Snow One Like You Page 2

  We high-five. “But isn’t today a rock-climbing day?” I ask.

  “Yup. But I missed swim practice last week when I was out of town for the climbing competition, so I had to make it up this week.”

  People who don’t know Lark may look at the way she walks, the positioning and shape of her legs, and assume she can’t do much. The truth is, she’s one of the most athletically driven people I know. I get tired just listening to her schedule.

  We head to our lockers in the East Bay, saying hi to the other seventh graders that pass by. Most kids don’t even notice anymore that Lark walks differently, or remember that she used to wear plastic braces around her shins and ankles before her surgery, though they are more careful around her. They know to try to avoid accidentally bumping her.

  We reach our lockers and Lark turns to me, her gray-green eyes dancing.

  “So, maybe today will be a good time for you to say something to Yoshi,” Lark says as she spins the dial on her locker. “Like, at the student council meeting.”

  “Say what to Yoshi?” I whisper, my face heating up. I mess up the combination on my own lock.

  “Um, maybe drop hints that you like him?”

  “Shhhh!” I glance around in a panic. I can’t believe that Lark is saying this stuff in the hallway.

  Because we’re such a small community, I’ve known most of the kids at Elizabeth Stanton Middle School since we started kindergarten, if not before. Yoshiki Pennington—or Yoshi, as he asked us to call him—is one of the most notable exceptions. He and his parents moved to Flurry from San Diego this past summer. I’ve gotten to know Yoshi because we were paired up as lab partners in science class. He’s so California, and so not Flurry: He wears a necklace made out of shells, and his backpack has different surfing patches sewn on.

  But he’s sweet and funny and, well …

  I might have a teensy-tiny little crush on him.

  Maybe.

  It’s just that I sometimes get kind of swoony when he runs his hand through his shaggy, longish black hair. Or when he smiles.

  But we’re just friends. That’s all.

  “Come on,” Lark says. “I was speaking so quietly, I’m surprised you could even hear me.”

  “I could hear you just fine,” I mutter. “Anyway, I didn’t say I definitely had a c-r-u-s-h on him. I said I might have a cru—I mean c-r-u-s-h on him.”

  Lark giggles, and I grab her arm. Because her balance isn’t top notch, if Lark starts laughing too hard, she often falls down. Which tends to just make her laugh harder. “You know that anybody who might overhear our conversation knows what c-r-u-s-h spells.”

  I smirk. “I know that. It’s just that I’m used to spelling things out when I talk to Dad and Shannon in front of the littles. Especially when it involves food they might want. Like d-o-n-u-t-s.”

  The littles are my three little sisters. Well, my half-sisters. My dad married Shannon a few years after he and Mom divorced, but it took a few years until the littles came along. Talulah and Tabitha, the twins, are both three, and Lilou, the baby, is eighteen months. They are my favorite kids in the world.

  “Anyway,” Lark says in a slightly louder voice as we start to walk to our first-period history class. “I’m just saying that you might want to actually tell Y-o-s-h-i how you feel. Because maybe he feels the same way.”

  “Seriously?” I give her my best death stare. “You know I’m not brave enough.”

  Okay, so assuming I did have a real crush on Yoshi, I can’t imagine what it would be like to actually tell him. What if he doesn’t feel the same way? What if it makes things awkward between us? What if he likes someone else, and because I confess that I have a c-r-u-s-h on him, he doesn’t want to spend time with me anymore? What if—

  “I can’t even hear your thoughts, and I’m already feeling like I might have a panic attack,” Lark whispers to me as we enter our classroom. “Fine. You don’t need to say anything. Sorry I brought it up.”

  “Thanks,” I say as we reach our desks at the front of the room. “So,” I add, changing the subject. “Is there anything new about the festival?”

  For a long moment, I wonder if Lark didn’t hear the question because she doesn’t even react. But the strength with which she drops her backpack on the floor makes it clear that she did. “Mom says they’re going to call an emergency town council meeting,” she finally replies. “Basically, if there’s no snow in the forecast, they need to make a decision about canceling the festival.”

