Ice Dogs by Terry Lynn Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

close the sled bag over us, leaving a breathing hole for the condensation to escape.
    The relief from the cold is immediate. It feels as if I’m lying next to a furnace with the heat that Chris’s body is emitting. I don’t know why he was complaining when he’s so hot.
    I almost let out a nervous giggle but manage to get a grip in time.
    The wind outside seems to howl in frustration, wanting to get in. The canvas bag flaps while the whole sled quivers. I’ve always felt as if my sled bag was my secret hideout. Only me in here listening to my dogs sleeping out there. The shape of it, the feel of the rough sides, the smell of wet canvas, it’s all comforting and familiar. And now Chris, who I don’t even know, is sharing this place with me.
    I close my eyes and try to fall asleep. Or imagine that I can actually fall asleep while I’m in the same sleeping bag pressed up next to a guy. His breath feels warm on the back of my neck and I wish that I couldn’t smell him. I try to picture what he looks like in my pink woollies, and that helps.
    â€œIf you’re, like, some axe murderer or something, tell me now so I can sleep with my eyes open,” Chris says in the dark.
    My eyes fly open. “When we get to school, there will be no one who knows about this.”
    He muffles a laugh. “Deal.”

9
Monday
    I WAKE TO SPIDER WEBS OF FROST hanging over my face. Unlike some mornings when I’m confused for a moment about where I am, I have an exact understanding of my situation. I’m in a sleeping bag.
    With a guy.
    I stretch out a sudden leg cramp and Chris jerks awake beside me.
    â€œDon’t bang the sides of the bag,” I say. “The frost will fall on us.”
    I carefully reach up and open the sled bag, flipping over the flap of canvas coated with frozen condensation. It’s heavy with the snow load on top. Cold air rushes in and I quickly pull my arm back under the sleeping bag.
    I could almost fall back to sleep in the warmth. I let my mind drift and enjoy the novelty of the situation.
    â€œMorning, Secret.” Chris straightens his arms out in front of him and yawns loudly. “I could sure use some scrambled eggs and bacon.”
    I roll away from him. “You could use a shower, too. You smell like a sasquatch.” This is a big lie.
    I resign myself to the freezing air and wriggle out of the bag. The side of my body that was pressed to Chris is now cold. When I stand on the snow-covered spruce branches, I exhale rapidly and clouds of frozen breath hang in the air. My bare fingers move slowly in the chill as I scramble to put on my outer clothes. I hop around to warm up.
    â€œLittle brisk out today,” I say.
    The first thing I check is the dogs. They’re still curled into six snowballs, the branches above them covered in glistening frost.
    Then I glance around and blink.
    The landscape looks completely different from last night. Fresh and friendly with glittering beauty. Now that I can see the slough in the daylight, it doesn’t seem that far away. And the blackened ring of the long-dead fire has melted a deep pit in the snow. New snow sparkles all around us. Blankets of clean white snow heap over alder bushes and dark stumps, softening all the edges. I feel as if I’ve just stepped into a Christmas card. I marvel at how a sunny winter morning always fills me up.
    Trees snap and crack in the cold. The wind has died and the hushed winter bush sounds are all around me. I spy the line of snow-covered birches gleaming in the sun and I let out a little breath. Every tiny finger of branch has a thick coating of snow that sits like whipped topping.
    â€œWake me when it’s summer,” Chris says.
    The snow crunches under my feet as I move. I find a wide tree, check to make sure I can’t be seen from the sled, and crouch down to pee. Crunching snow is good. That means the temperature isn’t much colder than zero. If the