Hiya Readers
I published the second edition of IF WE HAD NO WINTER this week. I’ve known from the beginning that I needed to update the book, as it was drastically too long for the book that it is.
Now, it’s only slightly too long.
Jokes aside, this edition has lots of fun updates, and I just had to share. So we’re doing something a little different today. I’m going to share that first chapter with you right here on my blog. In fact, I might even share the whole book with you.
xoxo Dana
Chapter One
“Don’t you ever spend time in your own room, Dixon?” The words are out of his mouth before he’s even inside the door.
Leaning against the headboard, Jimmy offers me an apologetic smile and runs a hand through his messy brown hair. He only defends me from his asshole roommate as a last resort.
But I can hold my own.
When I look over, ready to retort, Xander’s unloading his textbooks onto his unkempt bed. He’s waiting for me to take the bait. He knows I can’t ignore his jibes.
Jimmy pokes my ribs and nods toward my Norton Anthology. “Focus, Billie. Walt Whitman. American Lit.” Per usual, he wants to prevent any conflict.
I scoff but tug the book closer. “If I have to read one more section of this poem, I’m going to hurl.”
He laughs good-naturedly. “They’re call cantos. If you’re going to pass the final, you should know the proper terminology.”
Despite my irritation, I smile.
On the desk, Jimmy’s phone buzzes, and he reads the text with a little smile. “You need to check your phone more often.”
I shift to pull my phone from my pocket. Two messages, both from Imogene. “Oh.”
Across the room, Xander drops his textbooks on top of the mini-fridge and shoves his backpack under his bed. It takes me hours to unwind at the end of the day, but he pushes everything out of sight and moves on without a second thought.
Jimmy’s phone goes off again, and he releases a little laugh and responds. His freckled cheeks are pink with amusement when he relaxes, the device clutched firmly to his chest.
“I don’t know what she wants from me.” I let my screen fade to black. This is the third text of the day.
He almost laughs. “Maybe you should’ve gone home over break. How many other people were on campus for Thanksgiving?”
Aside from our RA and two foreign exchange students, it was only me and Xander in Lincoln Hall. With Jimmy away, we weren’t forced to spend time together. No heated arguments. No angry compromises. I didn’t even have to acknowledge his existence.
“It was a short break.” I heave a sigh. “You know I can’t afford to fly home for every short break.” Even if it means disappointing my little sister.
The headboard squeaks as he shifts. “My parents don’t mind contributing if it means they get to see you.”
“I’m not a charity case, Jimmy.”
“You could’ve at least told Imogene you were staying on campus. Sounds a lot better coming from your sister instead of your neighbor.” He pushes his black-rimmed glasses up. “She gets her feelings hurt whether you see it or not.”
He’s right, of course, but I have my reasons for staying in a tiny-ass town in Vermont for the holiday. Imogene is the only real reason to go home.
Xander powers up his PS2 and massive 55-inch TV, then makes a detour for the bathroom they share with the boys next door. Of course. He’s going to play his stupid video games, completely ignoring the fact that we’re studying.
“Do you need a break?”
Or maybe we’re not studying.
I offer Jimmy a small smile. “Sorry. I’m distracted.”
He gestures for me to explain.
I push up into a sitting position and brush a section of auburn corkscrew curls over my shoulder. It’s up in a ponytail, but it’s still in the way. “I have a thing at five, and I haven’t mentally prepared for it.” I don’t know how else to explain, how to make him understand.
Jimmy’s face transforms into a wide smile. “Are you finally getting together with your dad? He is the reason you’re at Bradford—you should at least pay him back by spending time with him. You’ve put this off for too long.”
I open my mouth, but Xander walks out, and his loose black hair shimmers in the light from outside. His t-shirt and jeans are tucked under one arm, and drops the dirty clothes in his hamper.
All I can do is gape.
It’s barely four o’clock on a Thursday, but he has no qualms walking around in Wolverine boxers.
Jimmy clears his throat.
I straighten my glasses and focus on the discussion. “My father’s a professor here. That doesn’t mean I’m indebted to him. He doesn’t pay my tuition. His job just makes it cheaper.”
“The divorce papers went through over three years ago. Being here at Bradford is the first you’ve seen him.”
“That was his decision, not mine. I’m not the one who stopped calling.”
“People make mistakes.”
I roll my eyes. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this spiel. “He’s made the same mistake for three years straight.”
With a sigh, he closes his textbook. His phone, now on the mattress, lights up. The bed vibrates. Is he still texting Imogene? “I’m not making excuses for him.” He pauses to read the text. “But he probably thought you wanted to reconnect with him since you’re attending his school and majoring in his department. You’ve avoided him since we arrived.”
I frown. “He hasn’t taken the time to contact me either.”
Jimmy pushes the phone away without responding. “Which is why I’m glad you finally made plans, Billie. I know better than anyone how upset you were when your parents separated.”
My gaze shifts to my textbook, still open to Whitman’s “Song of Myself.” How can I tell him I haven’t? Especially when he’s so happy for me. How can I say I haven’t spoken to my father since we arrived in August? How can I say I have no intention to talk to that man ever again?