  My stomach drops. They can’t cancel the festival. They just can’t.

  “But there’s always the chance that—” I start.

  “Mia, come on,” Lark says, a little more harshly than I might have expected. She sits down at her desk beside me and gives me a serious look. “If the choice is between having people show up to the festival expecting to do all the regular things and there’s nothing to do, and canceling the festival and hoping those people decide to come back next year, the town is going to choose to cancel.”

  No! “But what if there’s snow at the last minute?” I argue.

  “What if there isn’t? Look, it’s not like my mom wants to cancel the festival. She knows the cost of canceling it. Heck, she’ll probably be voted out of office if she does. Or there’ll be a riot.”

  For a second I try to imagine a riot in Flurry. Bari, who runs the bakery, would probably be at the forefront, as she is with anything that happens in this town. And then behind her would be my dad with his long hair and guitar, and my stepmom, Shannon, with their three daughters strapped to her body like a super woman. And Mrs. Sollinger wouldn’t care about the issue; she’d just be handing out cookies to those protesting because she loves a good ruckus. Mr. Han—my old dance teacher—would push Mr. Erickson along in a wheelchair, like he always does. And Mr. DeShawn, our art teacher, would be making the most beautiful protest signs imaginable. The image of this entire crew shouting en masse downtown creates such a funny picture in my head that I can’t help it—I snort.

  I catch Lark snorting, too, and I know she’s imagining the same scene. “Mrs. Huang would make them all wear sashes, wouldn’t she?” Lark struggles to say between cackles.

  “And she’d bring Mr. Brekelmans into it, because he’d be in favor of reusing fabric sashes instead of paper signs.”

  “‘Reusing is always better than recycling,’ ” Lark imitates, and then we’re laughing so hard we don’t hear the bell signifying that first period is about to start. But then hordes of students start rushing to their desks and our teacher, Dr. Pascal, walks in.

  “I know it’s a hard decision,” I whisper to Lark before the lesson starts. “I’m sure your mom is stressed about it.”

  Lark nods. “We just need to hope for the best. Let’s try not to worry too much, okay?”

  “Good plan,” I say.

  * * *

  But sticking to that plan seems impossible. At our student council meeting that afternoon, it takes about three-and-a-half seconds before the topic of the snowless Winter Festival comes up.

  “I heard there’s a good chance the whole thing will be canceled,” Marcus Andelman grumbles, slumping into his seat.

  Once upon a time, Marcus and I were best friends. You can see the evidence in the countless pictures of baby Mia and baby Marcus holding hands, splashing in wading pools together, and sleeping side by side. I was devastated when he and his parents moved away to Springfield, Illinois, before first grade. But that was a long time ago. And apparently, between first grade and last summer when Marcus came back, a lot has changed. There’s nothing that remains of the little kids who posed together with their gap-toothed smiles.

  Especially after I won the position of class president in the spring. After he lost that election, I was shocked that Marcus even applied to be on the student council. Although, now I wonder if he did it just to irritate me.

  But my job is to treat the whole council like a team, so I can’t yell at Marcus like I want to. I take my se
at and flip open my laptop.

  “From what I understand, a decision hasn’t been made yet,” I say, trying to keep my anger out of my voice. “So we still need to work on our part of it.”

  Our seventh-grade class is small, so the student council is small as well: it’s just me, Marcus, Lark, Yoshi, and Kyle Jones, a short, friendly boy whom I’ve known since preschool. We all sit together in a circle in the study room of our school library, and most of the time, we get along pretty well.

  Maybe not today, though. “But if there’s no snow, we can’t have a festival,” Marcus says, giving me a look that tells me he knows exactly how much he’s getting to me. “Any chance there’s snow in the forecast, Yoshiki?”

  I glance at Yoshi across the circle, trying not to blush. I can feel Lark watching me with a small smile.

  Yoshi gives Marcus a barely concealed eye roll. “No, Marcus. My dad hasn’t given me any top secret information that he hasn’t shared with the viewers of WVVW.”

