Only people who really, really love winter would brave the top of Suicide Hill. The biggest hill. The forbidden hill behind the middle school.

I love winter.

My mom named me for the warmest season of the year, but give me inches of white snow any day.

It’s not cool to hate summer vacation, and really, I don’t. Every summer my dad takes three weeks off from his job at the plant, and since mom teaches seventh-grade English in the next town over, that leaves plenty of time to drive all the way from New York, where we live, to Michigan, where my Grandpa Louie bought two cottages on one long lot in the 1970s. When he died he gave one to my mom and one to my aunt Holly and every single summer we go on vacation with her, and her husband Tom and their three kids. I like the pontoon boat rides best.

They can’t beat sledding.

Especially on snow days. Like today.

School’s closed for us, but not mom, so she left Wes in charge. I don’t need him to watch me. I’m eleven. I’m old enough to take care of myself. He’s better at ordering pizza, I guess, which he promised to do when we’re done sledding.

I’m not sure if we’re going to be done anytime soon because when we got here, to the top of Suicide Hill, his best friend Dayton appeared out of nowhere. The woods, really, which isn’t nowhere. I’m pretty sure he lives on the other side of those woods in the cul-de-sac my mom doesn’t like to drive to. I heard her telling Dad the other night that she was going to be glad when Wes got his official license and she wouldn’t have to drive Day home, but I bet she didn’t mean it. It’s just a cul-de-sac.

For a snow day, it’s not very cold. School’s closed but there are lots of other kids at Suicide because who could resist snow like this? Deep and fluffy and cushioning. It’s perfect for sledding, and when Wes woke up at 11:15 I couldn’t help asking him, and for once he didn’t pretend he was too old for it.

So here I am, at the top of Suicide Hill with my bright orange saucer, waiting for the perfect opportunity.

We’re not supposed to be here. Nobody’s allowed during school hours because it’s so steep, and there’s a huge boulder at the bottom of the hill that’s a memorial for a boy named Victor who died in 1991, according to the big metal plaque on the front of it. When we left the house Wes started walking here instead of the regular sledding hill at the park on Pine, but what was I going to say?

The rough edges of my hat, barely blunted by the fleece on the inside, rub against my cheeks and I scan the hill, clutching my saucer with my mittened hands. There’s a group of boys from my grade here acting like maniacs. My heart is racing and I haven’t even gone down yet. The thought that I’m going to—that I’m going to hop down onto the saucer on my knees and go screaming down the new snow—makes my arms tingle, same as when I sneak three more Oreos from the cupboard while Mom’s watching. Two of the boys go down again, crashing into each other at the bottom of the hill, yelling at each other through laughter that the other one is an asshole.

Boys.

I roll my eyes and steal another glance over at Dayton and Wes, who are huddled close together. Wes has the blue saucer from the garage and Dayton doesn’t have anything. Day’s back is to me. The boys at the bottom of the hill don’t have shoulders that broad, and even under his winter coat, I can tell that football practice is making him more muscular.

I wish he’d look at me.

I wish he’d do more than look at me, honestly, but I’m not sure what I’d want him to do. Up until this fall, I thought kissing was pretty weird and gross, but then my best friend Amy stole one of her mom’s romance books and we read it under the covers one night when she stayed over. I couldn’t picture most of what was going on—why do they write them like that?—but when we skipped to the part about the first kiss, it was Dayton’s face that popped into mind.

So embarrassing.

He’d never want to kiss me. He’s fourteen, a freshman in high school already, and I’m a seventh-grader. He plays on the football team.

One of the boys my age shoves the other and he falls backward into the snow. I try to picture kissing one of them, and it makes my face twist like I’m smelling sour milk. Disgusting. I bet Day would taste like the wintergreen gum he likes to chew.

It’s weird, thinking about him like this, and it makes my cheeks hot even in the winter wind. The boys at the bottom of the hill start walking up. My path is clear. It’s time.

I hope Dayton sees this.

I take three running steps forward and jump onto the saucer.

It’s a mistake.

I know it right away.

I’ve started too high on the top of the hill. It’s way too steep and I can feel the saucer going out of control beneath me but I can’t stop with my legs pinned underneath me. All I can do is hold onto the edge and try not to scream. Am I screaming?

Adrenaline rushes through my veins, bright and sharp—this is what breaking the rules feels like—and I see everything so clearly, the sunlight dazzling on the puffs of snow rising on the hill, the boulder at the bottom, and the gray saucer spinning in front of me, dropped or thrown by one of those idiot boys.

I tip right to avoid the saucer, picking up speed, but it’s another mistake because now I’m barreling toward the boulder and that will not be good, oh my god that will not be good.

I overcorrect to the left and almost lose it but then I’m going up, up, over a hill in the snow hidden in all the blinding white and for a few loud beats of my heart I’m airborne, tipping backward too far backward and I can see the snow beneath me where I should be seeing sky and then that brilliant snow is speeding toward me.

I try to tuck my head in but it slams into the snow first, my hat tugging off, and suddenly the snow seems more like ice. The saucer comes down next, one edge clipping my lip, and I roll out onto my back, one wet mitten against my mouth, ears ringing.

What did I do?

All those people watching—

My lip throbs, the back of my head throbs, and tears prick the corners of my eyes, which is why it’s blurry when a face appears above me, brown eyes wide and worried. It’s not Wes. It’s Dayton, and with the sun behind his head like this he looks like the handsomest angel ever to have walked the earth.

His lips move but I can’t hear him over the ringing in my ears.

“What?” I say, and my voice sounds too loud inside my head.

He crouches next to me and his voice cuts in. “—can you feel your toes? Jesus, you hit the ground hard. Summer? You okay? Your arms are probably fine, since you’ve got that one up.” He puts one hand on mine and tugs my mitten away from my lip, then makes a face. “What happened to your lip?”

“The sled.” It’s puffy against my teeth now. I can see Wes—he’s behind Dayton. He must have gotten there second.

“Can you feel your toes?”

I guess I can. I wiggle both feet, but I’m still lightheaded.

“Deep breaths,” says Dayton casually, like he’s in charge of this situation and every other one too. I take a deep breath and the ringing subsides a little bit. “Damn, you’re tough.” He cracks a smile, shaking his head. “You almost did a total backflip in the air with that thing. I didn’t think you’d go for it, but—”

“I didn’t. I hit the hill by accident.” I try to shove up on one elbow but it makes me dizzy.

Dayton moves fast. “Whoa. Let me help you. That was a hell of a fall.” He puts one hand on my arm and the other around my back and everywhere he touches me my skin glows. I take as long as I can standing up, then one last deep breath. Day stands close. He’s tall. Taller than I remembered him being. I want him to stand this close for the rest of the day. I want everyone to see him standing with me.

But the only person who seems to notice is Wes, who’s watching Dayton with narrowed eyes, sled dangling from his hand. “You okay?” He says finally.

“Yeah.” No thanks to him. I used to think he was a hero, but he doesn’t look like one standing next to Day.

“Good.” He rubs a hand against his forehead, under his hat, then turns his attention to Dayton. “You want to get some pizza?”