In the morning, when I opened my eyes, I noticed that something had changed.

It's light. The gray-green light fell into the room, still like the light and shadow of a cloudy forest, but it was clearer. I realized that my window was not obscured by the clouds.

I jumped out of bed to look outside, and let out a horrified sound.

It was a snowstorm: it engulfed the front yard, crushed the roof of my car, and stained the road white. But that's not the worst. Yesterday's rain had frozen to ice - the trees were covered with oddly shaped, beautifully patterned ice edges, and the driveway was covered with a damn layer of ice. Even when the ground is dry, it's hard for me not to fall, and now I'm back in bed to be safe.

When I went downstairs, Chuck was gone. In many ways, living with Chuck was like living on my own, and I found that I enjoyed being alone and didn't feel lonely.

I hurriedly swallowed a bowl of cereal and drank a box of orange juice. I was in a hurry to get to school, and that scared me. I knew it wasn't because of the good learning atmosphere I was expecting, or because I was able to meet my new friends. If I'm honest enough with myself, I'll admit that I went to school because I wanted to meet Roger Wright. But it's very, very stupid.

After all that mindless, embarrassing nonsense yesterday, I should have avoided him completely. And I wondered a little about him: why did he lie about his eyes?

I was still afraid of the hostility that I sometimes felt from him. What's more, whenever I think of his perfect face, I get a knot in my tongue. However, I am well aware that there is no overlap in my range of activities with his, so I should not be so eager to see him today.

Making it through that frozen driveway alive drained every ounce of attention on me. I almost lost my balance as I was about to get to the front of the car, but in the end I managed to grab the rearview mirror and save myself. It couldn't be clearer that today is going to be a nightmare.

On the drive to school, I tried to shift my attention from the fear of the car getting out of control and the unnecessary speculation about Roger Wright to Jack and Ike, and the very different ways the young boys here were worried about me. I'm sure I look the same as I did when I was in Draco. Maybe it's because the boys on my side of my family are still looking at me with old eyes after witnessing the whole process of my horrific adolescence. Maybe it's because I'm a novelty in this place where there's so little to do. Or maybe it was my clumsy clumsiness rather than pity that I fell into the role of an unfortunate girl in a soap opera. Whatever the reason, I was flattered by Jack's dog-like behavior and Ike's-for-tat behavior with him. I don't know if I'd rather be ignored.

My truck seems to be unaffected by the black ice on the road. But I still drove very slowly, for fear of hitting a broken passage in the street.

When I got to school and got out of the car, I realized why I didn't have any trouble on the road. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck - carefully grasping the support - to check my tire. Thin chains crisscross into the shape of diamonds and wrap around the tires. God knows what time Chuck got up and put my truck on a snow chain. I just felt my throat tighten. I'm not used to being taken care of. Chuck's unspeakable concern struck me.

I stood in the back of the car, desperately suppressing the sudden, tidal wave of emotions brought by the snow chain. Just then, I heard a strange voice.

It was a scream of horror, and then it quickly turned into a scream. I looked up in surprise.

I saw several things at the same time. None of them are in slow motion like in the movies. In fact, it's the adrenaline rush that makes my brain work faster, allowing me to focus on the details of several things at once.

Roger Wright stood four cars away from me, looking at me with a look of horror. His face was distinctly clear in the sea of many faces. They all had the same look of horror on their faces. But even more imminent was the skidneyed, dark blue van with locked tires. Its brakes made a high-pitched whistling sound, spinning wildly on the ice of the parking lot. It was about to crash into the back of my truck, and I was standing in the middle of them. I don't even have enough time to close my eyes.

Before I could hear the devastating clatter of the truck crashing against my truck bed, something slammed into me, but not in the direction I expected. My head hit the icy asphalt and I felt something cold and hard press me to the ground. I was lying on the sidewalk in front of a van where I had parked my truck. But I didn't have a chance to pay attention to anything else, because the van was rushing over. It turned in exasperation against the back of the truck, spun and slid over, about to hit me again.

A low spell made me realize that someone was with me, and I would never be mistaken. Two long, snow-white arms stretched out in front of me to protect me. The truck suddenly stopped just 0.3 meters away from my face. The big hands were miraculously embedded in a deep dent on the side of the truck's body.

Then, the movement of his hands was so fast that I couldn't see clearly. One hand suddenly grabbed the body of the truck, and the other dragged me away. My legs swayed like rag dolls until I ran into the van. The sharp sound of metal crashing to my ears as the truck slammed to the ground, glass cracking and bursting onto the asphalt—exactly where my legs had been a second ago.

There was a complete silence, and after a few seconds, there was a scream. In the midst of this sudden commotion, I heard more than one person calling out my name. But more clearly than all the shouting, I heard, in my ears, the low, frantic voice of Roger Wright.

"Imia, are you alright?"

"I'm fine." My voice sounded weird. I tried to sit up, and then I realized that he was holding me tightly and protecting me underneath. Watch out. "He warned me when I was struggling." I think your head hits you hard. ”

That's when I noticed a throbbing pain in my left ear.

"Oh." I said in surprise.

"That's exactly what I had in mind." Strangely, his voice sounded like he was struggling to hold back laughter.

"What's going on......" my voice weakened, trying to gather my thoughts and control my movements. How can you rush here so quickly? ”

"I'll be standing next to you, Imia." He said, his tone serious again.

I struggled to sit up, and this time he no longer stopped me, but let go of his arms that were tightly clasped around my waist, and quickly and quietly retreated to the farthest that the small space could allow. I watched as he looked worried and innocent, lost in his black-gold eyes once again. What do I want to ask him?

They finally found us. A group of tearful people, shouting to each other and calling our names.

"Don't move!" Someone ordered.

"Get Moore out of the van!" Another shouted.

There was a lot of chaos all around us. I wanted to get up, but Roger's cold hand pressed on my shoulder.

"Stay here now, don't move."

"But it's too cold." I complained. To my surprise, he chuckled quietly, so low that it was barely audible.

"You were there just now." I suddenly remembered. His chuckle came to an abrupt end. "You're standing next to your car."

His face sank. "No, I'm not there."

"I see you." There was chaos all around us, and I could hear the rough voices of the adults who arrived at the scene. But I stubbornly continued our argument: I was right, and he should admit it.

"Imiah, I'm standing next to you, and I'm the one who pulled you away." He didn't hide it anymore, glaring at me with a direct, devastating look, as if to make me understand something very serious.

"No, it's not." I gritted my teeth.

The gold in his eyes was burning. "Please, Imia."

"Why?" I asked.

"Trust me." He pleaded. His soft voice conquered me.

I heard the siren of the ambulance. "Can you promise to explain everything to me later?"

"Good." He roared, furious.

"Good." I repeated angrily.

Six emergency medical responders and two teachers, Mr. Liwa and Coach Claypen, worked together to pull the truck out of the way so that the stretcher could come in. Roger firmly refused to be on the stretcher, and I was about to speak, but the traitor told them that I had hit my head and was probably concussion. When they put a neck brace on me, I was so ashamed that I wanted to die. It looked like the whole school was there, solemnly watching me being carried into the back of the ambulance. And Roger can actually sit in the front row of the ambulance. It's maddening.