Cinderella in Skates

CHAPTER ONE

November

Snow hits me in the face before I've even taken a step off the airplane.

Wind -- fierce, biting, unrelenting wind -- swirls the flakes so ferociously around me that I can't see more than a few inches in front of my face. The bitter cold blowing into the safe, warm shell of the plane numbs my bare arms and legs.

It's the first time in my life that I've ever seen a snowflake.

And I have to tell you, so far I'm not impressed.

"Oh, sugar, you sure goin' to wish you had a nice pair of boots and a wool wint'r jacket in about two seconds," the redheaded flight attendant who had refused to give me a second glass of ginger ale somewhere over Kansas says as I prepare to step off the plane and out onto the tarmac.

Seriously. We're actually deplaning onto the runway. Where there are planes driving by and stuff. I wonder if this place is so out there that the airport hasn't even caught up to the latest jet bridge technologies yet.

"It wasn't cold when we left Phoenix," I mumble to her.

The flight attendant smiles. "This ain't Phoenix, honey. Welcome to Wisconsin."

I grimace and take my first steps into my new state. I rub my hands over my bare arms and sprint toward the terminal. A tightly bundled-up man (or maybe it's a woman -- it's really hard to tell with all the layers) holds the door open, and I barrel through it.

The heat inside shocks my body. My legs are so cold they're stinging with the abrupt change in temperature and I glance down to make sure they're actually still attached to me because suddenly I can't feel them anymore. My cheeks burn and when I look around at the people waiting at the gate, I realize they're all staring at me.

"Boy, that's something you sure don't see every day." My dad stands behind me, staring happily out the window at the winter hell we've just escaped.

"Why do I get the feeling that sight is all too common here?" I mutter.

"We told you to dress warmly." Mom definitely sounds unsympathetic. "But you refused to listen, like usual."

I think back about six hours ago and remember laughing at my parents in their jeans, boots and jackets boarding a flight in sunny, 105-degree Arizona.

For some reason, I don't find it all that funny anymore.

"Come on, then, let's collect our luggage and find the driver," Dad says, a smile spreading across his face. "You're going to love the new house, Nat."

"I doubt it," I say.

My dad's definitely wrong about this, but if there's one thing he's got right, it's that our new place in Wisconsin is just that: a house and nothing more.

It will never be my home.





***





"So, what do you think?"

We've just finished walking through our new house in WhoKnowsWhere Suburban, Wisconsin. Truth is, the house itself isn't really all that bad. But, well, you can figure it out by now. It isn't in Arizona so I'm not happy.

Just a month ago, this life I'm starting today had been completely unimaginable to me. I never even thought about Wisconsin except when my dad watched his beloved Badgers play football on Saturdays.

And now, well, here I am.

It's all my dad's fault, but I can't even blame him much. When the head of the University of Wisconsin's history department called and offered him a job teaching at his alma mater, how could he say no?

Exactly. He couldn't.

Me, my mom and my dad, all ripped from our happy, sunny comfortable lives in the Phoenix suburbs in November, but somehow it feels like I'm the only one who's really that upset about it. And as far as I can tell, all Wisconsin has to offer for the next, oh, six or seven months is snow, snow, bitter temperatures, a chance to develop frost bite and more snow.

Did I mention that just twenty-four hours ago I was floating in our backyard pool?

Did I also mention how excited I am to start a brand new high school in the middle of my senior year? Because really, I can't tell you how great it is that I won't get to walk across the stage in those ridiculous billowing robes with Becca and Hillary to collect our diplomas from Mr. Wilder's old wrinkled leather hands.

So, yeah. It's hard for me to figure out why parents are so confused that I'm upset about the move.

"At least you'll have your choice of bedrooms here, right, Natalie? Which one do you like best?"

I know my mom would've preferred not to leave behind her career and friends in the desert, but at least she's still got her husband around. This is nothing for her like it is for me. I'm the only one who's totally alone now.

I sigh. "No. I don't know. It doesn't matter."

"But they're all so different," Mom says.

"Which one do you think I should take?"

She smiles, and I know I've gotten it right by asking.

"Well, I thought the one on the third floor might be nice," she says, and I'm about to agree since it makes no difference to me when the door bell rings.

Dad frowns. "I can't imagine who that could be. They must have the wrong house."

I'm ready to snap at him and say the only way to find out is to go look, but I manage to keep myself under control.

For now, anyway.

He walks over and opens the door, and his face lights up the way it only does when Wisconsin's football team pulls off a win on Saturdays.

"Joe!" he yells out, and Mom and I exchange a glance as Dad disappears behind the open door and the sounds of excited chatter and men clapping each other on the back fills the entryway.

