I have become a stalker, and I'm not proud of it. I find myself sneaking over to the Starbucks at random times during the day to try and catch a glimpse of Ethan. First of all, I want to make sure he is okay, not in some jail being tormented by guys named Butch. Second of all, I want things to feel normal again, and they felt the most normal when we were there, sipping coffee, drawing, talking.

I am fairly certain he has started dating Michelle, but I don't know for sure until one snowy night a week before Thanksgiving. I see them in the parking lot; he is kissing her goodbye. Even in the cold, I feel hot, unbearably hot, like I'm burning alive. I shake snow off my hood and watch my breath puff out in front of me, obscuring my view of the two of them. Ethan's headlights are two beams of snowflakes as Michelle leans her blond head in the window, into that dark space; she doesn't come back out for a few minutes. I have to turn away and go home; after that, I go back less and less, and when I do, it's just to remind myself of why I should never go again.

"Dig in!" says Mrs. Inglewood, her voice shattering my thoughts.

We are having a Thanksgiving party in Zoology class, which is ironic considering it's the one class you absolutely don't want to eat in, and the tables are piled high with cookies, cakes, fruit, soda, and candy. I don't get in line with the rest of my classmates, content to just sit at my desk and work on homework. Besides, I don't want to get anywhere near Corbin, who is in the middle of the line; I'm too afraid of facing the inevitable.

Corbin has not mentioned the hospital thing, and neither have I, even though it's been a couple weeks; I don't know what to say, and I'm scared it might be awkward. That's why I'm so surprised when he plops down next to me at the party, holds out a Styrofoam plate full of cookies and says,

"So, you too freaked out to talk to me?"

I blush and put down my math homework to look at him; I still feel awful and embarrassed, but at least he doesn't look angry. Then again, I've never seen him angry about anything. He hasn't taken off his beige corduroy coat yet, the ends of his jeans, still wet from walking in the snow, are flopped over a pair of even wetter black boots. His light brown hair is messy, melting snowflakes clinging to it.

"I wasn't not talking to you."

"Oh please. You've got that 'oh-my-gosh-he's-dying' look written all over your face."

"Sorry. . . I guess I'm not as. . . prepared as I told Marnie I would be," I shrug, taking a snicker doodle off the plate. A shower of sugar, cinnamen, and cookie falls into my lap.

"It's okay," he says, taking a bite of another cookie shaped like a turkey. It looks vaguely homemade, and I wonder if there was some sort of announcement about bringing our own stuff. As usual, I probably wasn't listening if there was.

"So. . . are you?" I ask softly.

"Am I what?"

I wince. He's going to make me say it, and he grins at me like he knows. This was his plan all along.

"Dying," I say softly, stuffing my mouth with the snicker doodle after I say the word, as if trying to get the taste of it off my tongue.

"We're all dying, my dear."

"Don't go all poetic on me. You know what I mean," I say, rolling my eyes.

"Am I dying sooner than you? Yes."

"How soon?"

"Should've been yesterday, but I'll be fine as long as it's before finals," he grins.

"Don't say that."

"Why does everyone else have more of a problem with my own death than I do?" he sighs, picking at the turkey's colorful frosting.

I wipe a layer of cinnamon and sugar off my lips. "Because we figure you should have a problem with it."

"Well, when you've been dying your whole life, I guess you kinda make peace with it at some point. Otherwise I'd just be rocking back and forth in a corner somewhere, and I'm sorry, but I've got things to do. Life doesn't stop just because you do."

"You could still find a donor," I point out.

He shrugs and stares intently at the dry white snakeskin that circles the blackboard. It's the first time he has broken eye contact with me; Corbin likes to look people right in the eye, I've noticed. At first it made me twitch; now I kinda like it. There is something honest about his eyes.

"Yeah. I guess."

"You sound skeptical."

Corbin looks back at me with his snowy gray eyes and raises an eyebrow. "Let's just say I'm not holding my breath."

"Understandable," I mumble.

We are quiet for a few seconds after that, listening to the rowdy chatter of our classmates, watching the snow fall outside. We will not see the ground again until May; that's what Sara told me. The winter falls sudden and hard here, and it sticks around. I'm already missing the grass.

"So are you doing anything after school?" Corbin asks.

I shake my head. "Not that I know of."

"No aunts coming to visit?"

I narrow my eyes and kick his foot under the table. "I apologized."

"Yeah, but I can still pick on you for it," he chuckles, kicking me back.

"So do you want to come over?" I ask.

"Sure," he says.

Ever since he walked home with me from the Starbucks, our relationship has changed. There is something deeper now, an unspoken agreement between us. He knows about Ethan, and I know about his heart. Two of our biggest secrets traded like artifacts; we wouldn't dare give one away for fear of losing the other.

