The Swailing

Maine: Snowing

At school I quickly learn that I am pretty far ahead of most of the other kids in math, science and technology, but I am woefully unprepared in literature and history. It's becoming more and more clear to me that Optima wasn't so concerned about teaching us to think – they just wanted us to memorize formulas and process information like little robots. Camden and my new guidance counselor help me download all levels of history texts and a huge variety of novels and I pretty much spend most of my free time reading "classic" books I've never heard of and learning about a past I never knew existed.

I learn about wars and slavery, about terrorism and racism. About what can happen when we let our fear and need for control take over.

But I also learn about hope and optimism, about civil rights and unbelievable acts of bravery. I read the words of long dead poets that stir something awake in me. A woman named Maya Angelou once wrote, "Without courage we cannot practice any other virtue with consistency. We can't be kind, true, merciful, generous, or honest." I realize how true it is. Fear – or at the very least, caution – keeps Optima from doing what is right and generous. And fear certainly has done a number on honesty. A virtuous society has to be courageous, to let its citizens learn and think and grow. To trust them enough to give them the truth.

When I'm not busy inhaling all this new knowledge, Camden and I hang out. He practices driving with me so that I can get my license. He goes running with me, though it sometimes sends him into wheezing asthma attacks that scare the crap out of me.

One Saturday morning I wake up to find the ground covered in white. I search for the word in my rusty vocabulary. Snow? This must be snow!

I run into his room and plop roughly onto the edge of his bed. He doesn't wake up easily – I know this much about him by now.

"Camden, wake up!" I press both hands against his sturdy shoulder and try to shake him.

"Hmmmmph." He buries his head under his pillow and ignores me.

"It snowed!"

"Peachy." At least I think that's what he says – his words are muffled by bedding.

"I've never seen snow before."

He slowly extracts his head from under the pillow and rolls over to look at me with gray eyes that are just like mine.

"Seriously?"

I nod and smile, excited.

He rolls his eyes. "Well. I guess I have to indulge you, then."

Once we're outside, he teaches me how to build a snowman, how to make snow angels, how to whip a snowball at someone's head. Well ... he doesn't exactly teach me that. He just whips a snowball at my head and I learn pretty fast.

My mom brings us a carrot to use for the snowman's nose and she watches us for awhile with an almost sad smile on her face.

She missed all of this. She and my dad both did – watching their twins grow up playing together. Camden and I missed it, too, and even though there's nothing to be done about it now, I feel a longing pang of regret when I think of all those years we spent apart.

Camden stays outside with me until my fingers are numb inside my soggy gloves and his cheeks are as red as his coat. We finally come inside, snow caked in my matted hair, and my mom makes us something called hot chocolate, which is just as delicious as it sounds, with little mini marshmallows floating in it. I eat a couple of carrots afterward just to ward off the residual guilt from drinking a cup full of fat and sugar.

Later I doze off on the couch while reading a novel.

It's a good day.

After a couple of weeks at school, a few boys ask me out. I'm sort of a novelty around here, and I think they're curious. Maybe my tattoo has intrigued them. Whatever their motivation, I'm not even tempted to say yes. The spark in my belly seems to have died when Finn left and I have none of my old desire to try to get into any trouble with these boys, as willing as they seem to be. I get the feeling I wouldn't have to coerce them to kiss me, but that's no longer my goal. I've been kissed for real, now, by someone who means it and kissing just to be dangerous or rebellious seems pointless.