Friendship is Stronger than Ice (title not set in stone :P)~

Ch. 1 ~ Memories

I shut my eyes, enjoying the wind pulling furiously at my hair.
“You’re going too fast,” he calls.
“No I’m not,” I laugh. I lean forward still, clutching the handles and grinning. My eyes flutter open, and I’m surprised to see that I’m not even half way to the bottom yet.
“Yes you are! You won’t be able to bail!” He sounds nervous now, but I don’t really care. All I want is the thrill. Already my heart’s hammering against my chest, but I want more.
“Who says I’m going to bail?” My giggle dances up towards him as if in a ballet, for now I am nearing the bank and becoming slightly apprehensive myself.
“BAIL!” he yelps, starting to run down the hill towards me.
I manage to shake my head no, thrusting all of my one hundred and fifteen pounds to the right, causing myself to now slide sideways. Instead of stopping (crashing) at the bank, I slide right over it. For a few glorious half seconds I’m airborne. Now, though, I feel the ground hard under the foam, the red shale scraping against its easily permeable surface. I slide a little, landing just before the second bank, the opposite side of the driveway, where a small patch of thorn bushes are.
Laughing, he comes to a stop in front of me. He grabs my arm and gently yanks me to my feet. “You were this close to being impaled and having your eyes gouged out and junk!” he cries, pointing to the bushes until I look.
I reach out and poke at one of the thorns. “Owh,” I say, pulling my hand back fast. I slip the cloth glove off and stick my thumb in my mouth.
He snickers. “Wow, Rosie, just, wow!”
I narrow my eyes at him and stomp my foot. “ZERK!”
“What’s that?”
“I cawed yuh ah ZERK!” I repeat, still sucking my thumb. I’m trying hard not to start laughing and keep my angry face on, but it’s hard when he’s looking at me with his puppy face. I swear, Sam has the best puppy face. He could beat a Bichon Frise in a staring contest! And in my opinion, that’s talent, because Bichon Frises are the cutest dogs in Earth. (Not that I like Sam or anything, but, well, you get my point, don’t you?)
“A what?”
“AH ZERK!”
“Bless you.”
“GAH!” I pull my thumb from my mouth and shove him, making sure to smear spit on his sleeve in the process. “Bwahaha, spit germs!” I shout, picking up the sled and trying to run off. Key word, trying. When you’re in snow up to your knees, it’s kinda hard to make a hasty escape, much less an escape, period.
Sam calmly pursues me, somehow not at all hindered. I guess his mom got him new boots before the season started. Mine are old, and huge. My dad calls them the ‘ducky boots.’ I can understand why--they’re twenty years old, brown, yellow, black, and ugly. The tip of the boot is almost three inches away from my toes, and the laces never stay tied. But hey, when you’re low on money, you get hand-me-downs that suck. It’s a fact of life. “Spit germs? Really? Aren’t we a bit old for that, Rosie?”
I shake my head. “Germs don’t age!” I respond in a sing song, matter-of-fact, completely Me, tone.
He snorts. “But we do.” He’s walking next to me now, looking at me somewhat expectantly. “SPIT GERMS!” he laughs after a moment, wiping his hand over his jacket and touching me.
With a squeal, I fall over. I roll down the hill a little, but stop when the cheap, Dollar Store sled gets lodged on a jutting rock. “And you think I’m immature!” I shake my head and push myself to my feet, grumbling.
“Of course.” He takes the sled from me and throws it down. “Watch this!” He jumps onto it, landing hard on his belly. Instantly the foam jerks to life, soaring over the snow. It’s amazing how compact they crystals become to form a path, even though they’re the size of grains of sugar. No. Not sugar. I sit to watch him, absently picking up a handful of the white stuff and letting it dribble out from between my bare fingers. Maybe sand? The sound it makes when it hits my old, puffy pink snow pants doesn’t sound like sand.
It almost sounds like those rain-shaker things. You know, the kind you made in second grade with a paper towel roll and dried macaroni?
No, wait! Beads! That’s what the snow is like! Beads! The tiny ones you can buy that are almost impossible to get onto the string, because of how cylindrical and weird they are. I smile and shake my bright red hand clean, then glance up. Sam is nearing the bank now. “Sam, bail,” I remind him in a teasing tone. I feel a finger of worry trail down my spine. Face first. Crap. That was a stupid idea. Doesn’t he know you’re never supposed to go face first?
The edge of the sled stops suddenly at the bank, and inertia takes control. Sam’s flipped forward, onto his face, his hands slipping free of the grips on the sled. I hear someone scream his name, the scream so shrill and afraid I wince. Oops, was that me? I didn’t know I could make a sound like that.
I’m up and tripping down the hill as fast as I can. Boy do I wish I had better snow boots.
I fall to my knees besides him and roll him over. He blinks groggily and spits out a mouthful of rocks, blood, and dirt onto my hand as I touch his cheek gently and babble like a moron. That’s one of the things I do when I’m incredibly nervous, babble like a moron. It’s a bad habit, but you can’t teach an old dog many new tricks. (Seriously, been there, tried that, old dogs dislike learning new things, go figure!)
“Spit germs?” he jokes weakly.
“Don’t you know you’re never supposed to go face forward?” I ask. “Common, they even tell us not to do that at school on the slide!”
“We’re in high school now, Rosie, there’s no slides.” He sits up, hawking and spitting several times and rubbing at his sore face. “I think I knocked a tooth loose,” he says suddenly, pulling back his dried lips to point at a particularly wiggly tooth.
“You’ll fit in with all of the other hicks if you loose it,” I say with a shrug, rolling my eyes slightly. “Common, let’s go inside.” We gathered the sled, my glove, his hat, and the second sled that he’d brought but hadn’t used and started trudging towards the house. I loved days like this--snow days. Days where all we’d do was I go to his house or he came to mine and we’d sled, while all the other, dating and shopping oriented boys and girls were out in town.
Sometimes, if I close my eyes and think for a long time, all by myself, I can remember those days. Even though it was cold, all I perceive from those memories is warmth. A warmth of the heart and soul, not so much of the brain and skin. But whenever I think back to times like those, I always remember that one time.
Huh, “that one time.” Yeah, I know, it’s not that threatening or anything. It’s not even mildly scary. Well, to you it isn’t. But to me, it’s…Oh, well, you’ll see.

