Snowsisters Read online

  posted by conTessaofthecastle:

  The rain lasted all night. Daphne and Astoria slept fitfully, waking each other with every movement. The next morning was damp, but the rain had stopped. They started walking early, eager to leave the cramped cave. Water dripped from trees as they started off through the forest. Daphne was worried about making up for the time they got lost during the storm. Lord Quintana’s harridans must be using powerful seeking spells, which would find them eventually. She walked more quickly. Astoria wordlessly kept pace.

  Soph.

  For our individual projects, they tell us we can work wherever we want, including the rooms on the third floor. No one is staying up there, but they opened the rooms in case we want to work alone or with someone else, away from the others. We’re supposed to tell the instructors where we are so they can check in on us and talk about what we’re doing.

  Yin surprises me by inviting me to go up there and work with her. I’m still pissed about the Orly thing, but I need to find a way to impress Professor Forsythe. Yin must know her more than she would admit at pizza the other night, since they’re on a first-name basis. We go up the stairs with a few other girls, including Tess.

  Yin asks, “Soph, why sonnets?”

  I feel as if I’ve been answering this for years. “I like the tradition and the challenge of organizing my thoughts and feelings. I like the setup, the argument, and the resolution. I like the sensation that I am doing something great poets have been doing for centuries. I like to write in a style I wouldn’t use when I speak to you.”

  At the top of the stairs, I see the rooms are smaller than ours. Yin and I choose one and sit on the floor, leaning against the bed.

  I continue, “Also, I like the format, but I want to use it to communicate ideas that never would have been in sonnets when they were developed, like social issues, not love and flowers and pretty things.”

  Now I ask Yin, “Why free verse?”

  “I like the freedom of it, working out how words sound without forcing them into a rhyme or a pattern someone’s done before,” she says matter-of-factly. “But I’m interested in something more tightly composed. I thought we could work together. I’d like to see how you do it.”

  I’m flattered and a little intimidated. I don’t have much of a method. I think about what’s going on and then fill in the structure. When I explain it to her, she says it’s not that different from what she does. So, I take out my laptop and show her, using a spreadsheet with the fourteen ten-syllable lines, in an ABAB CDCD EFEF GG pattern, all set up.

  “What do you want to write about?” I ask.

  She tells me about stuff that’s going on at her school: a fight over whether a teacher should stay. The kids like him, but the parents don’t. We shoot ideas back and forth, putting the kids’ feelings in the first stanza, then the adults’ in the next, then the conflict in the third and, finally, a couplet resolving it. Yin wants to do it without rhyming. That doesn’t sound right to me. A sonnet has traditional rules: fourteen lines of ten syllables each, with a specific rhyme scheme.

  Yin asks, “Who’s your instructor? I’ve got Joan.”

  “I thought you had Prof—Helen!”

  “No, Joan. Why did you think I had Helen?”

  “I saw you talking with her when I went in to talk to Grace.”

  “Oh. I was trying to switch my night to make dinner so I can cook with Chris.”

  She tells me I’m lucky I got Grace. I ask why, swallowing my objection to Chris.

  “Because she writes poetry herself. She’s some kind of prodigy. I think she’s one of those people who can make it up on the spot and it always rhymes, with perfect meter. Why—don’t you like her?”

  I explain that I had hoped to work with Professor Forsythe since she knows all about the structures that interest me, leaving out that it would be good for college admissions.

  Yin says she thinks “Helen” is too stiff. “Helen contacted me after I got this New York State Teachers’ grant for new media last year. She called my high school about it and wanted me to apply for this conference. But she’s been totally distant so far this week.” So much for getting anything helpful from Yin.

  I’m about to confront her about Orly when Joan pokes her head in. “Hi, how’s it going?”

  We explain where we are. I tell her that sonnets have a complex rhyming scheme that makes them sonnets, and Joan says, “Soph, what’s wrong with playing a little bit with the piece? Yin wants shape, but not necessarily rules. Let her try that and then listen to it. Maybe you want to try something more like free verse yourself. You’re here to do something new, right?”

