’s even done some research on snow-based crafts online. He passes around printouts from Pinterest. Some are too expensive or complicated to do, but they certainly help generate more ideas.
“Maybe we could set up those cotton battings that can go on the grass to look like pretend snow,” Kyle suggests.
“That’s bad for the environment,” Maayan chimes in. But I can tell by the way she stares off into space that she’s thinking.
“Well, we could get all the stores in town to decorate their windows with snow paintings,” Yoshi suggests.
We all nod. Solid idea. But …
“There’s got to be something more. Something special,” I mutter. My eyes scan the library as though something here could jog my thinking. I love the way that Maayan decorates the library little by little every day. Today, the windows have fairy lights bordering them.
“White lights,” I say slowly, the idea slowly taking shape. “What if we get a ton of white Christmas lights and …”
I saw something like this online. Where was it?
I pull out my phone. Christmas lights wrapped around trees. It takes me a couple of pages before I find the picture I was searching for. “This,” I say, turning the phone toward the group. “It’s a zoo in Chicago. Every year, they wrap bare trees in Christmas lights. And while they have a variety of beautiful colors, we could do it with just white lights. It would almost look like …”
“Giant snowflakes,” Yoshi fills in. “It would be beautiful.”
Marcus’s and Kyle’s and Lark’s eyes are as big as Yoshi’s and mine. Even Maayan looks excited. I’m not crazy. This could actually work …
“How would we get all the Christmas lights? It would cost a ton of money,” Kyle asks, and I wrinkle my nose. It’s a good question.
“What if we asked stores or families in town to sponsor one tree around the festival area,” Lark suggests, and she’s smiling. She’s really smiling. And if Lark is smiling, it means it could actually happen. “We could even let people put little plaques on the trees with the sponsorship information. They could do it with their own Christmas lights, as long as they’re white, or they can buy new ones.”
I blink rapidly. I’m not going to cry. This could totally happen, and I’m not going to cry.
“I love this idea,” Yoshi says, grinning. “But can I suggest another one to add to it?”
Marcus nods.
“You made me think of it when you mentioned Chicago,” Yoshi tells me. “There’s this thing where different cities have an animal or something that represents their city.”
“Oh yeah, I’ve heard of that!” Kyle exclaims.
Yoshi nods excitedly. “And they do these special events where they create giant versions of those animals, like almost life-size, and artists decorate the statues and sell them as fund-raisers. I think New York had the cow parade, Toronto had a moose parade, and I remember reading that Jerusalem had giant lions. What if we could do something like that, but with snowflakes?”
“But how would we make giant snowflakes?” Kyle asks, and as much as I want to be cheering on this idea, I have the same question.
“You said that there are tons of artists who come for the festival, right?” Yoshi asks. “What if we gave them the challenge to create snowflakes, and they can be auctioned off at the end of the festival …”
“Oh …” I breathe. My heart feels like it’s too big for my chest. I can just imagine all these different depictions of snowflakes based on the different mediums the artists work in. Like felt snowflakes and glass snowflakes and …
“And kids could make cutout paper or plastic snowflakes,” Kyle adds, and I’m willing to bet all my money that he feels the same way as I do after seeing the smile that Lark has in store for him.
“I love this idea,” Maayan says, already tapping out a message on her phone. “But I think it’s unlikely we can get the artists to take part. Artists need much more time to create something like that. But … I grew up in Ottawa, Canada, and there the Winterlude festival is a huge thing,” she says, her cheeks flushed. “Ice sculpture contests and skating on the canal …”
It sounds amazing. She even pulls up some pictures on her phone to show us. But we all laugh at how bundled up everyone is. “How cold is it there?” Yoshi asks, his brow furrowed like he’s scared to hear the answer.
“Really, really cold.” Maayan laughs. “But Winterlude is super fun, and it’s also where people from all over the world discover BeaverTails!”
The look on all our faces is identical: horror.
“You eat … beaver tails?” Kyle whispers.
Kyle is our grade’s resident foodie, but even his face is starting to turn a bit green.
Maayan grins. “They’re delicious. Especially on a cold day; they’re nice and hot. You can put cinnamon and sugar on them, maybe a bit of lemon. Other people put chocolate spread or …”
“Stop!” Lark says, one hand pressed against her stomach, the other holding on to the table. “I think I’m going to be sick.”
Maayan tips her head to one side and gives Lark a blank look. “Why …” And then her face switches into a wide grin. “Ohhh! I probably forgot to tell you that BeaverTails are named for their shape, not for what they’re made of. They’re just fried dough, pulled into a long oval like a beaver’s tail. Totally vegetarian. Vegan, actually, to be precise.”
Our shock is quickly replaced by relieved laughter, though I think my face is still a little pale.
“What if we did something like that here?” Maayan continues, giving me a wink. “We already have the food stalls for roasted chestnuts, hot cocoa, soups, and breads. Maybe we can ask one of the bakers to make a fried-dough treat. Though, obviously, we couldn’t call it a BeaverTail!”
Lark shakes her head, her braid swishing from one shoulder to another. “We definitely shouldn’t.”
