So Hell Actually Can Freeze Over
“Did he…” Macy gasps out after he shuts the door behind him.
“It’s not a big deal,” I assure her.
“Flint just…” Apparently the word is still failing her, because she taps her cheek in the same spot where Flint kissed mine.
“It’s not a big deal,” I say again. “It’s not like he planted
one on me or anything. He was just being friendly.”
“He’s never been friendly like that to me. Or anyone else I’ve seen.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got a boyfriend. He’s probably afraid Cam will kick his ass.”
Macy laughs. She actually laughs, which…okay. The idea of her thin, lanky boyfriend kicking Flint’s ass does seem a little absurd. But still, shouldn’t she at least pretend to defend him?
“You want me to talk to him?” I tease. “See if he’ll kiss you
next time?”
“Of course not! I’m very happy with Cam and his kisses, thank you. I’m just saying, Flint likes you.” She grabs a brush, starts running it through her hair.
Despite her words, there’s something in her tone that has
me narrowing my eyes. “Wait. Do you have a crush on Flint
for real?”
“Of course I don’t. I love Cam.” She avoids looking me in the eye as she grabs some product.
“Yeah, because that’s real convincing.” I roll my eyes. “Look, if you want to be with Flint, shouldn’t you just break up with Cam and go for it?”
“I don’t want to be with Flint.”
“Mace—”
“I’m serious, Grace. Maybe I used to have a crush on him, way back in ninth grade or something. But that was a long time ago, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
“Because of Cam.” I watch her face closely in the mirror as she starts to style her short, colorful hair.
“Because I love Cam, yes,” she says as she spikes up a few strands. “And also because it’s not like that here.”
“Not like what?”
“The different groups. They don’t mix much.”
“Yeah, I noticed that at the party. But just because they don’t doesn’t mean they can’t, right? I mean, if you like Flint and he likes you—”
“I don’t like Flint,” she groans. “And he definitely doesn’t like me. And if I did like him, it wouldn’t matter anyway, because…”
“Because what? He’s popular?”
She sighs, shakes her head. “It’s more than that.”
“More than what? I’m beginning to feel like I’ve fallen into
Mean Girls, Alaska version or something.”
A knock sounds on the door before she can answer.
“Exactly how many people stop by your room before
seven thirty in the morning anyway?” I joke as I cross to the door. Macy doesn’t answer, just kind of shrugs and grins as she starts on her makeup.
I pull open the door to find my uncle looking down at me worriedly. “How are you feeling? Macy said you were throwing up last night.”
“I’m better, Uncle Finn. The nausea’s gone and so is the headache.”
“You’re sure?” He gestures for me to climb back into my bed, so I do—a little gratefully, if I’m being honest. I’ve gotten so little sleep the last two nights that I feel like I’m in a fog, even if the altitude sickness has finally gone away.
“Good.” He puts a hand on my forehead, like he’s testing if I have a fever.
I start to crack a joke about altitude sickness not being a virus, but as he follows the hand on my forehead with a kiss to the top of my head, I get choked up. Because right now, with his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth curled into a frown that only makes his dimples more apparent, Uncle Finn looks so much like my dad that it takes every ounce of willpower I have not to cry.
“I still think Macy’s right,” he continues, oblivious to how broken I suddenly feel. “You should spend the day resting and start class tomorrow. Losing your parents, the move, Katmere Academy, Alaska—it’s a lot to get used to, even without altitude sickness.”
I nod but look away before he can see the emotion in my eyes.
He must recognize my struggle, because he doesn’t say anything else. Just pats my hand before wandering back to
the built-in vanity where Macy is still getting ready.
They talk, but they keep their voices so low that I can’t hear anything, so I just tune it all out. I crawl back into bed, pull my covers up to my chin. And wait for the pain of missing my parents to pass.
I don’t plan to fall asleep, but I do anyway. The next time I wake up, it’s after one, and my stomach is grumbling pretty much nonstop. This time, though, the discomfort is because it’s been more than twenty-four hours since I’ve put anything that even resembles food into it.
There’s a jar of peanut butter and a box of crackers on top of the fridge, and I glom onto both of them. A ton of peanut butter and an entire sleeve of crackers later and I finally feel human again.