Corbin and I meet at my locker after the last bell and walk to the Whites' house in the deep snow. It's up to my knees in places, and my shoes and jeans are soaked through. I wonder why I even bother wearing the shoes anymore; they are just plain tennis shoes, not built for long treks in the snow, but I refuse to cave and ask Sara for boots. It's just not worth it to me.

"You look cold," Corbin says, glancing over at me with concern.

I raise my eyebrows in a ya-think? kind of way. "Well, there's two feet of snow on the ground."

"Are you surprised?" he grins.

"I'm not from here. I mean, not originally. I ended up in Colorado, but I started in Oklahoma."

"Really?"

"Yep. And in Oklahoma, you're lucky if it snows once during the whole year, and it's never more than a foot deep."

"Well, get used to it. Winter is long and boring here," he sighs, "We won't see the ground again until-"

"May. I know."

"I was gonna say until hell freezes over, but May works too."

I smile at him, noticing for the first time how easy this feels. No pressure, no need to impress, no nervousness. It feels incredibly comfortable, like coming home after a long, hectic day.

"So what do you do with all your animals during the winter?" I ask.

Corbin shrugs, but I notice the way his gray eyes light up; I can tell he loves talking about this sort of thing.

"Most of them don't mind the snow. It's not like any of them hibernate. Lady, the deer, she likes to make snow angels. It's very entertaining."

"I'd like to see them."

"Oh yeah, that's right! You never got to meet them on Halloween. Well, just say when."

"Over the break? You're not going out of town are you?"

"Nope. Sounds good to me."

"Which one is your favorite?" I ask.

"Are you kidding me? That's like asking a parent which kid is their favorite. Even if I had one, I could never admit it."

"I see," I smile.

We crunch through the snow for a few more minutes. There is a particularly innocent looking pile that I step into, only to fall in up to my thighs. Corbin grabs my arm automatically and then quickly pulls away once he sees I'm alright.

"Wow. That was. . . unexpected," I say, shivering all over now.

"Don't step close to the fences," he says, "It builds up there."

"Thanks for letting me know," I grumble, trying to shake the powder off my wet jeans. Under them, I cannot feel my legs. Luckily the house is in sight now.

"You okay?" Corbin asks.

"Yeah. Just cold. Let's hurry."

We jog the last few yards to the house. The first thing I notice is that Peter is home early. Then I notice that Sara's car is gone, and there is someone else in the house. A woman. Not Sara.

I can hear them arguing in the office, a small room just off the kitchen that was originally the breakfast room; the door stands slightly ajar. It's Peter's office, so I never go in there if I can help it; I'm too scared he might catch me poking around, even though Sara never told me it was off limits. I see it from the hallway sometimes, when the door is open. There is a big brown desk with a laptop on it; behind it are shelves and shelves full of boring looking books without covers; it reminds me of a winter forest, stark and endless and brown.

"I want to see her!" the woman shouts.

"She's not here. She's at school. You know that. If you want to see her, come by on the weekends."

School? Are they talking about Annabelle? I glance at Corbin, who looks just as clueless as I am, and walk carefully forward, straining my ears.

"The weekends? Yeah, when she's here. Great. When are we gonna tell her, Peter?" the woman hisses.

"I told you. Sara-"

"Don't say her name!" she shouts.

I hear a chair creak; Peter gets up, crosses the room. In the crack of the door, I see his shadow pass, quickly, like a leaf blowing across a sidewalk. I hear the sound of a kiss, and it's like something explodes inside of me, debris raining down on all my insides. All I can picture is Sara, frantically looking for Samuel in the snow alone.

I clear my throat, and the sound stops. There are hushed whispers, and the woman walks out, straightening her white blouse. She smiles sweetly at me; there is something familiar about that smile, but I can't place it and I'm too angry to even try. She's very pretty, tall with blond curly hair, wearing a black knee-length skirt and heels with deep purple stockings.

Peter comes out next and smiles at me and Corbin too, as if nothing has happened, as if we are that stupid. It's not only disgusting; it's downright insulting.

"Corbin! How are you?" he asks, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Corbin shrugs, looking pale and somewhat sick as he twists away from Peter's touch. "Okay, Dr. White."

"This is my friend from work, Amy."

We both stare at the woman; I'm glaring. I can see Corbin raising his eyebrows beside me; neither of us smiles or says hello, and I'm glad to note how uncomfortable she looks. I want her to know exactly how unwelcome she is here.

"Well," she says briskly, tucking a piece of blond hair behind her ear. "I need to be getting back. Peter, call me about. . . what we talked about."

"I will. Thanks for coming by," he says.

I don't take my eyes off her until she's out the door, closing it behind her, one white arm still visible through the choppy glass. And before Peter can even attempt to explain, I take off upstairs with Corbin behind me.

"Slow down! Dying guy back here!" he shouts.

