They crossed the main road and there was the chapel lawn, a pristine mini-Sahara. Ahmed charged into the snow, churning it up behind him. Ben charged along beside him, and when they got to the chapel door, they saw the best sight that could have greeted fourteen-year-old eyes, a sign on laminated Rectory stationery with two words in black permanent marker: BLIZZARD HOLIDAY.

No Latin exam. No wrestling.

“Duh, everyone knows already,” said Fitzy when they got back to Hawley to tell everyone.

And then they had to figure out what to do. Hutch and Evan had talked to Ross Callard and Rich Debrett—two very hard fifth-formers in Hutch’s dorm—who were going out to the Ski Jump with some people to go sledding. Hutch said Ben had to be ready, because it was at least a twenty-minute walk and people didn’t want newbs slowing them down.

In the Hawley common room, Leon and Hideo had Alien and Aliens on VHS.

“You should see these movies. They’re great,” Ben said to Ahmed.

“There will always be time for movies. Only today is my first day of snow,” said Ahmed.

“You’re sure you can make it out there?”

“Yes, I am sure.”

“But you don’t necessarily know how cold it can get.”

“Well, I will find it out.”

They met up with Hutch, Evan, Callard, and Debrett at the PO. Everyone seemed not to see Ahmed. Hutch and Evan both had Patagonia jackets, Callard had a North Face like Ben’s, and Debrett had a Marmot. Hutch and Evan each had a flying saucer, and Ben wondered when they had gotten them. They passed the chapel, entered the white woods, and tromped around the pond.

The water was half frozen in long snowy peninsulas. They walked over the Sluice Bridge and way farther out into the woods than Ben had ever been. Snow sat in impossible vertical drifts on the tree branches around them, right down to shavings held on the edge of every wire-thin twig.

The group made a right turn at a spot that seemed arbitrary to Ben, and then suddenly they were at the foot of a hill that rose at least thirty yards with a straight, landing-strip-wide track down the middle: the abandoned ski-team hill. This was something Ben had never heard about from Teddy. A whoop went up from the expedition. Ben realized he hadn’t eaten any breakfast, and he was lighter than he had been a month ago. There were about a half dozen people already there—some guys from Astor House and a couple others Ben didn’t know. People had brought out dining hall trays, either solid matte-orange plastic ones with a slight tread on the upward-facing side or gray spun plastic that was harder, glossier, and better for sledding.