Free Freeze Tag by Caroline B. Cooney Page A

them.”
    “No,” said Lannie gently. “They can’t.”
    Even Lannie’s words could freeze. Tuesday’s leaping lungs and throbbing heart went into slow motion, and her skipping mind fell down. No. Rescue teams cannot save them. Our mother and father cannot save them. That terrible little phrase “froze to death” hung in front of all Tuesday’s thoughts like an icicle hanging off a porch.
    At first Tuesday was going to say, Brown and I will do anything you want , anything at all , if only you’ll undo West and Meghan . But she thought better of it. What promise would Lannie extract? What kind of terrible corner would Brown and Tuesday be in then?
    So she said, “You love him, Lannie. He’s better alive. Much more fun.”
    “He broke his promise.”
    “But he’s learned his lesson now. He’s in there now, listening. He’s ready, Lannie.”
    Lannie appeared to consider it. Her eyes shifted from hot to cold like faucets in the shower. “I love doing this,” she told Tuesday at last. Her voice was curiously rich.
    Rich with what?
    Desire, thought Tuesday. Not for West, and yet it was desire. An unstoppable desire to cause hurt.
    The texture of the snow changed.
    It became very soft, like an old cozy blanket.
    The moon shone through the thin moving clouds, and the snow sparkled in the darkness of night.
    The temperature dropped like a falling stone.
    She has to undo them! thought Tuesday. What can I offer her? What do I have? My brother! My best friend!
    Tuesday scraped through her mind, hunting for anything, the barest scrap, to offer Lannie Anveill.
    Lannie swung on the truck door again, making a wide smooth pocket in the snowdrifts. She might have been a six-year-old at a birthday party. Any minute she might lie down in the snow and make an angel.
    Lannie. An angel.
    Tuesday did not let herself fall into hysteria. She said brightly, “I know, Lannie! You can come to the JV cheerleader slumber party!” Her voice was stacked with false enthusiasm. “At our house! And we’ll have a great time.”
    Lannie stopped swinging. She looked briefly at Tuesday, and briefly into the truck.
    “But not Meghan,” added Tuesday quickly. “She won’t get to come. Only you.”
    Lannie tilted her head.
    “All you have to do is unfreeze them,” coaxed Tuesday. She made her voice rich, too. Desire for Lannie’s company. Desire to be a friend to Lannie. “And you’ll have a boyfriend, a dance, and a party, Lannie. All coming up soon. Won’t it be fun?”
    Brown was staring at his sister as if they had never met before.
    “Well,” said Lannie finally.
    “Great!” cried Tuesday. “You’re going to undo them! You’re coming to my party!”
    “I’ll undo West,” said Lannie. “Meghan stays.”

Chapter 7
    “O NLY,” SAID WEST, “IF you bring Meghan back, too.”
    His voice swirled in the dark. It did not seem like a voice at all, but like a wind, a separate wind. A dervish, perhaps.
    Meghan lay frozen, stiff against the seats and the dashboard and the broken handles. Snow falling through the open door of the truck rested on her face. She could not feel its touch but she knew its weight. It was drifting around the hollows of her cheeks and eyes. Soon she would not be visible, she would be one with the rest of the blanketed world.
    A statue forgotten until spring.
    “No,” said Lannie. Her voice was no longer rich with hurtful desire. It was a statement voice, a voice for making lists and issuing decrees.
    No.
    It was a forever “No.” A “No” which would not change, which could not be bought, or compromised, or threatened. It was a real “No.”
    She was not going to undo Meghan Moore.
    I am frozen, thought Meghan.
    It was queer the way her thoughts could continue, and yet on some level they, too, were frozen. She did not feel great emotion: there was no terrible grief that her young life had stopped short. There was no terrifying worry about whatever was to come — a new life, a death, or simply the