Page 1 of Falling Like Snow

Chapter One

My borrowed suitcase stares at me from my bed, daring me to even try to squeeze anything else inside it.

“What are you thinking?” Asher asks. My best friend lies sprawled across my comforter in his white Bramble Falls Drama Club hoodie and gray sweatpants, his expression amused as I snarl at the bag.

“I’m thinking about what a snob this suitcase is,” I tell him.

A laugh bubbles out of him. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Look at it, sitting there mocking me for being a small-town girl from Connecticut who has no idea what to pack when traveling to such a freaking awesome city.”

“I assure you the suitcase is not judging you,” he says, linking his fingers together behind his head of messy black hair.

I gesture at it. “It’s purple!”

“Okay… so?”

“So it’s definitely a judgmental snob.”

He narrows his eyes at me and shakes his head. “You’re strange.”

“I like to think of myself as limited edition, thank you very much.”

His lips quirk, amused, as he sits, crisscrossing his legs. “Why don’t you tackle this later? Maybe on a day when an inanimate object can’t hurt your feelings?”

“No. I’m almost done.” I shove a pair of black ballet flats inside and flip the lid closed.

Well, as closed as it’ll go… which isn’t really closed at all.

“You’re not leaving until winter break,” Asher says, watching me struggle to zip the overstuffed bag. “That’s weeks away. You don’t have to finish tonight.”

“I told you, I’m too excited to wait,” I say, yanking at the zipper to no avail. “And let’s face it, if I put off packing until the last minute, we both know I’ll forget stuff.”

A goofy smirk plays across his face. “I think we both know you’ll forget stuff either way.”

I glare at him before climbing onto my bed, plopping my butt on top of the suitcase, and leaning over to slide it shut. One set of teeth at a time, the zipper closes, the chain so tight, I’m waiting for the bag to burst open like a confetti cannon.

“You know, Ellis can probably loan you a bigger, less judgy suitcase,” Asher says. “Or you could maybe not pack so many clothes.”

“And you could shut up and help me.”

Asher sighs and shoos me. “Move,” he says.

I hop off the suitcase, and he takes my place, the mound of fabric inside flattening beneath his weight. He tugs on the oversized zipper tab. “This is ridiculous. Since when do you care about having a special outfit for every possible occasion?”

“Since a trip to New York City became a reality! Obviously! Who knows what Ellis and I will end up doing? What if she takes me to some classy rich-people party but all I brought was an old flannel and ripped jeans?”

“Oh my god, yeah, I’m getting secondhand embarrassment just thinking of that horrifying hypothetical scenario,” he says, his voice dripping with sarcasm. I slug him in the arm, and he laughs.

“Don’t you remember when we binged Gossip Girl last summer?”

“How could I forget? All you talked about was Chuck and Blair, Blair and Chuck, for weeks, despite how toxic they were,” Asher mutters as he finishes zipping the suitcase. He hops off the bed and heaves the hulking bag onto the floor, where I’m almost certain it leaves a dent.

“Then you also remember how fancy everyone looked. I refuse to look like a slob in the big city.”

“It was a TV show, Sloane. And you never look like a slob.”

My eyes fall to my too-big lime-green sweatpants—held up by a black shoelace since I lost the drawstring in the wash—tucked into fuzzy red-and-white-striped socks, and my cozy Christmas tree sweater with its twinkling LED lights. I don’t need a mirror to know my bangs are sticking up in every direction, and my shoulder-length blond hair is falling out of the loose, lopsided ponytail I threw it in this morning.