“Why exactly are we here?” I ask, since it’s only open to the public May through October. We have Fort Ontario brochures at the inn, and I recommend it to guests who love historic sites. The only time I came here was on a bus for our end-of-the-year sixth-grade field trip. Until now, I haven’t returned.

Logan laughs, pops open the trunk, and climbs out of the car with her backpack swung over her shoulder. She removes a thick, coiled rope and stuffs it into her backpack. Burrowing under a blanket, she pulls out two sets of snowshoes. She hands me one set.

“We drove forty minutes to go snowshoeing? Couldn’t we have done that in Riviere?”

She hip-bumps me. “This will be fun. I promised amazing, and I will deliver.”

“Right. And why do we need a rope?”

“If you don’t stop asking questions, I’m pulling out the duct tape and I will enjoy using it on you.” She pats her backpack.

“You know, kidnapping is a felony.”

“So is breaking and entering.” She grins wickedly.

I clamp my mouth shut. She can’t be serious, right? I follow in her footsteps, leaving a trail through the pristine snow surrounding the massive stone walls of Fort Ontario. With each step, I seem to grow smaller like an ant at the base of a canyon. The stone walls are at least three times the height of an ordinary chain-link fence. We’ll need more than rope. We’ll need a cannon or two. Or a catapult. I could totally see Logan launching me over or making me climb a tree, except I don’t see any trees close enough to the fort. We’re the only ones here. I’m not sure what Logan’s up to, but I don’t exactly have a good feeling about it.

To slow her down, I scoop up snow, pack it into a tight ball, and aim for a low-hanging branch of a birch tree some twenty feet in front of us. I nail it, sending an explosion of snow over the ground.

“Bet you can’t do that again,” Logan says.

“What will you give me if I do?”

“That depends on what you want?”

You. It’s the first thing that pops into my head, but since I’m not a fan of self-inflicted torture, I keep my mouth shut. I take my time answering. I could ask to find out where we’re going, but that’s hardly a reward. Nothing special comes to mind, at least not anything I have the guts to ask for. Then it comes to me, and if I hit the target, I’ll win the biggest stuffed bear at this carnival. “Sometime, someday, I want to know what you’re thinking. And when I ask, you need to tell me exactly what’s going on in your head.”