I turned to find the dark shape in the snow again.
The tinny voice in the phone asked something else, but I couldn’t follow it anymore. I’m not sure where the phone went—if I put it into my pocket, if I dropped it into the snow, if it dissolved into the swirling air. There was nothing left in the world except the dark body half-sunk in the sparkling white.
I got down on my knees beside him.
Rob wasn’t moving. Fresh snowflakes collected on his hair. Only half of his face was visible, crushed against the dull white drift. Gently, I wound my fingers inside his collar. I was pretty sure I could feel a pulse. I tried to remember the CPR unit we’d had in sophomore health class. You weren’t supposed to move someone in this situation, I was pretty sure. You were supposed to see if they were breathing. Check for immediate danger. Keep them warm.
With my bare hands, I scraped away the snow that had heaped around Rob’s face. His skin felt so cold.
I picked up his hand. I raised it to my lips and kissed the back of his wrist. “Hey, Romeo,” I told him. “Stay with me.”
I unbuttoned my coat. Then I lay down beside him, wrapping half of the open coat over his side.
“Hey,” I whispered into his ear. Cold strands of black hair brushed my lips. “Hey, you. Romeo.”
He didn’t move.
“Help is coming. They’re on their way.” I tightened my arms around him. “Just hold on.”
The snow softened around us, enclosing us, folding us in. Above us, the night sky was a purple scrim painted with wisps of pine. A few windblown flakes touched my face, coming to rest as lightly as petals.
Petals.
I closed my eyes.
• • •
When I opened them again, light surrounded me.
It wasn’t a spotlight or sunlight this time. It was a million tiny fragments of light shimmering on every side, raining down on me like the sparks of a firework.
Fairies, I thought.
Some were red. Some were blue. Some were steady and silver, and I knew that those must be stars.
My cheek hurt. Everything hurt.
I turned my head to the left, and found that I was looking into another face. A familiar face. Arching eyebrows. Messy black hair. His eyes were closed, but I knew that if they opened and stared back at me, they would be a pale, clear blue.
My coat was spread over both of us. I wriggled closer, pulling my body against his.
His lips twitched. “Hey,” he whispered, like someone just waking from a nap.
“Hey,” I whispered back. “You’re still really here.”
“Yeah.” One side of his mouth went up. “Still really here.”
There was a thump of metal doors. Rattling stretchers. Lots of voices, all speaking at once.
My eyelids lowered themselves again, and the snowy world disappeared like a stage behind a curtain. I felt myself being lifted, and heard him being lifted beside me, both of us rolling toward the shimmering lights as snowflakes fell over our faces, over our bodies, covering us as lightly as petals.
I could smell the roses.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to all the teachers and directors who opened the door to Shakespeare for me, and to all of my own former high school English students—I hope I held the door for them.
Thanks to Chris Richman for getting the ball rolling, and to Danielle Chiotti and everyone else at Upstart Crow for keeping it in motion.
Thanks to my marvelous editor, Jessica Dandino Garrison, for her patience, her faith, and her extraordinary insight. Additional thanks to the eagle-eyed Regina Castillo, the magic-maker Lindsay Boggs, the magnificent designers Maggie Olson and Jenny Kelly, and the rest of the team at Dial. It’s a privilege.
Finally, thanks to my big, supportive, wildly varied family. Special nods to Dan and Katy for medical and running input, to Alex for early reading and encouragement, and to Grandpa Jack, who gave thirteen-year-old me an old family copy of the Collected Works of Shakespeare. Mom and Dad—thank you for reading, commenting, and emergency-babysitting while I worked feverishly on final drafts.
And thanks most of all to Ryan and Beren, who make life beautifully complicated and full of joy.
JACQUELINE WEST is the author of the beloved New York Times bestselling middle-grade series The Books of Elsewhere, and is a two-time Pushcart nominee for poetry. She lives amid the bluffs of Red Wing, Minnesota, with her husband, son, and the family dog, Brom Bones. This is her sixth novel, her first for teens.
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