Ms. Blakeman’s class was the first class to be let out for vacation. Quinn was the first student out the door, and thus was the first student to discover that while the diligent scholars of Turner Creek Elementary were cleaning out their desks, the first snow in three years had fallen in Hillsboro, Oregon.
He let out his breath in a frosty gasp. Less than an inch of snow dusted the ground and the rhododendrons by the main building, but the stuff was glistening and white—it was snow! Quinn’s classmates pushed past him, gleefully kicking at the light powder beneath their feet. Ms. Barnes, who was bus monitor as well as playground supervisor, stood ramrod straight at the spot by the curb where students lined up for their busses.
Quinn set his book pack down and began to scoop up snow in his hand, and a cold, wet blob hit the top of his jacket and slid down his neck. “Hey!” he gasped.
Teena Freeman crouched behind Quinn, trying very hard to look like she had not thrown the snowball. Quinn cupped his hands to press clumps of white mush into a respectable sphere. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. As soon as the meager missile left his hand he heard Ms. Barnes’ whistle blast, which felt icier than the slush down his back.
“The next one who throws a snowball goes to Shirkner’s office. You! BRRRREEEEET!” Ms. Barnes aimed her whistle at Neally, who was gathering a pile of snow. “Drop it, now!”
“Oh, for Santa’s sake! Let the kids play in the snow.”
Quinn looked to see who had dared to talk back to the whistle. The voice belonged to a man who stood at the curb, behind Ms. Barnes. It was the man who’d come to class with Neally.
Ms. Barnes looked like she’d swallowed her whistle. Her cheeks and nose were red, as if she’d been sunburned. Quinn wondered if it were true that, as some of the sixth graders had said, Ms. Barnes had the power to cancel recess for adults.
“There could be rocks in the snowballs!” Ms. Barnes huffed.
“Rocks?” Neally’s father repeated.
“This is a safety issue. If kids scoop up snow from the ground they might also scoop up rocks or other sharp objects. What if there was broken glass underneath, or rusty nails, or razor blades? A kid would get hit in the eye with it, that’s what.”
The man ran his fingers through his beard, and his eyes sparkled as if Ms. Barnes had told him the funniest joke in infinity.
Neally ran to her father. “I know, I know; no running in the snow,” she said as she passed Ms. Barnes.
“C’mon.” Neally’s father enveloped his daughter in a bear hug and then took her hand in his. “Let’s go out and make some rocky razor snowballs.”
Although Quinn’s back was wet, he didn’t feel cold. He watched Neally walk hand in hand with her father, and for the first time in a long time Quinn felt that Something Else could happen, if you paid attention. Maybe, just possibly, life could actually change. Even if he’d have to wait a whole two weeks to find out.