“Yup.” I swallow hard. Even though it’s so cold I can’t feel my face, I’m sweating under my jacket, wool sweater, and long-sleeve shirt.
We’ve reached the inn, so I wave to Yoshi and hurry toward the door. I hope I can survive until tomorrow.
* * *
I text Dad as soon as I get upstairs to my room. As I predicted, he loves the idea of Yoshi coming over so he can teach him how to make a fire and I can introduce him to roasted chestnuts.
I text Yoshi that tomorrow night is a go, and he texts back a thumbs-up emoji.
I grin, sinking down into my bed with my phone in my clammy hands. I know things are still awkward with Lark, but even she has to understand that this is monumental, that I can’t be expected to process this on my own.
I send her a text.
Mia Buchanan: So … I think something is happening between me and Yoshi.
No reply.
Normally, a text like that would have provoked a series of exclamation marks and shocked emoji faces from Lark, plus possibly a phone call or even a last-minute visit.
But nothing. Maybe she’s doing homework. Not that we have much homework, since tomorrow is the last day of school before winter break.
I elaborate.
Mia Buchanan: I mean, I think. I’m not sure. But we were walking home today and talking about the BeaverTails, which led to a conversation about roasted chestnuts,which led to him saying he’d never had any and me inviting him to Dad’s house to make some. And I didn’t mean it like a date. But I think he answered it like it was a date. I think. I’m not sure.
I can’t believe I just typed all that in a text message. I wish I knew whether Lark was even checking her texts. What if she forgot her phone somewhere and now someone else was reading these messages?
Mia Buchanan: LMK when you get this. I NEED to talk.
But there’s no return message.
The next day, I don’t manage to get ahold of Lark until lunchtime. I remember that she had a doctor’s appointment scheduled for this morning and will be coming in late, so she’s not in any of our morning classes.
It’s the last day of school before winter break, and everything’s a whirlwind. Luckily, our teachers know better than to make us get anything done when all anyone can think about is the festival. Even though I’m splitting my time worrying about the festival, worrying about Lark, and worrying about hanging out with Yoshi tonight at Dad’s.
I’m like a ball of worry.
At lunch, I finally see Lark. She, Yoshi, Kyle, Marcus, and I share a table in the cafeteria to finalize the plans for the carnival booths. We need to give them to Maayan before the end of the day so she can pass them along to Anaya to approve.
I try fifteen different times to get Lark alone, but it never happens. She has to leave lunch early to meet with a teacher about a project, and then when I see her in the hall later, I call out to her, but she doesn’t seem to hear me. Did she even get my texts last night? I know that sometimes Lark gets so busy with swim practice and climbing that she forgets about her phone, but still.
At the end of the day, we gather in the library for our last student council meeting of the year.
“Good news!” Maayan tells us jubilantly. “The council has approved all the carnival booths!”
It’s incredible.
We all cheer and clap, and even Lark and I exchange a high five. Whew.
“Ms. Mackenzie in the woodshop says she can have the booths ready by midday tomorrow,” Marcus reports. “And I talked to Mr. DeShawn in the art room about paint. Basically, if we can get people together tomorrow to paint, everything should be done in one day and dry in time for Friday.”
I glance around our little committee. We’ve really helped the festival stay afloat, and we’re getting to do our Snow Carnival. On top of that, Marcus, who was such a pain last week, has turned into one of our hardest workers.
“This is all pretty amazing, you guys,” I say. “I can’t believe that all this is really happening.” I want to make a speech, or say something meaningful, but instead I feel choked up.
“So let’s meet up tomorrow, here at the school, for a painting party?” Kyle suggests. “I’ll e-mail the rest of the middle school.” He already has his phone out, fingers flying.
Maayan nods. “You can gather in the cafeteria tomorrow. I’ll discuss it with the janitors, but it should be fine.”
Yoshi grins. “This will be fun. I’ll come early to set up snacks and a playlist,” he offers. “It’ll be like a dry run of the carnival.”