Ch. 2 ~ Meaningful Babble


Left you at a cliff hanger, didn’t I? Yeah, cliff hangers are kinda my thing. Wait, that sounded vain…Hmm…let me rephrase that. Cliff hangers are what I enjoy weaving. There we go, a creative, less conceited way of saying that!
But, enough of my mindless babble, I better get back to the story. Right. “That one time” began normally, with a snow day and a phone call, just like all others had.
I walk calmly around the house as I talk, I always have and always will. I have the phone pressed against my ear and am focusing on the ground, my feet, so I don’t trip. I’m good at tripping. It’s one of my few talents. “Riiing…riiing…I get the point, common, Sam, pick up already!” I sigh with frustration and start nudging my cat.
“Hello?”
“It’s about time you picked up!”
“Sorry, chica, couldn’t find my phone,” he says. I can tell he’s rolling his eyes. “What do you want? Rosie, it’s…” There’s a pause, he’s looking at his alarm clock. “…Rosie, it’s before eight! Usually you wait until nine to call? What’s up? What’s wrong?”
“I got bored.” To unconsciously prove this, I continue to nudge my cat with my big toe. My cat is an evil little thing. Her name, Fiona, comes from the princess in Shrek. But she’s no princess. She seems to enjoy tearing apart your flesh with her little, razor sharp claws. She stares at my foot blankly with her bright green eyes, deciding not to react for now.
“Bored? That’s so you…” he chuckles.
“So, what’re you doing?”
“Laying in bed because you woke me up. What are you doing?”
“OWH!” I yelp, stumbling back, the cat attached to my foot.
“You were poking her again, weren’t you?’
“It’s fun, but now she won’t let go,” I whimper, bending and carefully unlatching her talons out of my sock/skin.
“Are you free yet?” I can hear him bouncing something off of the ceiling now, and I grimace. I’m boring him.
“Yep.” I stumble away from the cat and limp into the bathroom. “Curse her, I’m bleeding,” I snap, casting a dirty look to Fiona. Innocently, she licks her paw. “Yeah, yeah, that’s what they all say…”
“You’re so weird, but that’s why I love you!” Sam says, laughing.
“Thanks, back atcha, man!” I say, my tone slightly sarcastic.
“But, seriously, why did you call?”
“Why do I always call on snow days?”
He actually has to think about this, and is silent for so long that I snap, “Common, Sam, you better know why!”
He chortles. “I know why, I know why, jeez, Rosie. I can’t come over today or vice versa. I’ve got an orthodontist appointment.”
“Ewe, o em gee, are they gonna, like, rip your teeth out!?” I start giggling. “If they do, can I have one? GASP! I can make it into a necklace! Yaknow, like how people do it with shark teeth?”
I listen to him laugh again. I love his laugh. As he talks about how he’s hoping that no, he won’t have to get his teeth ripped out, I silently wander towards the window. Pushing back the blinds with two fingers I peer out at the world.
It’s hard to see anything when even the slightest breath fogs the glass. I turn my head slightly and look with just one eye. Past the gentle frost that’s glazed the pane, I can see the word sparkling with snow. Panning up, the sky is visible. I stifle a soft gasp. It looks amazing. The clouds look like ovals, all connected slightly yet separated at some points. The rising sun is visible on the very edge of the horizon, tinting the sky as well as the clouds closest bright orange and flamingo pink. As it stretches on, the color behind the clouds fades to an almost hueless blue-gray. I smile. I don’t know if anyone else thinks that it’s beautiful, but I certainly do.
“…so at least, I’ll get a retainer, which isn’t as bad, right? Right? Rosie? Roooooosie?”
“Huh?”
“Did you hear anything I just said?”
I laugh uneasily. “Yes?”
“That’s a question, not an answer,” he points out cockily.
“Oh, you know what, go fall into a black abyss!” We both laugh at this, for what seems like hours. Then finally, he says, “But, seriously now. Wanna do something tomorrow?”
I feel that warmth spread through me, and I nod, twirling a lock of hair around my pinky. “What do you think?” I say, leaning against the wall in front of the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror. I guess I’m average looking. I have dark colored eyes, kind of thin rose colored lips (when I wear my lip-gloss, otherwise they’re pink), straight (because I straighten it) dark brown hair, clefted chin, thin face, sinewy arms and legs…etc. I’m not beautiful, I know that for sure. But for my own entertainment, as I talk, I begin to strike poses.
“No?”
“You’re so blonde!” I make a peace sign and purse my lips like all the cool girls do for their facebook pictures.
“Blonde jokes are mean!”
“I’m mean!” I force my lips up into an expression that makes it look like I’m growling.
“No you’re not…”
I flash myself a grin in the mirror and flip my hair. “Okay, so maybe I’m not.” I give my best, nerdy-sweetheart expression. Wow, am I strange.
“How about you, me, Alex, and Kayla all go sledding, at my house?”
I squeal. “That’d be wicked!” I say happily.
He laughs. “Great, it’s settled. I’ll call them, okay? See you tomorrow, bright and early at four o’clock PM?”
I laugh, too. One of the few things I like about myself is my laugh. It’s giggly and travels from octave to octave like bird song. “Bright and early at four o’clock PM,” I echo loyally.
“Ya’a’ight, then, by, then, chica,” he says.
“Bye-bye.”
And that was the first mistake.

