Nevaeh steps back and tells me how beautiful I am. Jack’s shutter clicks as I look over my shoulder, down at the floor mysteriously. A breath in and out, my belly expanding and contracting. A wave of goose bumps sweeps over me at being more naked than I’ve ever felt before. I close my eyes. The room is quiet, the murmuring music, the others talking, Jack’s shutter. It feels good.

Bunches of kids are all headed back to the dorms, buffeting our own little group as we make our way together. Jack and Taylor are in front, in deep conversation about, I think, Taylor’s new socks, or soccer. Katherine and Nevaeh are behind them, arms linked. Katherine is glowing, Nevaeh laughing at her.

Snow is falling, giant fat flakes that land with a plop on your hood, not graceful at all, but the smell is so fresh, a sharp coldness in the air. Something about the snow makes all the students rowdy, everyone running screaming down the paths, skidding across the slippery parts, digging into the old snowbanks piled up along the sides of the walkways and throwing snowballs that are half ice. I slow down, fall behind because I get nervous when things get slippery.

I catch up with everyone where the sidewalk branches off toward the girls’ dorm. I sidle over to Jack and tug his sleeve.

“Hey,” I say, my voice pitched low, and I realize I’m not sure what I’m going to say. It’s loud out here, a group of kids hurtling by us, shouting, a chorus of singing.

Jack leans toward me, bringing his mouth close to my ear. “You were great.”

I shiver. I don’t think that’s what I was going to ask. But I’m not going to deny that it is nice to hear.

“Just FYI,” he says quickly. He glances up as the clock tower starts to strike ten. Taylor offers to race him back to the boys’ dorm, and they’re off, and that’s okay.

Katherine, Nevaeh, and I sprint down the path to ours before the clock finishes its countdown.

14

The following evening, I’m curled up next to the window in the common room, trying to finish The Bell Jar and unexpectedly having feelings about it, when I can keep my eyes on the page. The snow is still piling up outside, on and off since last night. It’s hard to do anything but scrunch down in the chair and drift with the snowflakes and daydream about my dance, my clothes, our club.

When my phone buzzes in my lap, I jump, flip it over. My mother.

“Finally you pick up. Do you need money?” Her face is pinched, her lips all pruney.

“Nice to talk to you, too, Mom.” My voice is wry, and I keep it low because there are other students in here.