"Marianne told me to wait until morning, but I couldn't stop myself from stopping by," the voice that doesn't belong to my dad says. "What's a few hours between former linemates?"

"Good on you for coming over," Dad says. "Come in, come in. Wendy, Natalie, guess who stopped by?"

"I haven't a clue, Phil," Mom replies, but he doesn't hear her.

Two men step into the hallway. I barely notice the one who is my dad's age as my eyes fall on the taller, younger version standing next to him.

I suck in a breath.

So, Wisconsin boys are pretty cute.

Or, at least, this one is. I try not to my blush as my heart rate kicks up while I take in everything from his height (he might even be taller than my dad, a former college hockey player who checks in at a few inches over six feet) to his thick, wavy blonde hair and friendly green eyes to what I'd be willing to bet big money is a rock solid body beneath all of these unfortunate layers.

Stupid Wisconsin. Stupid cold weather. How am I supposed to properly check out the neighborhood guys if I can't even see them because they have to wear six jackets just to avoid frost bite?

I never had this problem in Arizona.

"Now that you mention it, I do remember Phil talking about his old friend living in the area," Mom's saying to them when I check back into reality. "I'm Wendy, and this is my daughter, Natalie."

I'm glad she waits until I've stopped staring at this guy to introduce me to him. That could've been pretty awkward.

"Wonderful," my dad's friend says. "This is my son, Shane. He takes after his old man in the hockey rink."

Dad turns to him. "A Badger?"

Joe nods, the pride obvious in his eyes. "He's a sophomore. History major, too."

Dad raises an eyebrow. "Well, how do you like that? That's my new department. I'll be teaching a course on U.S. Foreign policy this semester," he says, and looks at Shane.

Shane squints as though he's concentrating really hard on remembering something.

"I'm not sure if I signed up for that," he says at last. "I'll have to check later."

"Now listen," Joe says. "We're here not only to say hello, but to offer our help moving in. I'm sure you've got plenty to do and could use some extra hands."

Dad beams. "Oh, but we can't ask you to do that."

Shane shrugs. "You're not asking, we're offering. Happy to do it."

"That's not necessary," Mom chimes in. "And our furniture isn't due to arrive until tomorrow, anyway. We're spending the night in a hotel near campus."

Shane cranes his neck to look out the front hall window. "You sure about that? The snow might make getting downtown a little tricky."

I roll my eyes, and it's all I can do not to toss out a very mature 'I told you so' to my parents, who both look stricken at the thought that we might be stranded in our empty -- and cold -- house tonight.

"Phil, I cannot sleep on the floor. We don't even have blankets," Mom says, a note of panic in her voice.

I won't lie, either. I'm taking a little satisfaction in this.

"You heard Shane," Dad says, glancing out the window for himself. "And he's right. It's really coming down out there. The hotel's almost half an hour away. We can't make it."

I can't keep the frustrated sigh from slipping out between my lips. Shane looks over at me.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Just fine."

"Where'd you guys move from?"

"Arizona."

"That's cool. Are you going to UW?"

"No, I have to finish high school first."

His eyes widen. "High school? Really?"

My palms prickle slightly with sweat and I try to discreetly wipe them off on my shorts. "I'm a senior," I say. "And I'm 18. But I'm definitely going back to Arizona for college."

"What, you don't think you'll like it here?"

"I know I won't," I say. "I mean, my parents are currently trying to decide if we can leave our house. Because there's snow outside."

"Yeah, so?"

"Snow," I repeat. "We're stuck in our house because of weather. You don't see how ridiculous that is?"

He shrugs. "You'll get used to it."

I fold my arms across my chest. "I doubt that."

"Oh, come on, Natalie. You're here so you might as well enjoy it, right? Plus, like you said, you'll be out of here soon enough."

I'm about to respond when Dad steps into the conversation.

"We're going to have to stay here tonight and make the best of it, kiddo," he says with a small there's-nothing-I-can-do-so-please-don't-whine-about-it shrug. "At least there's carpeting in some of the rooms."

"I can run home and get some pillows and blankets and stuff for you guys," Shane says. "We have a lot of them."

"A great idea!" Shane's father adds.

But I'm just staring at Shane, wondering who the heck this guy is and what planet beamed him into our foyer. I mean, who does this? He's known us for all of maybe seven minutes and he's already offered to help move our furniture and bring us blankets.

Come to think of it, I really don't want to go to bed tonight on the floor without at least something to sleep under. And I don't even have a sweatshirt for that.

