I wipe the fog off the cool window. I peek outside. Snowflakes fall on the soft-looking bed of snow. I get my red furry coat and slip it on. I zip on my black boots. I swing the front door open. The cool air blows onto my skin. I shiver as I dash on the driveway. I stick out of tongue to the sky. Some snowflakes land on my tongue gently. They melt at the moment they touch the warmth of my tongue. It gives my tongue a tingling impression.
I lie on the snow on the lawn and make a snow angel. I see a ball of snow thrown into the sky. Gravity pulls it to my face. Sometimes, I am grateful of it letting me stand properly, but sometimes I cannot stand how things end up hitting me in the face. I sit up and shake off the snow from my hair and mouth. Alex laughs hysterically.
“I’m going to kill you!” I declare.
“Not if I kill you first!” he says. He throws another snowball on my neck. It melts against my warm-blooded neck. The water trickle down my neck and down to my chest.
I squeal. I chase after him. I form a snowball and aim one at his thigh. All of a sudden, multiple snowballs hit both of us.
“Hey!” we chorus.
Dad chuckles at us. He throws a few more at us.
“I’m going to get you, Dad!” Alex shouts.
We have a huge snowball fight. At the end, we are all soaking wet. I have had too much fun to care about my drenched clothes. Alex and I hide behind our lawn’s evergreen tree.
“He won’t”—pant, pant—“find us”—pant, pant—“here,” I pant in exhaustion.
“Yeah,” Alex breathes.
Large arms squeeze us. I feel Dad’s hot, coffee breath on my face.
“Daddy!” I screech.
He grips us tighter. My stomach aches from his suffocating hug. He pulls us into the tall pile of snow near our garden. Luckily, we land butt first. I dust the snow off my rear and pounce on my dad’s back. Alex holds stiffly on his legs.
“Attack of the children!” I proclaim. Dad collapses on the ground.
“Victory!” Alex cries. We cheer.
“Okay, okay, you win. I am getting too old for this,” Dad says. “But we have to dry up.”
We nod. I can feel the snow seeped into my PJ’s and into my underwear. My skin feels all damp and sticky. My teeth chatter as we walk back into the house. I change into dry, clean clothes. I see an empty bottle of perfume on the dresser. That reminds me...
“Dad?” I say. He is cooking lunch. It is fried rice with corn and peas.
“Yes?”
“Can I go shopping with my friends?”
“Where?”
“Walmart.”
“When?”
“Now.”
“How?”
I bat my eyelashes at him, telling him he has to drive me. “Hehe...Can I?”
“Fine,” he says, kissing my forehead. I wipe the spit from my forehead with the back of my hand. I love my dad but I really hate soberly kisses. “Did your friends agreed to this?”
I forgot that. “No.”
“Okay, tell me when you are ready then.” He pours the oil in the pot.
I dial Marilyn's number on the phone I find by the dining room table.
“Hello?” Marilyn answers sleepily.
YOU ARE READING
Red ✔
Dla nastolatkówPEOPLE CAN CHANGE IF YOU LET THEM. Scarlet Moore and Clive McNeil have been at each other's throat for over nine years, ever since he flushed her favourite pink bag in JK. However, in Grade 8, Clive changes into a totally different person. He is [m...