  “I do want to do something new. I want to try a more complicated structure,” I protest.

  “What’s more complicated than no set structure?”

  Tess.

  Professor Forsythe tells me desktop computers are available in the third-floor writing rooms, and I go up there to work on my latest chapter before lunch. Soph is talking to Yin down the hall, and I wonder if they’re discussing Orly. I’m trying to figure out how to put some of myself in the story, but for some reason all I can think of is Angie. I know I can’t put a cow into a story about witches, but I wonder how she’s doing. I text Mom to ask. She tells me that the calf is still bottle-feeding, and is growing. Then she tells me that Daddy said if she is still doing all right when the conference is over I can name her. That’s how I know he’s forgiven me.

  I text Joey and tell him what Professor Forsythe said about my writing.

  He sends a reply almost immediately, so he’s bored.

  [From Joey to Tess] You’re going to have to figure out how to talk about yourself sometime, Tess. Might as well start now.

  I put my phone down and sigh. Things might be better at home, but I still don’t understand these girls at all. Keisha is the only one I’ve met who understands what I write. Professor Forsythe is pushing me to write things I never thought I could put on paper. Chris and Orly are confusing me in ways I don’t know how to figure out. And Soph… Well, Soph is so many different things I can’t begin to count them. She’s smart and funny and clever. She knows about all kinds of things I don’t: how to use a subway, how to get girls to flock to her like a celebrity. But she doesn’t seem to know how to convince Professor Forsythe to like her, or how to solve the problems between Chris and Orly. She did offer to help me write poetry for my spells. Maybe if we work together I can figure out the rest of it.

  Joey’s text is stuck in my head: “Might as well start now.” But so are Daddy’s words, “Make us proud, Tess.” I don’t know who to listen to, and the more I try to figure it out, the more confused I end up.

  I stare blankly at my computer screen. Daphne and Astoria are stuck in the woods, wet and scared, with no clear way to shelter. Maybe if I make one of them do something totally unexpected, that will point me in a new direction.

  * * *

  From Soph Alcazar’s Writing Journal,

  February 13, 2018

  Structure, rhyme scheme, meter, all in my lane.

  But here they tell me no, confusion reigns.

  Chapter Thirteen

  From the Fan Fiction Unbound Archive,

  posted by conTessaofthecastle:

  Daphne walked even faster, concentrating on the space-shifting spell. She could sense Astoria right behind her. As Daphne carefully uttered the incantation, focused only on the sensation in her fingertips and the Portal of Arden, Astoria stumbled on a tree root and fell toward her. Daphne didn’t see it, but as soon as Astoria grabbed Daphne’s arm to keep herself from falling, Daphne felt a surge of power through her hands. She heard Astoria gasp. A gust of air swirled around them. When she opened her eyes, Astoria was gone. Daphne stood alone in the forest.

  Daphne closed her eyes, trying to focus on what she had done differently when she cast the spell this time. S
he had been saying the words when suddenly Astoria touched her arm. Something changed when Astoria touched her that made the spell take effect.

  Soph.

  This afternoon, we put away the laptops—Celestine tells us, “Put your quills down”—and go skating. I was hoping for this and, luckily, Betty packed my Jacksons, which are in the bottom of my bag. When I pull them out in our room, Tess knits her brow.

  “What?”

  “Nothing, Soph. I didn’t know we were supposed to bring skates. They usually provide them.” She pulls on thick socks, almost as thick as the ones she lent me.

  Uh oh. Maybe I’ll be the only one. Well, whatever. These skates fit me perfectly, so I’m bringing them. I haven’t skated at all this winter, much to Mom’s chagrin. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid in the Alps, when Mom and Papa skied down slopes much too dangerous for me. In the middle grades, it was my chosen winter sport at Partridge, but then I got to the upper school and could just take gym and do other extracurrics, like the literary magazine. I also gave up skating because Mom wanted me to compete and offered to buy me sparkly, short dresses and feathered headpieces. No thanks.