I also feel trapped—inside this room and inside the school.
I try to ignore the restlessness, try to watch one of my favorite shows on Netflix or read the magazine I didn’t finish on the plane. I even text Heather, though I know she’s at school, hoping she can message back and forth with me for a while. Except—according to the one text she does manage to send back—she’s about to take a calculus test, so definitely no distraction there.
Nothing else I try sticks, either, so finally I decide to just go for it. Maybe a walk around the Alaskan wilderness is exactly what I need to clear my head.
But deciding to go for a walk and actually getting ready for one are two very different things up here. I take a quick shower and then—because I’m a total newbie—I google how to dress for an Alaskan winter. Turns out the answer is very carefully, even when it’s only November.
Once I pull up a site that looks reputable, the clothes Macy made sure I have make a lot more sense. I start with the wool tights she got me and one of my tank tops, then add a layer of long underwear—pants and shirt. After the underwear, I slip into fleece pants in hot pink (of course) and a fleece jacket in gray. The site gives me the option of another, heavier jacket to go over this one, but it’s nowhere near as cold as it’s going to get in a couple of months, so I decide to skip it and go straight for the hat, scarf, gloves, and two pairs of socks. Finally, I finish with the down-filled hooded parka my uncle got me and the pair of snow boots rated for Denali that are at the bottom of my closet.
A quick look in the mirror tells me I look as ridiculous as I
feel.
But I figure I’ll look even more ridiculous if I freeze to death on my second full day in Alaska, so I ignore the feeling. Besides, if I end up getting really warm during my walk, I can take off the fleece layer—or so the online guide suggests, as sweat is the enemy up here. Apparently walking around in wet clothes can lead to hypothermia. So… just like everything else in this state.
Instead of texting her and interrupting one of her tests, I leave Macy a note telling her I’m going to explore the school grounds—I’m not foolish enough to actually wander out past the wall into the wilderness, where there are wolves and bears and God only knows what else.
Then I head out. As I walk down the stairs, I ignore pretty much everyone I come across—which is almost nobody, since most of the school is in class right now. I should probably feel guilty that I’m not, but to be honest, I just feel
relieved.
Once I’m on the ground floor, I take the first outside door I can find and then nearly change my mind as the wind and cold all but slap me in the face.
Maybe I should have put on that extra layer after all…
It’s too late now, so I pull my hoodie up over my head and duck my scarf-covered face down into my parka’s high collar. Then I set out across the yard, despite the fact that every instinct I have is screaming at me to go back inside.
But I’ve always heard you’re supposed to start something how you plan to end it, and I am not going to be a prisoner inside the school for the next year. Over my dead freaking body.
I shove my hands in my pockets and begin to walk.
At first, I’m so miserable that all I can think about is the cold and how it feels against my skin, despite the fact that nearly every inch of me is covered in multiple layers.
But the more I walk, the warmer I become, so I up my pace and finally get the chance to start looking around. The sun rose about four hours ago—at nearly ten a.m.—so this is my first daylight look at the wilderness.
I’m struck by how beautiful everything is, even here on the campus grounds. We’re on the side of a mountain, so everything is sloped, which means I’m constantly walking up or down one hill or another—not easy, considering the altitude, but at least I’m breathing a lot easier than I was two days ago.
There aren’t a lot of different plants here right now, but there are a bunch of evergreens lining the various walkways and clustered at different points around campus. They’re a
beautiful green against the backdrop of white snow that covers nearly everything out here.
Curious what it feels like—but not ridiculous enough to take off my gloves—I bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, then let it slip through my fingers just to see how it falls. When my hand is empty, I bend down and scoop up some more, then do what Flint said earlier and pat it into a ball.
It’s easier than I thought it would be, and it takes only a few seconds before I’m hurling the snow as hard as I can at the nearest tree on the left side of where the path forks ahead. I watch with satisfaction as it hits the trunk and explodes, before heading toward the path just beyond it.
