I hesitate, then send him a smiley face. Then a firework emoji.

I am filled up with helium looking at this photo, which doesn’t seem real. Which is funny because it’s so real in that kinetic curve and that fold of fat at the waist and the trace of scars and the texture of skin and how alive it is, the bright shine of sparkles reflecting in the spotlight. Bright shine of me, reflected in the camera lens. It’s me.

I forward the photo to Nevaeh, Katherine, Taylor without comment and put my phone facedown on the arm of my chair. I’ll read for a while longer, before I see what they think, my hands shaking. I knock the phone off the arm and scramble down to pick it up. Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, I see our group chat exploding with exclamation points.

that is your back, Taylor types.

More caps lock and exclamation points.

what are you doing? Nevaeh asks.

i don’t know, I type, and then I do.

get your coats get your hats let’s go outside I want to go make snow angels go go go

Minutes later, I burst into the dark, snow-filled air, twirl and let the flakes fall on my lashes, on my tongue. Nevaeh tackles me from behind, not wearing a hat, and there’s Katherine with two hats, her arms around my neck.

“That is your back!” she yells.

“I know!” I yell. “These invitations!” A running start, and I jump into the snow, whooshing up and landing with a poof that knocks the wind out of me, makes me laugh breathlessly. I turn over and lie on my back.

Katherine lands next to me, and Nevaeh swan dives on top of both of us, burying us deeper. She smacks a kiss on Katherine’s cheek, leaving a glittery purple print, and then mine.

“Snow angel!” she cries, plowing through the snow to another untouched spot, Katherine stumbling after her.

I’m smiling up at the sky, low dark clouds and snow still drifting, until someone charges past and I get a faceful. I sit up, spitting and brushing the icy crystals off my cheeks and nose and eyes, and then someone is reaching for me, hauling me up. It’s Christopher, and once I wobble up to stand he puts his arm around my shoulders. My face is stinging.

“So bad at this snow thing,” he says. “You look ridiculous. Like a big old drowned rat.” He’s leading me to the walkway.

“I’m okay,” I say. “You can let me go.” I twist away, move a step apart from him, keep lurching ahead through the piled-up snow.

“I’m not sure I should,” he says.

“I’m fine,” I tell him.

“Why are you getting so worked up?” he says, maddeningly. He’s right next to me again, matching my steps.

“I’m not,” I say.

“Okay, well, have your temper tantrum.”