J. negotiated her way through another dull physics class with Mr. Stone, a pretty interesting social studies class with Ms. O’Hara, an English class with Ms. Stevens, during which she spent most of her time being annoyed by the way that the bitchy cheerleader girls preened for the boys, and gym class, where she got to learn some cool self-defense moves and accidentally on purpose slammed some of the nastier girls to the mats harder than was probably considered appropriate. Finally, it was time for soccer practice, and she almost ran to the locker room to change. Her teammates filtered in, and they laughed and chattered as they dressed. As always, M.J. led the way, and was already halfway around the track for her warmup jog before the rest of the team emerged from the locker room. As she finished, she noticed that the boys’ team, as usual, was already on their half of the field, stretching and warming up. North didn’t have enough fields for both soccer teams to have a full field for. A sound outside made you open your eyes. Had minutes or just seconds passed? You glanced at the fireplace and noticed the fire was still burning...it couldn't have been too long. You heard the sound again over the quiet crackling of the fire...footsteps in the snow coming toward your front door. They stopped, and then a gloved hand rapped softly on the heavy wood.You got up and went to the door. "Who's there," you called out. You were glad you had bolted the door securely as your mother had taught you."Snow shoveling, ma'am...at your service." The voice through the door sounded friendly and familiar. You peered through the peephole just as the tall person in a heavy hooded coat turned away and began shoveling the snow from the short walkway with a long-handled snow shovel. That must be Mr. England, or Engleman, whatever his name was, from two houses down and across the street. He had waved when you jogged past his house the other evening, and you had heard him call to his children to.
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