But as I walk closer to the tree, I realize I’ve never seen anything like its dark, twisted roots. Huge and gray and gnarled together in a chaotic mess that looks like something out of a really bad nightmare, they all but scream for passersby to beware. Add in the broken branches and ripped-up bark off the trunk and the thing looks like it belongs in the middle of a horror movie instead of Katmere’s otherwise pristine campus.
I’m not going to lie. It gives me pause. I know it’s ridiculous to be repulsed by a tree, but the closer I get to it, the worse it looks—and the worse I feel about the trail it’s guarding. Figuring I’ve already pushed my comfort zone enough for one day just being out here, I veer toward the sun-dappled path on the right instead.
Turns out, it’s a good choice, because as soon as I make my way around the first bend, I can see a bunch of buildings. I pause to look at most of them from a safe
distance, since class is in session and the last thing I want is to be caught trying to peek in through the windows like some kind of weirdo.
Besides, each cottage—and they do look like cottages— has a sign in front of it that names the building and says what it’s used for.
I pause when I get to one of the larger ones. It’s labeled Chinook: Art, and my heart speeds up a little just looking at it. I’ve been sketching and painting since I understood crayons can do more than color in coloring books—and part of me wants nothing more than to run up the snow-lined path and throw open the door, just to see what kind of art studio they have out here that I can work in.
I settle for pulling out my phone and taking a quick pic of the sign. I’ll google the word “chinook” later. I know it means “wind” in at least one native Alaskan language, but it will be fun to figure out which one.
I kind of want to know what all the words mean, so as I
continue walking past the different outlying buildings—some larger than others—I snap a picture of each sign so I can look up the words later. Plus, I figure it’ll help me remember where everything is, since I don’t have a clue what rooms my classes are in yet.
I’m actually a little concerned about having too many classes out here, because what am I supposed to do? Run back to my room and get all these clothes on in between classes? If so, exactly how long are the passing periods here at Katmere? Because the six minutes I got at my old school isn’t exactly going to cut it.
When I reach the end of the scattered row of buildings, I
find a stone-lined trail that seems to wind its way around the grounds to the other side of the castle. A weird sense that I should turn around settles across my shoulders—kind of like what I felt at the library last night—and I pause for a second.
But I know when I’m letting my imagination get the better of me—that tree back there really spooked me—so I shake off the feeling and head down the trail.
But the farther I get from the main building, the worse the wind gets, and I pick up my pace to try to stay warm. So much for getting too hot and taking off a layer like that website suggested. Pretty sure the threat of turning into a Grace-flavored Popsicle gets a little more real with every second that passes.
Still, I don’t turn back. At this point, I think I’ve circled more than half the grounds, which means I’m closer to the main castle if I keep going forward instead of heading back the way I came. So I pull my scarf a little more tightly around my face, shove my hands deep into my coat pockets, and keep going.
I head by a few more clumps of trees, a pond that is completely frozen over that I would love to ice skate on if I can manage to balance with all these clothes on, and a couple more small buildings. One is labeled Shila: Shop and the other says Tanana: Dance Studio over the door.
The cottage names are cool, but the classes they house surprise me a little. I don’t know what I expected of Katmere Academy, but I guess it wasn’t that it would have everything a regular high school has and so much more.
Admittedly, my only knowledge of rich boarding schools
comes from my mom’s old DVD of Dead Poets Society she made me watch with her once a year. But in that movie, Welton Academy was super strict, super harsh, and super stuck-up. So far, Katmere Academy seems to be only one of the three.
The wind is getting worse, so once again I pick up my pace, following the trail past a bunch of larger trees. These aren’t evergreens, their leaves long gone and their branches coated in frost and dripping with icicles. I pause to study a few of them because they’re beautiful, and because the light refracting through them sends rainbows dancing on the ground at my feet.
I’m delighted by this touch of whimsy, so much so that I don’t even mind the wind for a moment, as it’s what makes the rainbows shimmer. Eventually, though, the cold drives me to move, and I leave the trees in search of another frozen pond. This one clearly serves as a gathering spot, with several seats around it and a snow-capped gazebo a short distance away.
As I take a few steps toward the gazebo, intending to sit and rest for a bit, I realize it’s already occupied by Lia—and Jaxon.