“That’s perfect,” Maayan says, and continues on with her update. Apparently, the town council is having a snowflake-making party for little kids on Thursday. Bari’s Bakery is even going to be handing out a free donut hole for every snowflake a child makes.
“A free donut hole?” Kyle laughs. “I’m totally in. I can probably make twenty snowflakes.”
“Um, it’s just for kids,” Marcus says.
“I’m a kid,” Kyle protests.
“Maybe you can help Bari make them,” Lark says, patting his arm.
Huh. I wonder if Lark also has something to update me on …
Soon, the meeting is over and everyone is getting up and packing their bags. I try to get Lark’s attention unsuccessfully, but she leaves with the others, and I have to stay behind to touch base with Maayan. By the time I get to our lockers, the hallway is empty.
Neither Yoshi nor I have mentioned tonight’s chestnut roasting evening. Did I dream it? Are we still on?
But then I get a text message.
Yoshi Pennington: See you at 7!
* * *
At Dad’s house that evening, I change my clothes three times.
I wish there was clothing that says: I think I really like you, but I’m scared that you don’t think of me that way, and so maybe it’s better to just pretend I don’t like you so that I’m not embarrassed when the truth comes out?
I should create a website or an app. Outfits for emotions rather than events. In the magazines Mom keeps on the coffee table at the inn, there are pictures of outfits that supposedly work “From the Desk to the Dance Floor.” My outfits would be more like: “From Pretending You Don’t Care to Dressing to Impress With One Simple Sweater.”
I end up wearing my favorite worn jeans and a comfy gray henley. Apparently, I’m going for the supercasual look, which I accessorize with a pair of pure wool, oversize socks.
This is me pretending I don’t need to dress up, I tell myself as I pull my hair into a ponytail.
I’m so lost in thought that I apparently miss Yoshi’s knock on the front door. I hear Shannon opening the door and greeting him.
I run out of my room and see Yoshi standing on Dad’s doorstep like he did that night of the rainstorm. Only now he’s not dripping wet and freezing. He’s just wearing his blue jacket and red scarf, his hands in his pockets, looking a little bit nervous, but a lot cute.
“Thanks for having me over,” Yoshi tells Shannon, stepping inside. He sees me hovering behind Shannon and waves.
I wave back. Shannon glances at me over her shoulder, giving me a knowing look.
I’m glad she’ll be busy putting the littles to bed soon. Otherwise she might hang around and say something potentially embarrassing.
Then again, there’s Dad I have to worry about, too.
* * *
Thankfully, Dad is just focused on the fireplace at first. He takes Yoshi through the steps of building a fire while I record (with their permission) a time-lapse video of the whole thing on my phone. The benefit of shooting the video? It gives me something to do instead of just being nervous.
But finally, the fire is roaring and it’s warm enough for me to shrug off the afghan I was hiding underneath. I breathe in deeply, the smell of burning wood like a balm to my anxiety. Yoshi takes a seat beside me on the couch.
Dad glances back and forth between us. “So, I’m going to go to my workshop.” He scans the room as though looking for
possible ways to hide in plain sight and keep watch over us. I can tell he’s one second away from just sitting in between us on the couch. My stomach twists. I almost wish Shannon were here instead because she’d probably be more subtle about it all. But she’s busy bathing the littles and getting them ready for bed.
“Well, I guess we’ll get started on making the chestnuts,” I tell Dad at last.
“Yep,” Yoshi says.
“We’ll be fine,” I add, trying to give Dad the hint.
Dad nods and rakes his fingers through his hair. “Okay, I’ll be back. In a bit. So make sure …” He pauses and appears to be searching for words. “Make sure the fire is okay.”
“Okay, Dad,” I say. It’s actually a little bit funny that he seems nervous. It’s almost enough to make me forget my own nervousness.
Dad heads out of the room, and I hear him mutter to himself, “I can’t believe I’m going to go through this with four kids.”
Yoshi and I both stare straight forward until Dad is gone. And then, almost as if we’d planned it, we both burst out laughing.
