We drove through thick snow. The roads were empty, and there were no car tracks; only the trees defined the path of the road. It was dark, and we drove around the mountain cocooned in Jack’s Datsun as it snowed all around us. Supertramp’s “The Logical Song” came on the radio as we were trying to get up Horseshoe Trail Road, the car spinning wheels and sliding back. Jack couldn’t get the car up any farther, so he stopped and we got out and walked up to the water tower lot to see what it would look like up there at the top of the mountain, all white. The three of us stood in that quiet of snow at night, our faces cold, the thick flakes falling and lights blinking, and I felt happy. I remember looking over at Jack, and he had become beautiful, his dark hair and red cheeks. I could see he was happy, too, just being there with us. Ever since, I’d had a kind of crush on him, something I didn’t even admit to Sage. I hardly ever saw him, anyway. Neither did Thomas.

As I passed the tower, there was more laughter and the shattering of glass, and I broke into a run before any of them saw me. But I hadn’t reached the woods on the other side of the clearing when shadows moved ahead of me in the dark. I slowed to a walk. Five or six teenagers were standing in a haphazard circle, the smell of pot hovering around them. Abbey Quinn stepped out onto the trail.

“Hey, Gallagher. That you? Where you headed?”

I stopped. I liked Abbey, but the others she was with made me uncomfortable. “Hi, Abbey. Babysitting.”

“The beautiful Mrs. Boucher?” Abbey giggled. She was stoned.

I looked over at the others, trying to make out their faces. “Yeah.”

“I heard there’s someone who thinks Mrs. Boucher is beautiful,” she said, and started laughing again.

I didn’t know what she meant, and shrugged. Abbey put her arm around my shoulders. She’d been drinking, too.

“You should come out more often. It’d be good for you. With Sage.”

“I’ll try,” I said. “Better get going. See ya.” I kept walking down the trail.