Page 84 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

Ash zipped up his coat and stuffed his hands in his
pockets.
“Bundle up, Ash.” She sounded like Roger. “It’s minus
thirty-eight. Put something on your head. You’ll need gloves
too.”
He shrugged. “I’ll be fine.”
“You cannot will your skin not to freeze and fall off.
Here.” She dug through a box of mittens, scarves, tuques.

“Here’s Dad’s hat. Put it on.”
“But it’s got a pom-pom.”
“So? Take it off before you go inside.”
Ash headed for the door. “No, thanks.”
“Fine. Freeze.” She followed a step behind, choking back
more words.
The air stung the skin around her eyes and singed her ADVANCE READING COPY

nostrils. Ash grimaced too and quickened his pace. Down
the path and onto the sidewalk. Past one house, two houses.
Greta heard his sharp intake of breath and looked over to
see him pressing his bare hands against his ears. Half a
block down, he stuffed one hand back into his coat pocket
and held the other against his forehead, his face pained.
The woolen fibers of her scarf frosted white from her breath
and stuck to her nose. Through her gloves, her fingertips
numbed. By the end of the block, Greta struggled to blink,

her eyelashes starting to freeze together. Ash’s face looked
gaunt and white—a sun-bleached skeleton. His ears glowed
tomato red, standing out from his newly shorn scalp.
The cold burned.

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