I force myself to walk the rest of the way to my room, Corbin close behind. I'm shaking with rage, trying to calm myself down, but it's impossible.

"He's cheating! I KNEW it!" I shout, face flaming red as I flop down on my bed.

"You don't know that."

"They were kissing!"

"Yeah but-"

"They were KISSING!" I yell.

"Are you gonna tell Sara?" he asks gingerly.

"Hell yes I am! I've had it with asshole guys!"

Corbin chuckles and takes off his backpack, setting it by my door; as usual, there are a few crumply papers sticking out on both sides. I wonder when was the last time he cleaned it out.

"I take it things didn't end up too well with your TA?"

I roll my eyes, feeling the familiar painful prick in my stomach that happens every time I think about Ethan.

"You don't know the half of it."

"Then tell me."

Corbin sits down at my desk and moves the chair back and forth, making it squeak. I start to take off my sopping wet shoes and jeans, then remember that Corbin is in the room and stop at the shoes. My feet are white and wrinkled underneath my socks, and my toes tingle as feeling comes back into them.

"You don't want to know," I mumble.

"Crap, Avery, are those your only shoes?" Corbin asks, and I'm not sure he heard my last comment. "You'll get hypothermia that way!"

"It's not a long walk, and they dry at school," I shrug.

"The winter lasts most of the year! You won't make it to Christmas like that. Why are you such a masochist? Marnie told me about the coat thing."

I glare at him, pissed at Marnie for telling him and pissed at Corbin for bringing it up. "I'm not. I just don't like spending their money."

"Well they've got plenty of it," he says, and I notice a bitterness in his voice that I have never heard before. It's not like him.

"Meaning?" I ask curiously.

"My dad's probably paid Dr. White a hundred thousand dollars for my treatment over the last fourteen years. No exaggeration, and that's not including the debt we owe. We practically support this family."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"I hope not," he shudders, "One thing I won't miss about life is how unfair it always is."

I smile in spite of myself and ball up my wet socks and toss them into the clothes hamper, then lay down on the bed again, trying to shake some feeling back into my numb legs.

"So you really don't mind?" I ask softly.

"About dying? No, I think I'm pretty lucky."

"Why?"

"Well, most people are old by the time they die, and they have all these regrets and stuff because when they were young, they thought life would never end. I always knew it would end for me, and quick, so I didn't do a lot of stuff I regret. I mean, I make mistakes, just nothing I have to take with me."

"Interesting way of looking at it," I say, "So where is your mom? If you don't mind me asking."

Corbin shakes his head, picking at his wet jeans; I notice he hasn't even cracked the algebra book he set on my desk when he first walked in. "It's fine. She's dead. She had the same disease I do, died a few months after me and Marnie were born."

"Oh," I say softly, "Sorry."

"It's okay. I don't remember her," he says, "But Dad says she looked like Marnie."

"So let's say you did find a donor. Would you be happy?" I ask, sensing he wants to change the subject.

"Yeah, I'd be happy I guess. I could do everything I want to do, like go to college or work with animals or. . . you know. . . get married and stuff," he mumbles, reddening.

"Well, I'll hold my breath for you," I smile.

"Thanks, and let me know when you get bored," he chuckles, finally opening up his algebra book to today's lesson.

We spend the rest of that evening working on homework, listening to music, and talking. It's nice. I don't feel like I owe Corbin anything or that I have to flirt with him. He's safe. Safer than Ethan. Ethan was a wall I hid behind for awhile, but Corbin is an umbrella; the rain doesn't stop, but I at least know that wherever I go with him, I'm covered.

"I never would've pegged you for a Disturbed fan," I laugh, reaching over to turn down the radio.

Corbin grins. "Sometimes you just gotta kick the world's ass, ya know?"

"And you say things like ass? I am truly shocked now!"

"Am I surprising?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows. "What exactly did you have me pegged as anyway?"

I throw my head back and stare at the ceiling, tapping my pencil on my notebook; there are a million ways to answer that question, none of them very flattering.

"A granola eating, nature lover, good-church-boy, Sarah-Mclachlan-loving-"

"Woah. I am not gay, Avery," Corbin says, holding up a hand.

"I didn't say that!"

"I mean, I do like granola, and nature, and I do go to church. But Sarah Mclachlan has got to go. Seriously."

"You go to church? Really?" I ask.

We are sitting on the floor, Corbin leaning against my desk chair, me leaning against the bed, homework, pretzels, and Hostess Cupcake packages spread out between us. Our jeans are finally dry, and our shoes air out in the bathroom under the heater vent.

"Yeah. It's called The High Places."

"Does Marnie go?"

"We all do. We've gone since we were little kids," he shrugs, going back to his math homework.

"So do you believe that's where you'll go when you die? Is that why you're not scared?" I ask curiously.