"We can't ask you to do that," Mom says, and I swing my head around to glare at her. I know there's something to be said for manners and all, but come on. This is already hard enough.

"It isn't a big deal," Joe jumps in. "Shane will be happy to do it."

"Natalie, why don't you go with him to help?" Dad suggests.

"In this?" I look down at my shorts and his button-down sweater he'd given me to warm up in.

"I'm sure it isn't far," he says. "It'll toughen you up some, get you used to this Wisconsin weather."

I look over at Shane, and he's smiling back at me.

"Come on, it's just three doors down," he says. "We'll make a run for it."

I grimace but know I don't have much of a choice. "Okay. Lead the way."

I follow Shane out the front door and down the porch steps and my legs feel like they're instantly freezing.

"How do you survive out here?" I mutter.

He looks back at me and smiles. "It's November. If you think this is bad, just wait until January."

"I can't believe it's snowing on my first day here." I shake my head. "Unreal."

"Get used to it," he says. "And besides, it's fun to play in."

He's walking quickly down the slippery sidewalk, and I'm trying to step in his footprints to avoid getting wet, slushy snow inside my sneakers. There isn't much accumulation yet, maybe just an inch or so, but I'm not taking any chances. I don't want to get hypothermia running down the street.

My teeth start chattering uncontrollably, and I try to clamp them together to stop it.

"That really happens," I say.

"What?"

"The teeth thing. They've never chattered before. I thought it was made up."

Shane laughs. "Come on, we're already here."

I follow him up the sidewalk leading to a lovely Victorian-style home with a wraparound porch. Lights glow through the front windows muted by sheer curtains, and it looks so warm and comfortable and snuggly that I forget for a second that it isn't the Spanish-style architecture of curved red tiled roofs and stucco fronts that I'm used to seeing back in Phoenix.

Shane pushes open the door to his house and holds it open for me. I practically sprint through and bend over to start rubbing the feeling back into my legs.

"The blankets are back here."

I follow him through a maze of hallways until he stops in front of a linen closet and starts pulling blankets off a shelf. He hands a few to me and keeps some in his own arms.

"Here, wrap yourself up in this one for the walk back," he says, taking the blankets in my arms and putting them aside. He shakes out the top one and I turn around so he can drape it around my shoulders.

"Thanks," I say, smiling at him. "That might actually help."

He nods. "So is this the first time you've seen snow?" He picks up the rest of the blankets and we walk back toward the front of the house.

"Yeah. Believe it or not, it snows in northern Arizona a lot. There are ski resorts and stuff up there, but we never went."

"You'll have to try skiing sometime. It's really fun."

"I prefer lying poolside in the winter."

He laughs and opens the front door. "I bet you do. Come on, let's get this over with."

We hurry back toward my new house, me following his footsteps once again as he shows me the way. It isn't quite as cold this time, not with the blanket wrapped around me, but the snow falls faster, harder, and it already feels like there's more of it on the ground.

"Your dad and my dad have known each other for awhile, I guess."

"Yeah," he says. "They played for Wisconsin on the hockey team together. I'm surprised you didn't know."

I try to shrug, but it's hard with the heavy blanket resting across my shoulders. "I knew he played, but I guess I didn't really want a lot of details about the move."

Shane nods. "You weren't happy about it. Makes sense."

Finally, finally, finally, we're climbing up the steps to our house and I'm vowing to never go outside in Wisconsin again without wearing a warm pair of pants and heavy jacket.  "This is really lovely of you and your son, Joe," Mom says, taking the blankets from Shane and me. "I can't thank you enough."

Joe waves her off. "It's nothing at all, Wendy, really." He turns to his son. "What are your plans for tomorrow? Phil and I thought you could show Natalie around downtown Madison."

"I told Coach Van I'd stop by his scrimmage."

"Down at the high school? Why don't you take Natalie with you?"

Shane looks over at me without hesitation. "Want to come?"

"What is it?"

"Hockey," he says. "My old high school team. You can come see them play with me."

"She'd love to!" My father speaks up before I even have a chance to think about it. He glances over at me. "What, Natbat? It's not like you have anything else to do tomorrow. And I know you'll love the game once you give it a chance."

I sigh. He's right. I don't have anything else to do. And if I have to live here, it probably won't kill to me to get to know a few people, and Shane doesn't seem like the worst place to start, even if I have to deal with clammy palms when he's around.

"Okay," I say, looking over at him. "I mean, if you don't mind."

Shane shakes his head and smiles. "Definitely not. The game's at noon so I'll stop by around eleven."

Dad beams. "Wonderful! See, Natalie? Everything's going to be just fine."