  We walk out of the lodge in a big group to a yellow school bus waiting in the driveway. Tess was right. No one else is carrying skates. I see Orly take a window seat and sit next to her. I’m feeling protective of Orly. Chris, Yin, and Keisha are all sitting together. Tess goes past them and sits with Gabriela.

  I ask, “Do you like skating, Orly?”

  She turns her head from the window, and it’s obviously an effort for her to respond. “Never done it, Soph. They probably don’t have any skates big enough for me anyway.”

  “Oh, skating is fun, Orly. I hope you’ll come out with me.”

  She frowns.

  “Try not to think about it too hard. It’s like dancing; once you try it, you can’t stop. I almost wish I still did it for school.”

  “Okay, Soph. Thank you.”

  I settle in the seat right next to her with our shoulders touching, and we ride in silence.

  After about twenty minutes, the bus pulls into a small parking lot, and I see a little building and a frozen pond. The sun is out now, and part of the pond has been cleared for skating. A path leads through the snow from the parking lot to the building, and another connects the building to the pond. Everyone goes into the building, where there are dozens of pairs of skates for men and women.

  I see Orly linger in the doorway and motion to her. She bites her lip, saying, “I don’t see any that are likely to fit me, Soph.” She tells me her size in a small voice.

  “I’ll find you a pair. Have a seat on the bench, and I’ll be right over.” I have no trouble finding her a pair. She stares at me, doubt still clouding her face as I sit on the bench. “Give me a minute to lace up, and I’ll help you with yours.”

  Orly sighs as if she’s very unhappy, but when I kneel in front of her to lace up her skates, her eyes are friendly. “Thanks, Soph. You’re a peach.”

  I stand and reach out my hand. “Come on, let’s go down to the pond. You don’t have to skate, but you might want to try it. I promise it’s something you’ll never forget.” She stands gingerly, and we walk down with everyone else. My breath is like smoke. I usually skate on indoor rinks, where it’s warmer. The ice is rougher than at a rink, but there’s a lot of room to build up speed.

  There are plastic deck chairs and wooden benches at the edges of the skating area. Several of the girls sit on them, adjusting their skates and talking to each other. Orly sits at the end of a bench and eyes me warily. “Give me a minute, Soph?”

  “Sure, Orly.” Janaye is already on the ice, and I skate over to her. “Been to the rink at Chelsea, Janaye?”

  She grins at me, and I see that she’s a little unsteady. “LeFrak, Soph, duh! In Prospect Park. But I’ve only been a couple of times!” I turn a circle around her and reach for her hand. She laughs. “Nuh uh, I’ll fall on my butt!” I see only a couple of other girls out on the ice. Tess skates smoothly, in big arcs. That’s not surprising, since she’s from here. Chris is sitting on one of the benches by the bonfire on the shoreline. She doesn’t have skates on. Keisha skates over to her and sits. They are too far away for me to hear them, but Chris shakes her head.

  She’s not far from Orly, and when I see Janaye sit, I skate in that direction. I don’t want them hassling Orly. As I close in on them, I hear Chris explaining to Janaye that she never learned how to skate. Janaye offers to teach her, but Chris shakes her head. Yin skates up to them and sits with Chris also.

  With both hands extended, I skate up to Orly farther down on the bench. “Are you ready to try?” She rolls her eyes, but smiles without opening her mouth and stands, holding on to the bench. “Take my hands and keep your knees bent, like when you can’t reach anything to hang on to on the subway.”

  “Soph, slowly, please.” She’s still smiling, though. “I’ve never ridden the subway on skates!”

  I can’t help grinning. I do love the sound of skates on the ice, scraping and cutting. I watch Orly’s eyes to make sure she doesn’t panic and slowly skate backward, guiding her to the middle of the pond. “Orly, you’re doing great!”

  “I think you’re doing it, Soph, not me.” She’s wobbly and hangs on to me hard.

  I remember what my first instructor said. “Use your legs now to go forward; push a little with the edge of each skate when you do.” She stumbles a little, but doesn’t fall. Her face clouds, then eases. I encourage her. “Good! Take it slow.” That makes me think of a children’s song about a turtle my nanny used to play. I’m a terrible singer, but I try. “Take it from me. Sometimes you gotta take it slow!”