  “It’s a shame,” Marcus drawls, and I don’t know if he’s trying to imitate Yoshi’s California accent or just being annoying. “Since your dad is the weatherman, you’d think you could score us some good news.”

  “You know meteorologists don’t create the weather, right, Marcus?” Yoshi snaps back.

  Before things can get more heated, Maayan Lerner, school librarian extraordinaire and the seventh-grade student council adviser, sails through the door. Today she’s wearing a 1950s-era, twirly maroon skirt with a fitted, dark yellow sweater. Paired with her short, blunt cut and her black cat-eye glasses, she’s basically the coolest adult I can imagine.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she says, dropping a stack of books on the table. “I got distracted looking at new books.”

  That’s another reason I love Maayan. I know librarians are supposed to like books, but she takes it to a whole new level. One that I’m definitely down with.

  I start leaning forward to get a glimpse of the books in her pile, but Lark elbows me.

  Right. Don’t get distracted by the pretty books.

  “Okay,” I start. “We’re at T minus ten days until the festival, so let’s focus.”

  Every year, the seventh-grade student council gets to choose an event to run at the festival. Back in September, I had petitioned not to take an event that already existed, but to bring back an older, forgotten event. I’d really, really wanted to do something cool and unique for the festival. So the student council and I worked up a proposal for bringing back the Snow Carnival, which was last held more than twenty years ago. It was really fun, with different games and booths. But … the town council said no.

  So instead, we took on Snowman Building. And I might be going a little crazy with it.

  “Yoshi?” I say, lifting my chin. “Can you update us on how the costumes are coming?”

  Yoshi nods, his dark brown eyes bright. “I’ve now been to every Goodwill, Salvation Army, and thrift shop within twenty miles of here and”—he glances around the room—“I have an awesome assortment of costumes, including cool hats, scarves, and sunglasses.”

  “Nice going, man,” says Kyle. Lark claps, and Maayan pumps her fist in the air.

  “Thanks, Yoshi,” I say, feeling a beat of excitement. I turn to the spreadsheet I’ve pulled up on the laptop and make a notation. “Lark?”

  The student council and I decided to ramp up the Snowman Building event this year. Sure, the die-hard builders are going to bring their carvers and molds and whatever other tools of the trade they usually get. But we wanted people who aren’t professional snow carvers to be able to participate, too. I got the idea from watching an episode of the TV show Gilmore Girls (because seriously, Lorelai and Rory’s snowman was the best). Festivalgoers will be able to construct a basic snowperson and then dress them up with things like old pocket watches, feather boas, monocles, and purses.

  But the most exciting part, and the one that Lark is now updating everyone on, is the photo booth. Lark and her dad created a backdrop made of tie-dyed fabric and four poles, which can be placed behind the snowpeople. Festivalgoers can pose with their creations, and we’ll encourage them to post the pictures on social media. And Lark’s started creating all the fun accessories that accompany real photo booths, like handheld signs and fake, oversize glasses. We bought a few selfie sticks and I think the whole thing will be a total blast.

  “Thanks, Lark,” I say, nodding at my best friend. “Marcus and Kyle, how are things going with the booth itself?”

  Marcus and Kyle are in charge of the construction of the actual booth, as well as the signage.

  Marcus shrugs. “I didn’t get any paint yet.”

  “Ms. Mackenzie gave us the wood from woodshop,” Kyle adds helpfully.

  “You guys need paint, Marcus,” I point out.

  “My dad will take me to the art supply shop to get paint this weekend,” Marcus replies shortly.

  “Remember to keep your receipts so your dad can get reimbursed,” Lark pipes up.

  Marcus makes a face and Kyle looks apologetically over at Lark. Kyle got the raw end of the deal in the committee assignments, having to work with Marcus, but I did that on purpose, knowing Kyle would keep him on task.

  “My dad can handle the cost,” Marcus mumbles.

  “Well, we do have a budget,” Lark says. “And I’ve been pretty careful with how we’re spending stuff, so there’s money for paint if you need it.”

  I debate whether to remind Marcus that materials were supposed to be purchased by last week. And that he’d told us he’d already bought them when we met last time.

