Chapter One
"A totally hot ski instructor," Leah suddenly announced
excitedly. "That's what you need to take your mind
completely off Brad Connor."
"How can a ski instructor be hot?" I asked. "His classroom
is a snow-covered hill. He's gotta be cold."
Allie rolled her eyes and Leah gave me a sharp look that
said she was seriously contemplating throwing the snow
she'd just scooped up at me.
"That is so lame, Kate."
Okay, so it was lame, but I was also extremely cold, with
visions of curling up in front of a roaring fire dancing
through my head. And obviously, the chill seeping through
the knitted cap I'd pulled down over my ears was causing
periodic brain freezes. Even stuffing my shoulder-length,
obnoxiously naturally curly red hair under the cap didn't
seem to provide any extra insulation against the frigid
air that surrounded us.
And it was unbelievably cold. After all, we were in a ski
resort town with white peaked mountains all around us.
Leah, Allie, and I had flown in earlier that afternoon. My
aunt had met us at the airport and driven us to Snow Angel
Valley where she'd made arrangements for us to stay in a
condo by ourselves. It was totally awesome. Three
bedrooms, a sunken living room, a redwood deck. But more
importantly, it was ours for the duration of our visit.
Just ours. No parents, no chaperones. We were totally on
our own, with the freedom to do exactly what we wanted.
Once we'd settled into our respective bedrooms, Allie had
announced that she wanted to build a snowman. But now that
we were actually doing it, the activity seemed as lame as
my joke. I mean, really, we were seniors, and a snowman is
something you care about if you're, like, two years old --
or if you've never been around snow.
Leah and Allie had never been around snow.
I saw it at least once a year, usually over winter break
when I came to visit Aunt Sue while my parents took their
annual gotta-get-away-from-it-all cruise down to the
Bahamas. Aunt Sue lived in Snow Angel Valley, owned a
bookstore-slash-hot chocolate cafΓ©, and rented condos to
the tourists more than she did to the locals. This winter
break, remarkably, one of her condos wasn't being rented.
So she'd offered to let me stay in it instead of staying
with her in her apartment over the bookstore. She owns all
these nice condos, but she lives in an apartment. Go
figure. She calls herself a minimalist, preferring a
simple life to one "cluttered with materialistic objects
that serve no purpose other than to provide a place for
dust to gather." Her words, not mine.
But you gotta love someone who sees dusting and scrubbing
as a poor use of one's time.
"I've never seen a headstone inscribed βMay she rest in
peace. She kept a clean house.'"
Again, her words, not mine. Not that Aunt Sue is a slob or
anything. She's not. She simply doesn't believe in
spending time doing things that aren't important to her.
She is absolutely, without question, one of the coolest
people I know. Especially since she told me that I could
bring along a couple of my friends to share the condo with
me.
So I did. Leah Locke and Allie Anderson. And I'm Kate
Kennedy. We call ourselves the alphabet trio because
somehow we all ended up with our first and last names
starting with the same letter. Alliteration. Of course, we
have a lot more in common than our alliterating names.
We attend the same high school, live in the same
neighborhood, have the same best friends (each other), and
are presently boyfriendless.
Although I have to admit that I've been crushing on my
brother's college roommate Brad Connor ever since Mom,
Dad, and I went to the university to visit Sam during
family weekend. That's when I met Brad. And oh my gosh, is
he a hunk. Tall, dark, and handsome doesn't even begin to
describe him. He has a killer smile --
"Why are we making our snowman round?" Leah asked,
interrupting my nostalgic musings about Brad.
Beneath Leah's red cap, she has cropped hair that was
brown until she dyed it as black as a raven's wing. It
gives her a sort of goth look that gets her a lot of
stares when we go out. Or maybe it's her stunningly
beautiful violet eyes. Or her pierced eyebrow. Or her
braided leather choker. She has this really dark,
mysterious aura going on that doesn't really fit with her
bubbly personality. She even designed this mosaic that she
plans to have tattooed on her neck the day she turns
eighteen. Me, I don't want needles anywhere near my
jugular.
"Because that's the way snowmen are supposed to be," Allie
said.
Allie, on the other hand, is the girl-next-door. She'd
stuffed her blonde hair beneath her pink knitted cap. Her
pink coat had fur around the cuffs and collar. She's
Barbie-doll petite, which sometimes irritates Leah, since
she only has to look at chocolate in order to absorb the
calories. Fortunately for me, since I'm a chocoholic, I
was born with a high metabolism that burns calories
quickly. That sometimes irritates Leah, too.
"How would you know how snowmen are supposed to be?" Leah
asked.
"I've seen pictures," Allie retorted.
The part of Texas where we live had never been visited by
a single snowflake, which was the reason they were so
totally into building this snow guy.
Leah picked up a twig. "Let's be creative. Let's make him
buff, give him some abs, some guns -- "
"Guns? Are you going to make him a cowboy -- " I began.
"No." Leah held her arm up at a right angle, closing her
hand into a fist. "Guns. Muscled arms. That's what my
brother calls them."
Her younger brother is on the football team and into
working out. Not that he needed to work out. He was huge.
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