Snowflakes

December 21st

21st

 “She wasn’t exactly sure when it happened. Or even when it started. All she knew for sure was that right here and now, she was falling hard…” - Nicholas Sparks

 “So you promise you’ll call me the moment you get in from your date tonight?” I ask as I slip on my boots, fingers making quick work of tying the laces.

        “Yes, I promise,” Immy recites.

        “Unless, of course, your date doesn’t end until tomorrow morning,” I add with a wink. Her cheeks burn and I laugh.

        “God, Scarlett!” she exclaims, acting outraged. “Firstly: I’m only fifteen and secondly: it’s our first date. It might not even come to anything; maybe I’ll never see him again.”

        “Unlikely,” I mumble as I pass her on the way to the door. She shoves me playfully, but then gives me a quick hug. We say our goodbyes, both intermittently yawning after our late night last night (or rather, this morning).

        The cold hits me suddenly when I open the front door, so I spin on my heel and scurry back inside. I snatch what I recognise as Immy’s scarf off of her family’s coat stand. She raises an eyebrow at me, but she’s smiling and I grin back.

        “Thanks, I’ll give it back tomorrow,” I say, wrapping it around my neck and untucking my mousey brown hair.

        “Sure, whatever.”

        I’m half way down her drive now, calling out behind me, “Oh, and say hi to your boyfriend to me!”

        Probably wisely, Immy chooses to ignore the ‘boyfriend’ comment. “Since when were you friends with James?”

        “He lets me copy his homework,” I reply, with a glance over my shoulder. I wave at her, then continue heading down the road, narrowly dodging a patch of ice.

Usually, in order to walk back from Imogen’s house to mine, I would turn left at the end of her street. Instead, I take a right and head in the direction of the town center.

        The walk only takes about fifteen minutes, which goes by even quicker as I entertain myself by being nosy and observing all of the decorations in the windows of the houses I pass. Regardless, by the time I reach the cluster of shops and cafés, my fingers and toes are almost numb with cold. I’m drawn to the blinking lights of Starbucks, with a board outside advertising their winter drinks.

        The rush of warmth when I enter is wonderful; I feel myself sigh contently. After ordering my drink - a gingerbread latte - I find myself a table tucked away in the corner and sit down. Out of my bag I get a pen and the beautiful notebook I received from my Secret Santa way back on the third.

        The note they left for me is still on the first page: write about me sometime - your secret santa x. What I’ve decided to do isn’t technically that, but it’s pretty close.

        I write intently for a few minutes, only pausing occasionally to sip at my delicious, warm drink. My eyes skim over the words when I’m done, until I hear my name and I startle. Quickly slamming the notebook shut, I look up to see a girl I recognise from school standing by table. Emily, one of Immy’s more popular friends, smiles happily at me. I reciprocate; as much as I’m not best buddies with Emily, she’s not as bad as a lot of the others - cough, Aaron and Kayleigh, cough.

        “Hey, Scarlett!” she exclaims. I’ve never entirely understood why Emily always seems so jolly. “Mind if I sit here?”

        I barely have time to respond to her gesture towards the chair opposite me before she’s dropping down, heaving several high street shopping bags onto the small circular table. I tuck my notebook and pen back into my bag.