Ch. 3 ~ We Didn’t See the Omens

“I can’t believe this.” Miserably I sink into my seat next to Sam. The bus sluggishly crawls on along the icy road, and I look at him.
Sam sighs. He looks disappointed, too. “I know, I know,” he mumbles. “I can’t believe we got a two-hour delay!”
“Don’t they know it’s supposed to snow again around four?” I gripe, kicking angrily at the seat in front of me. Stupid! I bit back a squeal of pain and shudder, wishing I would’ve worn my boots instead of my sneakers.
He snickers at the fact I’ve hurt myself, then pauses, looking up at me from beneath his head of shaggy, Crayon yellow hair. “I guess not,” he says, shrugging. He smiles and punches my arm a little, “Common, Rosie, chill, we can go sledding after school if you wanna.”
My face lights up and I beam at him. “Really?”
He chuckles. “You’re such a five year old,” he says affectionately.
I’m still beaming brightly--probably bright enough to melt all the snow in the county. “I know! You’re awesome! You think we could still get Kayla and Alex to come?”
He flicks at his jeans absently. “I dunno ‘bout Alex, but Kayla definitely. Her parents and them still aren’t home.”
I frown. “Business trip, right?”
“Two different ‘business trips,’” he sighs, looking up at her. “I feel bad for her.”
I know what he means. I’m pretty sure neither parent is on a ‘business trip,’ they were probably just staying somewhere amazing, leaving Kayla home but bringing all of her step-siblings. Kayla had a bit of a Cinderella story. She had an evil step mother and several evil step sisters and brothers. Her father was alive, contrary, but some times he might as well be dead. He was somehow in love with the woman, despite the fact she was so mean to Kayla. Kayla had become low priority on everyone’s list but mine, Sam’s, and Alex’s. It scares me to think of what would happen if we weren’t her friends…
“Me, too,” I say quietly. “Hey, can we switch spots? I wanna be by the window.”