“Oh my god, that was painful,” I choke out through laughter.
“I almost left just to put him out of his misery,” Yoshi admits.
I glance over at him and smile. “I’m glad you didn’t,” I say.
“Me too,” he says.
And then the silence gets super awkward superfast.
“So, I can show you how to make the chestnuts—” I say, just as he says: “Can I see the video you made?”
And then we chuckle. Okay, we can do this.
“How about video first and then chestnuts?” I ask.
“Sounds good.”
* * *
Miraculously, I manage to show Yoshi how to score the chestnuts and roast them in the pan over the fire without injuring either of us. Dad comes to check on us twice (okay, three times), and he says he approves of my chestnut-roasting skills.
Instead of eating the chestnuts as they come out of the pan, like I usually do despite the fact that they wind up burning my tongue, I wait until they’ve cooled down enough to handle. Then I show Yoshi how to peel the shells back. The smell is so delicious.
Once we’ve both cracked open our first chestnut, but before we’ve tasted them, I give him an intense look.
“Just so you know,” I say, “I’m not sure we can be friends if you don’t like roasted chestnuts.”
I don’t smile and neither does he. “I totally understand,” he says, and then we both pop the chestnuts into our mouths at the same time.
I close my eyes to enjoy my first fire-roasted chestnut of the winter. When I open my eyes again, it’s clear that there won’t be any problems. Because Yoshi is already on his second one.
We accidentally-on-purpose eat almost all the chestnuts as we sit by the fire and laugh. Yoshi tells me a hilarious story about the time he and his best friend from California, Paz, decided to enter a hot dog–eating competition at a local fair. They ate five hot dogs each and then promptly threw them up. I’m laughing so hard at Yoshi’s description of getting all competitive with these professional hot dog eaters that I wind up a little too close to the fire for anyone’s comfort. And I lose a chestnut.
“This is getting dangerous!” I jokingly admonish him after I move away from the fire.
“I don’t want your dad to think we need to be supervised,” Yoshi agrees. I press my lips together to try to prevent them from stretching into the biggest Cheshire Cat grin on the planet.
I can finally admit to myself that I have a huge c-r-u-s-h on Yoshi Pennington. And for the first time, I wonder if he really might feel the same way about me.
Usually I wouldn’t want to be at school on the first day of winter break. But on Wednesday, I can’t wait to go back for the booth-painting party. First, though, I help Mom string up the white Christmas lights on the trees outside the inn (so we can have our own pretend snowflakes). But as soon as we’re done with that and with lunch, I dash over to school.
The cafeteria looks incredible. Yoshi, as promised, arrived early and transformed it into its own version of a winter wonderland. There are the white Christmas lights strung up everywhere, a bunch of paper snowflakes taped to the walls, and an entire playlist blasting songs about snow. Yoshi really went above and beyond with the setup.
Most of the middle school is here, and Kyle really got the word out. There are kids with snowflakes painted on their cheeks, others wearing ugly and not-as-ugly Christmas sweaters, and a good number of kids with spray-painted white hair and white nails. Claudia, a girl in our grade who can usually be found on the basketball court, is even wearing a Snow White costume. It’s hilarious.
I spot Yoshi at the back of the room, talking to a group of sixth-grade girls who very definitely have their own c-r-u-s-h on him. Which I totally get since he looks super cute. His dark hair is covered by a blue bandana, which would look totally hip if he wasn’t also wearing a snowflake tiara on top of it.
Yep. Yoshiki Pennington is wearing a sparkly snowflake crown. And because it’s clearly meant for a head much smaller than his, every time he moves, he tips over the crown. It’s kind of adorable. He’s also sporting some paper cutout snowflakes, all pinned on his dark jeans and blue T-shirt ensemble. I couldn’t look that cool if I tried. Exhibit A: the white fuzzy sweater I’m wearing that is causing me to rapidly overheat.