  Orly laughs. “You’re crazy, Soph. Good crazy, darlin’, but crazy!” I let go of one of her hands, and her eyes widen. She stumbles, then rights herself, and I can see how graceful she is.

  “I’m not going to let go of you altogether until you’re ready; I promise!”

  “Okay. I don’t guess I get a free ride forever.” She laughs shakily, and furrows her brow.

  “Bend forward a little and tuck your arms in. Keep your body loose. You’re doing super great!” I pivot, skate behind her, and come up next to her so that we’re a pair. “Look at us!”

  “Soph, you go on ahead. Show me what you can do.”

  I examine the open expanse of ice. It’s usually much more crowded when I skate, except for lessons. I make a circle, then another one, then a figure eight. The cold air makes me feel as if I could go faster than ever before. I go to the far edge and look back at Orly, who has slowed to a stop and is looking at me expectantly. I build up speed and do a waltz jump. I hear whooping and look over to see several girls skating at one end of the pond. I can’t help it. I bow my head and circle back to the far end. I know I’m showing off. I skate backward, holding Orly’s gaze, gather speed, and then do a flip. My landing is shaky, but I hear more whoops and Orly grins, shaking her head.

  I see Tess again. She’s pretty good. She’s not doing anything special, but she knows what she’s doing and she’s graceful. I wouldn’t have put that together with what I know of her already: the funny combination of reserve and a steady indignation at everything I blurt out. She doesn’t see me, so I turn and skate up next to her from behind. “Hi!”

  “Very impressive, Soph.”

  I can’t tell whether she’s being honest or huffy. She has that type of voice. “Thanks! You must do a lot of skating yourself.”

  “Nothing fancy for me, Soph. But you know, up here the winter is long.” She adds, “You’re a really good skater. You look like a professional.” I guess she was impressed after all.

  Tess.

  I assumed Soph doesn’t know how to skate, since she grew up in a city. I assumed wrong. Not only does she skate, not only did she bring her own expensive-looking skates, packed, apparently, by the same Betty who forgo
t her extra socks, but she’s a figure skater, with fancy moves and that confidence she brings to everything. I find myself watching her do turns and flips. She looks beautiful on the ice, graceful and really happy to be there.

  I’m a little worried about what Chris will do and, since I don’t want to get involved, I stay on my own, watch Soph help Orly, and then do a couple of turns and a spin.

  Someone has built a bonfire by the edge of the pond, and the staff brings out hot cider and doughnuts. We glide around in the cold for over an hour, showing each other what we know how to do on skates and laughing and falling. Chris has been sitting on the bench the whole time we’ve been out on the ice and I wonder why she won’t even try. Orly is from the South too, but she has Soph pulling her around. I skate over to Chris and offer to help her find skates, but she just shakes her head at me.

  “No, thanks, this seems pretty dangerous,” she says and turns back to Yin, who is holding out her phone to share something.

  I turn away and watch Soph doing a jump. She lands on one blade. When I turn back, Chris is standing by the fire talking to Janaye and Ellen and watching Orly. I’m not sure if Orly sees her or not. It makes me uncomfortable, so I make a point of going over to Orly and offering to skate with her while holding her hand.

  We do that for a while. Her cheeks are pink from the cold, and she keeps saying, “My word, it’s freezing,” in a breathy Southern accent. I don’t see any boy in her at all. Then I think I shouldn’t be watching her like that, so I tell her about skating with my sister Molly when we were little and how I got mad because she was so much better than I was even though she was younger. Daddy told me to grow up, that I couldn’t always expect to be the best at everything.

  “Sisters, yes,” she laughs. “My older one, Rose, she gets to do everything first. She gets the new clothes, the new shoes. I just get her hand-me-downs. She’s a bossy know-it-all. When we were little she was always the queen and I was the servant. She still claims I was happy serving her all the time.” We’re both laughing, and Orly shakes her head at me, teasing. “So, I’m on Molly’s side.”