I've never understood why people prefer summer to winter.
They say it's prettier,
But I've never seen anything more beautiful than my whole world being covered in perfect white snow.
Glittering
Silent
Waiting to be disturbed
They say the weather is better,
But I've always found heat smothering; surrounding you and forcing you into submission and lethargy.
Cold, on the other hand, brings you to life.
It slams into your face when you first step outside, immediately bringing tears to your eyes and blood to your cheeks.
You inhale, and the cold air burns your throat on the way to your lungs.
There is an urge to run, to jump, to move, to do anything that will keep your heart pumping.
Perhaps you get goose bumps, or perhaps you start to shiver.
Either way, your body reminds you that you are
You know that bell in stores? The stupid little bell that goes off every time the door opens, and sometimes kids figure out where the sensor is, walking back and forth through, making the sound echo through the store, annoying all of the costumers until the parents rush over to chastise the little heathens? Well that sound was the beginning of the end, for me. Or maybe the end of the beginning.
The obnoxious, grating sound echoed through the empty convenience store, and from my spot by the their pitiful, but thankfully existant, jam selection, it sounded like the empty aisles were making the sound grow. I glanced in that direction, out of habit more than interest, but when I saw who walked through the door my whole body went tense. Barely holding back the panic, I flipped the hood of my sweatshirt up. Although it blinded the sides of my vision, I figured she wouldn't recognize me in such a drab outfit. Silently cursing every life choice I had ever made that led up to this moment, me in a ratty hoodie in the same convenience store as Ava Martin, I grabbed the nearest jam. Sasha was just going to have to deal with what she got.
I watched her out of the corner of my eye, wondering if her projected effortlessness of existance was as faked as mine was on the daily. For every step she took towards the large coolers, I took another one towards the counter, holding my breath the entire time. If she saw me now, the entire school would know about it before first period had even started, especially considering that the first person she would tell was… well, someone who had a grudge. Despite the fact that I would swear there had been no one else in the store when she entered, by the time I reached the counter, there were two people already in line. With no other option, I had to stand there, hunching my shoulders and staring at the ground.
I did my best not to look at Ava, figuring that the more I looked at her, the more likely she would be to notice me. If I had been there for anything other than dinner for Sasha, I would have bailed immediately. But if I didn't bring home food, Sasha wouldn't eat until the next day at school. Straining my ears to hear her rather than the innane and useless conversation between the cashier and a man who sounded like he'd been smoking for eighty years, I heard the distinctive woosh of the cooler opening, then the glass bottles rattling as a drink was removed, followed by the sound that I would otherwise consider strangely satisfying as the door swung shut of it's own accord with another swoosh.
Her steps across the tiled floor were quiet but discernable if one was listening closely, which I was. Without a word or a single hesitation, she came to rest right behind me. Tension seeping through my entire body, I held my breath for a few seconds but soon realized that holding my breath would be more conspicuous than just continuing to face forward. The old man at the counter finished, and then there was only the one person in front of me.
It has never taken so long for a cashier to check a customer out as it did that night. Despite that, I found myself finally stepping up to the counter, placing my three items on the counter and pulling out the change that I hoped was exact. I had accounted for tax, and hadn't brought any extra. As it was, I'd had to dip into my sparse change jar for the few coins I needed.
To my surprise, both the cashier and the register quoted a number a few pennies lower than I had anticipated, and becuase of that I no longer had exact change. It was just a few pennies, though, so I put the bills and coins down on the counter and grabbed my now-bagged items, turning to leave. When the cashier called out that I had forgotten my two pennies of change, I turned slightly and spoke. That was my big mistake.
"Just keep the change," I muttered, worrying only about getting out of the stupid store and getting home to Sasha. I had turned back toward the door, and I was halfway through a step when I heard her speak up.
"Heather? Is that you?" For a split second, I nearly just continued away from her. She continued talking, though, making that exit impossible. "I didn't even recongize you. What are you wearing?" Sighing aloud and cursing internally, I turned towards her, running through all the possible excuses I could make and coming up totally blank.
"What are you wearing?" I asked her in return; the best I could come up with on such short notice, given the situation. The question was ridiculously dumb though; she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt: exactly what she wore to school every day. I was the one who had deviated from the norm, wearing a ratty sweatshirt that my older brother had given me years ago, before everything had gone wrong. Ava didn't seem bothered by the question, and she didn't persue that line of questioning any further, for which I was silently grateful.
"What are you doing here?" she asked instead. "Don't you live across town, with all the other hollies?" I almost smiled at the term that was supposed to be deragatory, almost.
"Of course I do," I insisted, "but, you know, there's nothing like some Thursday night slumming, right? Oh, I guess you wouldn't know about that." The words sounded false, even to me, so Ava didn't even look offended. I felt my face flame up red enough to match my hair.
"For real, Heather, what are you doing over here?" The look of interest was slowly changed to one of concern, and that was exactly what I didn't want. Concern was probably the worst emotion she could have exhibited right then. I decided to go with vague but truthful.
"Same as you, late night food run." It seemed accurate enough, although she only had an iced tea in her hands. I held up the bag with the PB&J and the loaf of bread, pointing at its general direction. Then I glanced at the clock. Crap; I'd been gone for nearly a half an hour; Sasha would be starting to worry. "Look, I gotta go. I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention this to anyone." That was another mistake. Never tell someone that you don't want someone else to know something. A rookie mistake. But at the moment, all I could think about was my little sister, sitting at home, hungry, waiting for me to come home and make her dinner. I turned and took several steps towards the door.
"Heather, wait-" I was already opening the door, causing that damned bell to chime yet again. Without pausing, I left the convenience store and hurried to the corner, even going so far as to jog a little. I had no desire for Ava to know exactly where I lived nor to elaborate on our previous conversation.
I wasn't cold while I was outside, but by the time I got home, my ears were so cold they stung, and my nose was bright red. My face stayed red for quite a while that night.
Writing is like teaching kindergarden, I imagine. They line up perfectly for pictures, or lunch, perhaps. But then you try to teach them one thing, and before you know it, Suzy is sniffing glue, while Brandon bounces up and down in his chair. For a moment, you have a choice to make: stop Suzy and potentially let Brandon make a mess which you will have to clean up, or send Brandon to the bathroom, while Suzy passes out from the lack of oxygen. You decide, it doesn't matter one way or the other, but just before you go to take a step towards one of them, a child demands your attention from behind with a loud shriek. You look towards him or her, at this age, it's hard to tell even with the higher pitch, but by the time you're facing the right direction, the sound is gone and all the students are in their seats, waiting to be released for recess. They all go outside and you sit down, trying to remember what it was you were even intending to teach, and before you can think about it, you have to clean up the room becuase the students will be back in fifteen minutes, and the room looks like a hurricane went through it.
To the girl who asked about getting published at a younger age, Christopher Paolini was pretty young when he got published. (Sixteen or seventeen, I think)
I would hesitate to use him as an example, because his family had connections in the publishing industry and (if I'm remembering right) his parents were in the publishing business. Not everyone has that opportunity, but it's important to know that you can still break in without it, even if the going is harder. You just have to stick with it!