I scan the rest of the room. Everything is organized in each corner, courtesy of Marcus. Each wooden booth is already assembled, accompanied by a drawing of what the front should look like. It’s basically one giant paint-by-numbers exercise since Marcus has even penciled in the picture on the wood.
There are two beanbag toss/snowball toss booths: One is shaped like a snowman with big holes for little kids, and the other has a picture of a snowball fight painted on it, with holes in the board where the snowballs can fit … if you have great aim. I might stick to the little kid game.
There’s also a snowball bowling game, a snowball bulls’-eye target game, snowball golf, a tic-tac-toe snowboard, a frozen bubble blowing booth, and a graffiti station where kids can use nontoxic paint in squeeze bottles to make designs on the snow. And, of course, a snow obstacle course.
“This is amazing,” I gush when Yoshi meets me in the middle of the room. It’s only then that I even notice he has a snack table set up with snowflake cookies and brownies topped with white chocolate chips. “When did you make all this happen?”
“I came early this morning. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
He is so thoughtful, I’m basically speechless.
“So, are you here to paint or did you just want to see what was happening?” Yoshi asks, and I almost miss his words because “There’s No Day Like a Snow Day” by Runaway Cat Train comes up on his playlist and everyone starts cheering and doing the silly snow dance.
“Can Mia and I paint the snowball toss backgrounds?” Marcus asks, coming up from behind me.
“Of course! Go for it.” And then Yoshi’s dancing toward the middle of the room again, like he’s not remotely jealous.
“No day like a snow day,” Yoshi sings along with the music. “No day like a day with you.”
I allow myself a tiny glance up at his face, and he’s looking at Claudia, who is apparently singing the duet with him.
No big deal. Totally no big deal.
* * *
Marcus and I take a seat at a table and paint quietly.
“Why did you want to paint with me?” I finally ask.
Marcus looks at me like I have three heads. “Why not?”
“Because you don’t like me.” I can’t believe the words coming out of my mouth. But between Lark still being weird—I haven’t even seen her here yet—and Yoshi singing with Claudia, I’m a mess. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
Marcus puts down the paintbrush. “I do like you.”
“Then why do you always seem like you’re mad at me?” I don’t know where I got this confidence
from. Two weeks ago, I would never have said any of these words to Marcus.
“I’m sorry,” Marcus says quietly. I lean forward because I almost can’t hear him over the music. “It’s just been tough since I moved back to Flurry. But it’s not about you.” He stares at me intently, his dark eyes not blinking. “Do you believe me?” he asks.
“I guess,” I say. “But why are things tough?”
Marcus dips his brush in the green paint. “When we moved to Springfield, I hated it and I just wanted to move back to Flurry. I missed my friends. I missed my house. I even missed school.”
I laugh because the Marcus I knew before he left was never a big fan of school.
He smiles wryly. “It’s true. But then, a few years ago, when Dad said we were moving back, I didn’t want to come back. I had friends in Springfield by then. And even though I used to live here, everything feels different now.”
He shakes his head and dips his paintbrush in the water. I don’t tell him that he hadn’t actually painted the green. It doesn’t seem important.
“Have you tried talking to Yoshi?” I ask. “He’s new to the town. Newer than you, even.” I smile. I don’t want to tell Marcus everything that Yoshi told me, but I think maybe the two of them could help each other.
Marcus shrugs.
“You should try. He’s a good guy and he’s also dealing with moving here, although your situations are different.”
“Thanks,” Marcus says. “I’m sorry if I’ve been hard to deal with.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “For what it’s worth, it’s good to have you back in Flurry. I did miss our epic snowball fights.”
“Only because you always won!” Marcus says, making a fake angry face.
Marcus and I spend the next hour laughing at childhood memories and painting the snowball toss stands. It turns out that Marcus really hasn’t changed that much from the boy I’d known so many years ago. He’d just seemed different. Apparently, he can even still burp many of the letters of the alphabet.
When we’re not reminiscing, I try to focus on the painting. I’m glad that Marcus created a picture on the plywood, because I can barely paint the white snowdrifts without messing them up.
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