~!~

“So, what’dya think?” I ask, staring at Alex hopefully.
He frowns a moment, tilting his head slightly to one side. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?” he asks, fiddling with his glasses. He bites on them as he thinks, then he smiles. “My mom’s babysitting Alyssa tonight,” he says suddenly, forgetting about his query, “so she won’t mind me hanging out with you guys! What’d we be doin’ again?”
“Sledding, at Sam’s,” I smile at him.
“Awesome,” he chuckles, rubbing his hands together. “I can’t wait! I haven’t been sledding in sooo long.” His soft hazel eyes sparkle with longing so sweetly that I inwardly swoon.”
“You should bring that wicked old sled that you got a few Christmas’s ago!” I say suddenly,
Alex seems confused, then his eyes widen in pleasure. “You mean the red one with the golden runners? The hand-crafted beauty?” he asks, starting to bounce in excitement.
I nod. The line moves forward so fast I stumble ahead. It’s lunch time, the two of us have B Lunch and often use it as a time to hang out, because it’s the only “class” we have together. “Is there any other sled?” I retort with a soft giggle.
“No,” he says, shaking his head happily. “I haven’t seen it in forever….Wow…Okay, I’ll find it. I’ll swing by when I do, okay?”
“My house? You’re gonna pick me up?” I ask, trying to keep the happy-go-lucky, girly, day-dreamy joy out of my voice. Back then I had a horrible crush on Alex. He was the perfect guy to me, the absolutely perfect guy. Sam always told me someday Alex would open his eyes and finally feel the same way. I hope that happens soon. I noticed the other day that instead of looking at me tenderly, he looks at Kayla. It miffs me, but I say nothing. It’d be wrong for me to say something, wouldn’t it?
“Yeah, I’ll pick you and Kayla up and we’ll head over, say around….four fifteenish? I’ll bring my flashlight and a few lanterns so we can hang out there after dark.“ He winks.
My heart squeezes suddenly at Kayla, but lightens and hammers against my chest when he winks. I manage to act human and for once I’m not prone to a comment of pure idiocy; I smile a small smile and nod. “That sounds cool,” I say, nodding.
“Great.” He flashes a final grin at me before turning and paying for his lunch. I realize now that I completely forgot to pick up even a tray.

~!~

Kayla’s nudging my butt. I hate it when she does this, she always feels the need to kick me in Geometry. I mean, as if it’s not hard enough already! With her distracting me, I get lost sometimes.
I might as well make conversation with her if she intends on annoying me. Casually I drop my pencil. She knows the drill. She bends over too, our hands meet as she gives me the pencil, and then we’re both sitting up suddenly again. Ha, my ingenious way of passing notes (without getting caught…usually). My note said

Why do you like kicking me?

She drops her pencil a few seconds later. The back of the note now reads

Why do you like kicking me?
You have a squishy bottom (:

I snort softly and turn my head to the side. Up front the teacher’s going on and on about something. Probably lecturing on passing notes. Honestly, he could be talking about the fact that the school’s on fire and we’re all going to die, but I don’t notice. All I do is stick my tongue out at Kayla, and drop my pencil again.

Why do you like kicking me?
You have a squishy bottom (:
Is that a compliment or insult?

I can hear her trying to stifle a giggle, which makes a bubble of laughter form in my own throat.

Why do you like kicking me?
You have a squishy bottom (:
Is that a compliment or an insult?
No comprendo español!

This makes me laugh. I get a curt glare from the nerd next to me, to which I roll my eyes. No one noticed I made a sound, only him. Typical. The nerd--Jon--is one of those nerds who thinks that missing two seconds of what the teacher’s blabbing will kill him.

Why do you like kicking me?
You have a squishy bottom (:
Is that a compliment or an insult?
No comprendo español!
That doesn’t work anymore, we’re
In Spanish, idiot. You ready for sle
-dding tonite?

I glance back at her to see her reaction. She nods and flips over the scrap of paper to reply.
Yeah, I guess.

I frown when I read it. It’s so simple, yet it causes a not in my stomach.

Yeah, I guess.
Just guess?

Her reply is simple again.

Yeah, I guess.
Just guess?
Bad feeling in my stomach.

I wince, that’s not good. Kayla’s gut is very reliable. She knows when bad things are going to happen, she always gets a stomach ache before something big. Rumor has it, she threw up on 9/11. (Okay, so I confirmed this with her a few years ago, but it’s still fun to pretend it’s a rumor, since Kayla never throws up.)

Yeah, I guess.
Just guess?
Bad feeling in my stomach.
That’s not good.

I glance back for a moment to see her shrug. The last thing written on the note, along the side because we’ve already run out of room (my handwriting is big), is simpler still.

I know.