  “I don’t really see the point of buying stuff until we know for sure that the festival is happening, do you?”

  I let his sentence hang in the air and then decide I’m just going to pretend it’s a rhetorical question.

  The rest of the meeting goes by with relative ease. As everyone is leaving, I spend a few minutes with Maayan, making sure there’s nothing I missed.

  “You did a great job out there, Mia,” Maayan tells me with a smile. “You allowed Marcus to have his say, but moved on when the conversation wasn’t going in the right direction.”

  I feel a rush of pride as I return her smile. Maayan’s praise means a lot to me.

  “Are you excited to be Flurry’s junior coordinator at the festival?” she asks, and I blush hard.

  I don’t want to tell her that it’s my dream come true. I know it’s not really that big a deal, that people hire horses for sleigh rides all the time. But there’s something magical about the fact that you can only take this particular sleigh ride if you’re the student leader. Twenty-six years ago, it was my mom in the sleigh, her hands kept warm with an adorable fake-fur muff. Forty-eight years ago, my grandmother had that spot, and fifty years ago, it was my grandfather. Mom said it wasn’t important whether my photo joined theirs or not, but it feels like destiny at this point.

  Which is reason number one billion that they can’t cancel the festival.

  “Very,” I admit.

  Maayan winks, causing her glasses to shift up and down on her nose. “I would be, too,” she says. “And I know all your hard work will pay off.”

  I practically skip out of my meeting with Maayan. I’m so caught up in my little, happy bubble that I almost don’t notice Lark, Yoshi, and Kyle hanging out by the front doors of the school.

  “Okay, what’s the epic grin for?” Lark asks, jolting me out of my reverie.

  If it were just Lark standing there, I’d admit it to her, because she definitely knows how I feel about the sleigh ride. But with Kyle and Yoshi there?

  “I’m just really looking forward to our Snowman Building event. I mean, what could be better than getting to decorate your snowperson, and then posing for pictures?” It may not be the real reason I’m grinning, but it’s not that far from the truth.

  “I can think of a few better things,” Kyle points out with a small smirk. “Like never having to take a test for school again? Or w
inning the lottery?”

  Lark swipes a hand across his arm. “Kyle! Don’t be difficult,” she teases as we head out into the cold.

  The two of them start walking down the school stairs, and Yoshi and I wind up trailing behind them. I’m envious of how easy it is between Lark and Kyle. Sure, they’ve known each other forever. But I keep trying to tell Lark that Kyle has a crush on her, which she denies. If she could see the way he’s looking at her right now, though, she’d have to agree. If only I could take a picture so I could show her …

  That would definitely be awkward.

  And speaking of awkward, I wish I could think of something to say to Yoshi. He’s walking beside me, his hands in his pockets, his dark hair peeking out from his wool ski hat. I wonder what he’s thinking.

  Lark turns around. “Oh, listen. Kyle has an hour before he needs to meet his dad, so I told him he could wait at my place. Yoshi’s going to come over, too. Any chance you want to join us?” she asks me. “We were going to work on making more props for the photo booth …”

  Lark and Kyle and me and Yoshi? My face heats up. It seems really double-datey. I try not to look at Yoshi. Maybe this is Lark trying to force my hand.

  But I can’t really say no to designing props …

  “Sure.” I nod.

  Anything for the good of the festival.

  Right?

  * * *

  At Lark’s house, Kyle heads down to the basement to collect some art supplies, and Lark, Yoshi, and I get settled in her living room.

  There’s a lot to look at. Lark’s dad is a climber, and there are framed pictures all over the walls of the different places he’s been and the photographs he’s taken. I know them all by heart, but Yoshi is seeing them for the first time.

  “These are amazing,” Yoshi says. “Did your dad really take these?”

  “Yup,” Lark says. “All climbs he’s done. All his photographs.” I’m sure Yoshi doesn’t know that this is the millionth time Lark has heard the same comment.

  “Lark actually took the one in the corner,” I point out with pride. The photograph is just as spectacular as the rest, with the beginnings of a sunset lighting the mountaintops.