“What if we made funnel cakes in the shape of snowflakes?” Kyle suggests. “We can even sprinkle powdered sugar on top to make it look white.”
“Yes!” My jump and yell might have been a little intense for our small study room, based on the way it seemed to shock everyone. I flop back on the chair. Maybe I should try to be a tad less dramatic. Whatever.
“I’m glad you like the idea,” Maayan says, laughing at my enthusiasm.
“Every year, Bari from Bari’s Bakery makes donuts,” Kyle says. “I can talk to her about adding this to the menu. She might even let me help her …”
Whenever Kyle has come to the inn for group study sessions in the past, he always spends way more time talking with Thierry in the kitchen than studying. Though he claims that he’s just doing a different kind of learning.
“Great. I’ll discuss the other ideas with Anaya,” Maayan says as we wrap up for the day and put on our coats and hats to leave. The six of us walk out of the building together. “I think the Flurry Trees are really doable, and I’m happy to be the organizing force for it,” Maayan adds, and I can’t help it, I let out a giant sigh. I love the idea of Flurry Trees.
“I’ll speak to my mom about all of it, too,” Lark says as we all step outside into the cold evening. A tiny beep goes off from her phone. “Oh, and that’s her,” Lark says, looking up from the text she got. She waves to Soleil’s waiting Prius. “Anyone need a ride?”
I almost want to go with her, just so we can continue our conversation, but I also feel like maybe my BFF wants
some distance from me.
“A ride would be great,” Kyle tells her, a little shyly, which I think is super cute, but I don’t let on that I’m thinking this. Besides, Kyle lives pretty near Lark, so it makes sense that he’d go with her.
“I’ll come along, too,” Marcus offers, and I think I see Kyle’s face sag.
Lark, Kyle, and Marcus head for Soleil’s car, and Maayan waves good-bye and walks over to the bus stop.
Which just leaves me and Yoshi.
“In the mood for a walk?” he says, and my whole body warms instantly. How does he do that to me?
“I’d love to. I don’t think I can sit in a car after all that excitement. I need to be out walking off some of that energy.”
“Sounds great,” Yoshi says, flipping his collar up. “Let’s go.”
For the first few minutes, Yoshi and I walk in silence, as though we need a certain distance from school to find our connection.
“So, I have a confession to make,” Yoshi finally says. “I totally get why everyone thought BeaverTails sounded gross, and I agree. But here’s the thing. I kind of feel the same way about roasted chestnuts.”
I stop in my tracks.
“You don’t like”—I pause for dramatic effect—“roasted chestnuts? How is that even possible?”
He shrugs. “I picture them tasting like mushrooms! All brown and musty and earthy.”
I grimace. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about. Chestnuts are nothing like that. And neither are mushrooms, for that matter!” Thierry would be aghast. “Have you even had chestnuts?” I challenge him as I start walking again.
He shrugs. “On Thanksgiving. They’re tasteless in stuffing.”
I shake my head. “Roasted chestnuts are not like the chestnuts in stuffing. In stuffing they’re like a condiment, just put in for an extra taste or texture. Yummy roasted chestnuts in a paper bag are unlike anything else.” My stomach growls just thinking about the snack. “Trust me. I can’t believe you’ve never tried them!”
Yoshi glances down at the pavement, and I feel a pang of shame. “I guess they’re not that popular in California,” I quickly amend. “I mean, I know it’s not regular food. It’s not like you’ve never had bread or cheese or milk …”
Yoshi laughs. “True. I have had those things. Just not roasted chestnuts.”
“So you don’t even know if you like them or not,” I point out. Hmm. I’ve never thought of the possibility that someone has never tasted what is the essential taste of my childhood. Could there be other tastes that I take for granted?
“Have you had roasted marshmallows?” I ask.
“Yes!” His eyebrows furrow.
“Do you like them?”
“Of course.”
“Okay.” I think. “Maple syrup?”
“Yes.” He has this odd expression on his face. Like he’s trying hard not to be amused by my antics but maybe … Maybe he is amused?
“Real maple syrup,” I continue, staring into his eyes. “Not the brown corn syrup they serve at pancake houses.” I’m really starting to sound like Thierry.
He stares right back at me. “Yes,” he says definitively.
“Okay,” I accept. “But I’m guessing you’ve never had fresh hot maple syrup that’s just been made, poured on top of a plate full of snow until it becomes sticky, and then rolled on a stick?”
His jaw drops. “Tell me you’re making that up.”
I grin. “Nope. It’s delicious. But it’s not something you can buy at a store. You have to make it yourself. Experience it in person.”
“Really?” Yoshi’s looking at me like I’m a crazy person. “I’m guessing this is a Flurry delicacy?”
I nod. “Just wait until March. All the stores in town get the best maple syrup then. You’ll see.”
Yoshi is no longer staring at me like a crazy person, but his eyes have not left mine. His gaze is thoughtful, and it sends shivers up my spine. Like maybe it means something.