"I don't know," Corbin says thoughtfully, looking up at me. "I mean, I know there's life after death, I just don't know what it'll be like. Do I buy the whole Heaven/Hell, golden-streets and mansions thing? Not really. I just know that the afterlife will probably be unlike anything man has ever fathomed, so I don't think I can believe everything they say so easily."

"That makes sense," I say.

Corbin glances at his watch for the first time that night. "Wow, I better get going. I didn't even tell my dad I was coming over here."

I'm surprised to find that I'm actually disappointed by this, wishing he could stay another hour. Another ten minutes. Something.

At the door, just as he's getting ready to walk home in the deep snow, he tells me not to worry about Sara and Peter, that they'll work it out, whatever's going on. I just shrug and ask him if he wants a ride home; I know Marnie told me not to treat him any differently, but I'm worried; it's a long walk in the cold.

Corbin narrows his eyes like he knows exactly what I'm thinking. "I'll be fine, Avery," he says, then walks away before I can protest, throwing his hood over his head.

-

Sara gets home around nine o'clock with Samuel and Annabelle, grocery bags hanging off her like Christmas tree ornaments.

"Avery, can you throw something on the stove for the kids? They're starving," she asks guiltily, looking frazzled.

"Sure," I reply, opening up the cabinet and finding a box of macaroni and cheese.

I cook while she puts away groceries, and I tell her everything I heard in the office as me and Corbin stood outside, right down to the kissing. I find that it isn't difficult to bad-mouth Peter; I've never liked him from the start. She stands in front of the refrigerator, hands on the bar, groceries all over the place, her face white. Annabelle and Samuel sit behind her at the table, forks and spoons ready. I talk in a low, hushed whisper, and when I'm done, she closes her eyes.

"Avery, I appreciate you telling me this, but Peter is not cheating on me."

"But-"

I'm presenting her with solid proof. How can she possibly deny it?

"Please," she says slowly, her voice dangerous. "Stay out of business that isn't yours."

Her eyes are pleading with me, like she's trying to tell me something, but I can't pick up on what it is. All I can see is that she's totally in denial and something really weird is going on with Peter and that woman, something that concerns the kids, or at least Annabelle. I look back at the stove and notice that the water in the pan is boiling; I pour in the dry noodles and a cloud of hot steam hisses into my face.

"I'm just trying-" I start again.

"Avery! No more," Sara shouts.

I blink. Sara has never raised her voice at me. I look past her at the kids. Annabelle and Samuel are staring at her back, their eyes wide, just as surprised as I am. Samuel looks scared, like he's about to start crying. I smile gently at him, shoving down my own fear to show him it's okay.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, looking ashamed.

"It's okay. You're right," I reply, a little too quickly.

I go back to cooking the macaroni, my shoulders stiff, the silence painfully awkward, like a dead body twisted into the wrong position. After a few minutes, Sara leaves the room, groceries still not put away. I throw the frozen stuff into the freezer but leave everything else, then pour the macaroni and cheese into two small bowls.

"Why is Mom so mad?" Annabelle asks curiously.

I think about what that woman said, about wanting to see Annabelle, and just shrug. What is going on with this family?

"Just a rough day," I say.

Samuel is watching me with his big dark eyes. After I spoon the yellowish glob of noodles into his bowl, he opens his mouth.

"Avee," he says.

I freeze, a few bits of macaroni falling off the spoon and splattering on the floor. It's like time stops. I just stare at him, my eyes wide with disbelief; Annabelle's mouth is hanging open.

"You talked!" I yell, louder than I intended; it makes him flinch.

"Sorry, buddy. Sorry," I laugh, reaching down to hug him. His little body is stiff, but I can't bring myself to pull away. "What did you want?"

"Avee, Scooby Doo."

I have no idea what he's talking about, still so thrilled that he actually is talking at all, that I am not expecting it when he digs into his bowl with his fingers and pulls out one of the cheesy shapes. I recognize Scooby Doo's head.

"Oh, you want more Scooby's?" I ask.

He nods.

I put the spoon into the pan and happily dig out a few more Scooby Doo shapes, scattering them on the top of his bowl. Then I lean down and kiss his head because I'm just so happy I can't help it.

I eat dinner with the kids in hopes that Samuel will say more, but he never does; I guess I'll have to be happy with what I get. As I walk back up the stairs to go to bed, I hear Sara and Peter arguing in their bedroom, loud; Sara is sobbing. All of the happiness I felt at Samuel's first words blows out of me like a candle flame. I try to hear what they're saying but can't make it out, even though I know it has something to do with today, and that woman, whoever she was. Inside I feel horrible and shaky, like my heart isn't beating right. It's dark in my bedroom; Corbin left his backpack. As I look out the window at the winter night, I think about him walking home alone in the darkness, the snow swallowing him whole.

A/N: Sorry, no time for an author note this morning! Thanks to AOK, pinksatin, and malloluvsya!