Ursa Minor (On hiatus)

A grain of sand pt. I

A/N: Dedicated to one of my newest followers. Hope you like this chapter!

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I pulled my hood of my winter jacket tighter around my face. Yeah, I was warmly dressed, but that wouldn't help if Allen didn't show up now, would it? I fidgeted, fingered the phone in my pocket. Decided to give it another minute.

It had been a while since I last used the 'I'm sick' excuse to stay home from school. It required some planning. Already yesterday night I'd lightly complained about a headache. Let mom push her herbal tea. This morning I'd pretended to be sick for real. Sniveling and fake-coughing much like Allen had on the phone. The trick was to not complain at all when it 'had gotten worse'.

"I'll be OK," I'd coughed, putting on a brave face. "If I feel really bad I'll probably get sent home by lunch..."

"No way, Mischa!" My mom predictably protested. "I'll call them." As soon as she had left I'd made a beeline for the shower and a fresh set of clothes. Grabbed the sandwiches prepared for lunch from the fridge. Yeah, I did feel bad for lying to her again, but this time it was for a good cause, I told myself. Not only to make it up to Allen. Me myself could use with some time away from school as well.

So here I was, fidgeting and freezing my fingers off, conspicuously waiting by our driveway. Waiting to be taken to an undisclosed location by a guy I'd barely known for a ,month. Late October to late November. Halloween to Thanksgiving. The oak trees completely bare now, the rusty leaves on the sidewalk had turned into a brown slippery mush. My breath a hint of a cloud, the lawn covered in frost. The grass crispy underneath my feet. But still no snow. All glistening dark gray. Even Allen's car no color as it finally appeared. But Allen was even more colorful than usual, bright red wind jacket clashing with his hair. Or matching. Either way it looked amazing.

I didn't even get to say 'hi' before he started apologizing.

"Sorry, my mom took forever to leave, couldn't stop fussing. Did you wait long?"

"No," I said lightly, since by now I'd apparently completely lost all ability to be mad at him. But I still really wanted to know where we were going. I almost wondered if even Allen knew, watching him reading the signs carefully whenever we closed in on a crossroads.

"Are you going to Minnesota for Thanksgiving?" I asked slyly, as Allen stopped by a red light. Because then we would hardly be going.

"No, no, some of my aunts and cousins are coming down from New York so. And you?"

"I'm going to my grandparents."

"The Russian ones?" I nodded, thinking of my grandma, maya babushka. Her strong hands kneading the dough for the piroshky. Her pinching my cheek, leaving behind a flour print. Complaining about and complimenting me on becoming so tall. Her round face, her short dark hair shaped into brittle curls. Maybe her parents had been South American, maybe she'd belonged to one of the native tribes in New Mexico. Not even my mom knew. Now she spoke Russian better than English, emptied a shot of vodka without blinking. My granddad had been the immigrant, but she had been the one assimilating.

To get to my grandparents we usually turned left at the intersection by the park. To get to Minnesota you most probably should turn right. To the north. But Allen didn't turn at all, just continued straight ahead. I threw a long glance at the more familiar southern route, disappearing behind me.

"So where are we going?" I asked off-handedly.

"It's a surprise." I leaned back, trying to relax. But what if he wanted to go to like Minnesota. That would take days. I would have to skip another day. Because that would be the only problem with that.