Twenty-Seven

School was done for Sam. On Monday she got to do the lights for the combined band/choir concert and Tuesday was a half day, which didn't even count for anything, anyway. The tennis awards dinner had been Thursday, and she had won MVP of the team, and named captain for the next year.

And she was done with all of her Christmas shopping. Presents to friends were delivered. Racket was dropped off at the shop to be re-strung. The house was decorated, the tree was done.

Basically, all Sam had to do was survive the weekend and her Christmas was secured. Her little cousins were coming down the on Christmas Eve and leaving New Year's Day.



"Sam!" her mother screamed up the stairs (there was no Christmas miracle on that front--still nobody had learned how to use their inside voices. Perhaps a regression to kindergarten was in order?). "Are you going out tonight?"

Well, it was tactful for her to have asked, at least. From where she was lying prone on her bed, blissfully enjoying that she had nothing to do, Sam turned her head to look at the clock. It was only four-thirty. "Not until seven," she called back down, only as loud as she strictly needed to be. "Why?"

"Can you fix the string of lights on the roof? One of them went out. I bought some new ones." Sam's mom didn't allow the same courtesy as far as volume went.

Sam lifted her head to look out the window. It had snowed the night before, and was still pretty wet out there. But it was only four-thirty, and she had time to shower before she went to the local diner with some friends from tennis.

Speaking of which, she should invite Maddie. The freshman was probably spending time with that new boyfriend of hers, though. Sam thought they were sweet. The kid had showed up to the last match or two, even though he and Madelyn had been "just friends (insert blush here)" at the time.

But, sure, Sam supposed she had time to fix the lights. "Sure, Mom," she called down to her still-waiting mother.

"Thanks!" Sam's mother shrieked back.

Sam sort of wondered how loudly her mother would yell if she, say, fell off the roof. If something so simple as calling her daughter inspired such volumes at it did, what happened when something truly bad happened?

Hypothetical questions. Hypothetical questions.

It was cold up on the roof. Sam fixed the lights as quickly as she could--hanging over the edge made her feel a little nauseous. When she was done, she sat for a minute, to catch her breath and settle her stomach before she climbed back down the ladder.

She could see so much from up here.

Mark Goodman and Chris Mathis were playing basketball down the street. Someone was snow-blowing their driveway--over the ridge of the house across the street, Sam could see the stream coming out, but not the driver of the snow-blower. There were a few other people in the street, shoveling, but they were too far away for her to make out. Mostly she could just see a whole lot of white.

And it was quiet up here.

So Sam didn't go down for a while.