But it can’t. It can’t possibly mean …
I clear my throat. “Okay, so now we know we need to go to the Sugar Shack in March. Or it could be late February, depending on when the sap comes down. Which depends on the weather. Like, when it gets warm. It’s this very complicated thing that can totally change based on the year and the fact that it hasn’t snowed yet …” I’m babbling and I don’t even know what I’m saying. All I know is that something is happening here. Something kind of unexpected that makes me want to curl up into a ball but also jump up and squee. At the same time. It’s confusing, so words spill out of me instead, like I can build them into a protective shield.
“I’m in,” he finally says, interrupting what is apparently an overview of every time I’ve been to the Sugar Shack, including the time I ate three servings of the syrup sticks and threw up in the car.
Oh my god. I just told Yoshi about the time I threw up in the car and it smelled like syrup.
“Please forget everything I just said,” I beg, and this time it’s me that is looking away. This is so mortifying.
“I honestly couldn’t catch all of it,” he says, and there’s a bit of a chuckle in his voice. “Though I will be careful not to eat too many syrup sticks.”
Oh, good. He caught the important part.
I place my mittens over my face and breathe in the familiar scent of the wool.
I wish I was a little kid and still believed that if I couldn’t see someone, they couldn’t see me. I’m quite sure Yoshi sees me perfectly right now, but I wish I were invisible.
“Don’t be embarrassed,” he says. “It was cute.”
Cute. He called me cute. Or maybe how I was behaving was cute. I don’t even know anymore. How come in real life, you can’t take a time-out to pause the action and figure out what’s happening? How did we even get here?
Right, chestnuts.
I slowly let the mittens drag down my face and I open my eyes. I was apparently pressing a little too hard on my eyelids because the first thing I see are dancing, colorful spots.
“So, back to roasted chestnuts,” I say.
“Right,” Yoshi says, smiling. We start walking again, crossing the street and passing Bari’s Bakery.
“At the festival,” I explain, “there’ll be these stands where people will roast the chestnuts on grills. You’ll be able to smell them from far away, and it’s really the most amazing smell. Like warm fires and wood and winter, all rolled into one.”
“That does sound good,” Yoshi admits.
I nod. “Yep. The person running the stand scores an X into the chestnut peel before they’re grilled,” I go on, thinking about what my dad taught me as a kid. “Once the edges of the X have curled back nicely and the chestnut appears brown inside, they grab a scoop of them and fill a small paper bag for you. And then you walk through the festival, eating them. One hand holds the warm bag and it makes your hand sweaty inside your mitten. And you break open the shells with your other hand. And that hand is cold because you can’t open the shells with mittens on, except for your fingertips that are burning because the nuts are still hot.”
“Why don’t you just wait until they cool down before eating them?” Yoshi wonders out loud.
I shrug. “You just don’t. They don’t taste as good when they cool, though they’re still delicious,” I hasten to add. “But when they’re still a little too hot? They’re the best.”
“I can see why you love them,” Yoshi says. “You might have convinced me. Maybe I’ll try them at the festival.”
“You’ll definitely try them then,” I promise as we stop at a crosswalk and wait for the light to change. “But I can also make them for you in the fireplace. They aren’t as perfect, but it’s also kind of nice not having to freeze and burn your hands at the same time.”
“I’d like that,” Yoshi says, and the warmth of his words expand my chest.
“If you want …” I start and then chicken out. What if he says no? What if he’s just being polite? I wish
I could talk to Lark about this! “Never mind.”
“What?” he asks, and he takes a step closer to me.
“It’s silly.”
“Tell me,” he says, placing his hand on my arm.
My heart races. I drop my arm down, dislodging his hand. Awkward.
“I was going to say that if you wanted, I could make some roasted chestnuts for us before the festival,” I say quickly. “Or not. You’ll probably be really busy. I could even invite a bunch of people over and we could—”
“That would be great,” Yoshi says. “One night this week? When are you free?”
Is this a date? It feels like a date. He’s asking me if I’m free one night. But maybe he’s just trying to find a time to meet and it isn’t a date-date.
Agh!
The light changes to green and we cross the street. “I think tomorrow night might work,” I finally manage to say. “We could even meet at my dad’s house, since you’re right next door and all. Plus, Mom and Thierry get a little crazy at the inn before the festival, so going to Dad’s house makes more sense for me. I just need to check with Dad if they have plans, but he’s usually up for making a fire. It fits with the Mountain Man vibe he likes to have going.”
“Sounds great.” Yoshi’s smile is open and warm, not at all guarded. I feel my mouth curve into a smile as well, and wonder if it looks the same to him.
“Do you have any thoughts as to who I should invite?” I ask. “Lark? Kyle? Marcus?”
He shrugs. “Up to you. But don’t feel like you have to invite them. I mean, unless you want to make it a planning meeting for our festival projects.”
“Ugh, no. I think we need a break from that.” Just having Lark and Kyle over would be fine, but then it would really feel like this was a double date. Except at my dad’s house? And maybe Lark is still mad at me?
This is too confusing.
“The truth is,” I fudge, “I may have better luck getting my dad to say yes if there aren’t too many people. Because of the littles. They get too worked up and excited when a lot of guests come over.”
Yoshi chuckles. “I can see that.” He pauses a beat and then adds, “So if your dad is cool with it, we’re on for tomorrow night?”
Snow One Like You Page 9