Snowed in

Part 1

Phoebe

My eyes flutter open just in time to catch the first look of Whistler. This is my favourite part about our holiday, seeing the snow and the lights for the first time again. It's like no time has passed, and yet I've waited a year again for this very moment. The novelty wears off, eventually. But for now, when we're still in the air, I can't do anything but dream about what might happen over the next few weeks. Little flecks of snow dance from behind the glass window of the aeroplane, which is backlit by an array of warm, bright lights.

When my grandparents were younger, my Grandpa made a habit of taking my Grandma to the snow, because she loved it so much. After he died, when I was younger, my Grandma kept up the tradition, meaning that every year, my entire family spends a month across December and January far, far away from Belfast, in Whistler, at my Grandma's cabin. Because apparently, school doesn't matter for us grandkids when it comes to this place. Not that my parents have much interest in what happens to me anyway, apart from the things they keep trying to control. Like where I'll go to university, what job I'll have, the kind of person I'll eventually marry. When they aren't on the phone, shouting at an assistant about something, they're grilling me on the life choices they intend for me to make. That's another reason why Whistler is such a great place. It's a momentary escape from all of that pressure that exists back home.

A tap on my arm causes me to swivel in my chair. My Grandma, Maeve sits beside me, smiling as she too stares out of the window.

"Phoebs, I just wanted to make sure you were awake. I know this is your favourite part." She says, as I turn back to the window. Sometimes, it feels like my Grandma is one of the only people who looks out for me. Everyone else in my family is always busy, too busy with work, with their own lives. But my Grandma is that person who's always there to talk, no matter the circumstances.

I relax back into my chair as the plane begins to land, my mind already wandering. It's visualising the stack of schoolwork in my bag, of all the things I'll miss while I'm away. It's visualising the old, worn fireplace in our cabin, the one that I always sit in front of to read my book. But it's also visualising last winter, all the memories that I can't forget.

A small smile forms on my lips as I remember the strongest memory from last year.

Ok, nothing happened. I'm being dramatic again, but of course I am. Because last year was the first time, in my entire life, that a boy my own age even looked at me. Let alone smiled. So of course I latched onto that small moment, and nurtured it with my attention for an entire year. Experiences like that don't just happen to girls like me. It doesn't matter that it was on the last day of our trip, that I didn't know how to talk so I said nothing. It doesn't matter that it's all I've been able to think about since last year, even though I know nothing happened. It doesn't matter that his smile is all I've seen in books, in my mind as I've struggled to fall asleep. It doesn't even matter that I don't know his name; his smile has stuck with me all year, and it may not mean something to everyone, but it most definitely means something to me.

Am I swimming mindlessly in my own delusions? Absolutely. But what if I see him again? What if I'm skiing on the slopes one minute, and look up, only to lock eyes? What if I can muster up the courage to talk to him? What if this year marks the start of my love life, an aspect of my life that I've dreamed of through romance novels since I was a little girl?

Or what if I don't see him again, or can't talk to him, or find out he's a raging dickhead? That's also a possibility. One that I've blocked out of my mind for an entire year, but is still entirely possible.

I can't even help myself. The burning in my chest, the breathlessness, that I felt when he looked at me has haunted my heart, my body, my mind and soul. Just one look caused all of that. I don't know what's wrong with me, why I've fixated on this one, small moment for a whole year. But, if I had to guess, I'm sensing this is what a lack of any romantic interactions does to someone who lives vicariously through the 2005 adaptation of Pride and Prejudice. It must be natural, to crave the connection that people have in books. Because books are centred around real, human desires, human wants and needs.

My daydream halts as I'm patted once more on the arm by my Grandma. My parents, cousins, brother and aunts are already beginning to gather their coats and bags, while the plane is landing. Seriously, these people have no idea what relaxing really is. For my family, relaxed normally means having a packed schedule and absolutely no moment of silence. Taking a deep sigh, I grab my own bag from under the seat in front of me, just as the plane becomes rickety as its wheels hit the tarmac.

...

After a long, painful two hour drive with my cousins, we've finally made it to the cabin. I hoist my bag over my shoulder, beginning the trudge to the warm, cosy-looking cabin. It's two story's look over the snow-covered slopes, setting a fire inside of me about being able to ski again. I've been skiing since before I can even remember; it would be hard not to be obsessed about snow sports in my family. Warm lights frame the front door of the house, and I peer through the front window as my aunt Rachel fumbles with the key.

Everything looks exactly how we left it. The worn, green couch sits directly in front of the large, stone fireplace, a smile reaching my lips as my mind floods to past winters, spent sitting in front of that fireplace and falling into a book.

The door clicks open, and my younger brother Steven and cousin Patrick tumble into the living room, their energy levels far too extreme for this time of day. My aunt's Cara and Rachel follow their son, dragging heavy suitcases across the ground. I eventually push my way into the house before my other cousins Logan and June, my parents, and Grandma make their way into the house. Honestly, its a miracle that we're all here and breathing at this point.

Immediately, I head straight up to my room. I want to breathe everything in again. Remember what it was like to be standing here, a year younger, in the world that I feel safest in.

After I manage to haul my bag up the stairs, I let it hit the floor of my bedroom with little care. I reach to unzip it, not surprised to find stuff spilling out of it. I fall down onto the floor beside my bag, unpacking book, after book, after book. When I was leaving home, I did take a second look at all of the books, both school and non-school related, that I was taking with me. Back then, it didn't seem all that insane. Now, it makes me look like a friend-less dork, which I am both proud of, and yet also feel even more detached from who I feel like I'm meant to be as a teenager. 

Back in Belfast, growing up seems like such an amplified topic. School sometimes just feels like a battle of who can appear the best, the smartest, the most ready to move on and become an adult. Apart from June, my cousin who's the exact same age as me (minus one month), Whistler is the place I can detach from that aspect of my life, the one where I keep trying to prove that I'm someone I don't really know. Someone that I don't really know if I want to be. Because there's no one around, no teenagers at least, that I feel like I have to prove myself to. Well, except for the whole... delusional thing I have for the ski instructor I never actually spoke to.

I place the last book on top of the stack I've made beside my bed, and reach into my bag once more to grab my phone. I open it up, to send my best friends of ten years, Serena, a text to tell her I got in safe. Out of everyone in this world, Serena is the person I feel most comfortable with. She's the most like me, and is the only person I've met besides my Grandma who enjoys feeding my love of gossip and scenario-painting.

Not bothering to wait for a response, I close my phone and place it on my nightstand. Closing my eyes, I let myself simply absorb the room around me. The sweet scent of caramel that seems to linger in this house, the sound of snow pattering on the shingled roof.

I take it all in. Everything. Because you never truly know when you'll feel this at home again.

A/n:

HELLO, THE BITCH IS BACK

if you pick up on the undertones here, i'm really just trying to validate my own delusions at this point (i mean, us writers love to make our writing about ourselves)

i hope you enjoyed this first chapter? i didn't really have a plan, just went with some inner monologue and went wherever it took me. i have no idea when updates will be, but keep a look out if you think you might enjoy this book!

alright going to go play the sims 4 now.

lots of love, ems xx