She followed the deep prints of his boots on the fresh snow, stalking
him like he stalked rabbits in the woods. When he happened to turn
around at the cave mouth, he spotted her in her yellow snow-suit,
struggling up the mountainside, barely visible in the twilight.
He'd never seen an intruder on the mountain. The dirt trail that led up
to the cave branched off a side road on the edge of town, and it was too
rocky even for the dirt-bike kids. He stood at the cave-mouth, torn by
indecision. He wanted to keep walking, head away farther uphill, away
from the family's den, but now she'd seen him, had waved to him. His
cold-numb face drained of blood and his bladder hammered insistently at
him. He hiked down the mountain and met her.
"Why are you here?" he said, once he was close enough to see her pale,
freckled face.
"Why do you think?" she said. "I followed you home. Where do you live,
Alan? Why can't I even see where you live?"
He felt tears prick at his eyes. "You just *can't*! I can't bring you
home!"
"You hate me, don't you?" she said, hands balling up into mittened
fists. "That's it."
"I don't hate you, Marci. I -- I love you," he said, surprising himself.
She punched him hard in the arm. "Shut up." She kissed his cheek with
her cold, dry lips and the huff of her breath thawed his skin, making it
tingle.
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