T H R E E

If it weren't for the smell of pancakes, I would have never woken up.

Sleep is a haven, the only pace where you don't have to worry about the real world. The place where you learn how to fix your problems. The warmth and kindness of the dead loved ones, come back in your dreams to remind you of their wishes. I'm told that I sleep to much.

I tell that everyone sleeps to little.

The snooze button is my friend. The guy on the radio is my enemy. I think he might be everybody's-He wakes us up. I could never stand having that job.

I climbed onto one of the kitchen stools, my bare feet shivering at the morning cold of the silver poles of the stool. It was like the ones you see in a bar, with a red cushion and no back. There were five more lined up against the island, facing the giant window.

In front of me was a plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup. "Thanks, Gretch," I say, drowning my pancakes.

The cook nods. "Have you looked outside today?"

I shake my head and gulp down a bunch of pancakes. "Why?"

"Look outside."

I lift my head, so that I can see the big window. Little flakes of white were falling from the sky. Either the clouds have dandruff, or-

"IT'S SNOWING!" comes a shout from down the hallway. Timmy runs out from the passage, then, seeing no Barbie, runs back in. I can hear him singing Frosty the Snowman, the tune echoing off the walls of our house. Our very, very large house.

I snarf down the rest of my pancakes. "What time is it?" I ask no one in particular.

"Nine-forty-seven," says Mary, one of the housemaids.

School's canceled.

I run upstairs, so I can put on snow clothes.

I chuck a snowball at Spike. He dodges, rolling over, and makes another one. He throws it at me, and I duck, making the snowball hit me in the face. If I hadn't moved, it would have hit me in the chest.

The remains of cold powder sliding off my face, I can see my boyfriend making a larger snowball to throw at his friend, Blaze Simon. I follow suit, as does Jazz, and Blaze is pelted with three snowballs. We all run for cover.

Peeking over the log I used to hide, I can see Blaze wiping his face off with his red coat sleeve.

He gets hit with another snowball.

I look over at Jazz, and she shakes her head.

I do the same to Spike, and he mouths 'I wish.'

I feel a snowball colliding with my black hair, and whip around, ready to throw one back. I only see a blond head of hair disappearing into the trees. "Lyn!" I yell.

I'm pelted with two more snowballs.

"Is!"

A redhead steps out from behind the trees. "You rang?" she asks.

"You pelted me?"

I'm hit with another one.

"Maybe," says another voice, along with Is's. It's Lyn.

I throw two balls back at them, then run.

We played like that for a while, but we soon got bored. Around noon, we walked to The Rouge (Issaquah Brewery or something, really, but all the signs and merchandise say Rouge) for lunch.

We ended up with a booth. I was next to the wall, with Spike next to me. Blaze sat next to him and across from Jazz. Next to her was Lyn and Is. Besides us, the restaurant was nearly empty.

The waitress came by, and, dropping our menus, she said, "My name is Kiki, I'll be your waitress. Would you like anything to drink?"

"Rootbeer," I said.

"Coffee," said Spike.

"Orange soda." Blaze yawned.

"Orange soda," copied Jazz instantly, even though she'd rather have coffee.

"Coke," piped in Lyn.

"Pepsi," ordered Is.

The waitress left.

Lyn glared at her sister. "Coke is better than Pepsi."

"No. Pepsi is better than Coke."

"What's the difference?" asked Blaze.

"No clue. I prefer RC Cola," offered Jazz

"Huh?" asked Spike.

"RC Cola. It's like Coke or Pepsi, but less competitive."

"Oh."

I stared at the door, waiting for the topic to turn to something more interesting than Cola.

A boy walked in. I hadn't seen him at school, but he didn't look much older than me. He had blond-brown hair, spiked with gel. His skin was pale, and he wore black plastic glasses. As he got closer, I could tell that his eyes were brown. They moved, like he was looking for something. Someone.

He sat at table across from our booth. He ordered coffee, and pretended to read a book. I was pretending to examine the architecture so that I could see him. He wasn't reading. His glasses slid down his nose a little, and I could tell that he was watching me.

"And you?"

I realized that the waitress was taking my order.

"Uh... I'll have whatever she's having." I pointed at Jazz.

"Okay."

I sipped my root beer.