From the floor, Xander releases a derisive laugh.
Apparently, I don’t have to.
I grit my teeth. “Do you have something to say?”
He doesn’t look over as he navigates the game menu. “There’s no world in which you reached out to your dad.”
“You don’t know that.”
He casts a lazy glance over his shoulder. “Go on then. Tell me I’m wrong.”
But I can’t.
He knows I can’t.
His intense blue eyes study me, but when I don’t speak, he sends me his patented smirk and turns up the volume. The game’s starting.
When I turn to Jimmy, his face has fallen. “You’re not meeting your dad, are you?”
I shake my head. Somehow, he manages to make me feel guilty even when he’s the one who misinterpreted.
His disappointment is obvious, but Jimmy moves on quickly. “Then what are your plans at five?”
I close my Norton textbook and lay my notes on top. “I’m meeting someone for tutoring.”
Xander snorts. Apparently, he can still hear us over the Japanese music. “You suddenly failing Western Civ? Or are you so anal you can’t stand anything less than an A?”
I force myself to ignore him. “I put an ad on the school website last week, and someone took me up on it.”
Jimmy’s bushy eyebrows bunch together. “You’re tutoring someone?”
On the floor, Xander bursts into laughter.
“I can be professional, and I’m good enough at math to tutor someone in calculus.”
Finally, Jimmy’s face shifts to a smile. “I’m not skeptical of your ability, trust me. You’re the reason I passed high school math.”
“But?”
He averts his eyes. “It’s just, your social skills—”
Xander pauses the game and twists to face us, a smirk on his tawny face. “Who’s the unlucky moron?”
Jimmy’s curious frown is the only reason I answer. “All I have is a name. Nelson something. I don’t remember.”
“And what in the world makes you think you’ll be a good teacher?”
I square my shoulders. “Definitely not you.”
When Xander sprawls across the floor, his muscles stretch, his abdomen taut. It always surprises me how fit he is when he never gets off his ass. “Is this your first job? How cute.”
“I got a job the second I turned sixteen, thank you. What would you know? You’ve never worked a day in your life, rich boy.” I don’t give him a chance to counter. “A blow-off job at the Eyrie doesn’t count. All you do is flirt with the female customers.”
Xander releases a humorless laugh and directs an enormous calligraphy brush across the screen.
I’m still glaring when Jimmy speaks. “I’m sure tutoring will be fine. I mean, you’re good at everything you do—math, computers, coding, art. You’ll be great.” He’s trying to placate me.
My phone says I have forty-five minutes, but I want to be as far away from Xander as possible. “I should get ready. We can study more tonight.”
From the floor, Xander laughs again. “Make sure to take your Midol before you meet him.”
I gather my things, jaw clenched, and Jimmy follows me across the hall. He pauses while I unlock my door. “I didn’t mean to screw with your confidence.”
Thankfully, the room is empty.
I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’ll be fine.”
Let’s be honest, though. As much as I try to ignore the ache behind my eyes and tension in my neck, I’m anxious about the meeting.
“Sorry we have to postpone our study session.” I drop my things on my desk and pile up my calculus textbook and notes. I cannot forget anything. I need to be a professional.
He leans against my door. “It happens.”
“At least you have Xander.” I may not like the guy, but they’ve become quite close.
“That might be a comfort if he weren’t going to play Okami for the next five hours.”
I drag my backpack from my desk chair and yank it open. The textbooks from my morning classes are still inside. “He never does anything useful.”
“He’s most productive in the morning, I think. You’d know if you weren’t almost late for class every morning.”
I cock an eyebrow. “You think?”
Jimmy shrugs. “He gets up before me—except on Saturdays.”
On Saturdays, Xander’s too hung over to get up early.
“Why in the world were we stuck with awful roommates? Those compatibility forms were supposed to room you with someone you get along with.”
But this is where I lose him.
“Don’t say that.” His tone is reproachful. “I can’t vouch for Val, but you’re the only person who doesn’t like Xander.”
I purse my lips. “Well, I’m the only person who sees reason.”
Jimmy laughs.
“What? He’s an ass.”
He shakes his head. “He’s not a terrible person, Billie. And it works both ways. He’s not the only one who could be a little kinder.”
“Whatever.” I shove all the calc supplies into the bag, trying to keep my irritation in check. “I’m glad he’s a dick to me. That makes me the one girl he has no interest in boning, and that sounds perfect to me.”
Jimmy smiles conspiratorially. “Like you’d notice if he were into you.” He’s definitely not conspiring with me.
I glare. “What does that mean?”
He laughs. “We’ve been best friends for ten years, and you’re the most clueless person I’ve ever met.”
“Right, because you’re great at understanding our fellow humans, strange creatures that they are.”
“All I’m saying is, you should get to know him instead of making assumptions. Not everyone fits inside your perfect bubbles. I don’t.”
I frown and look away.
Of course he doesn’t. Jimmy’s special. He’s my best friend and the only person who stayed by my side when my dad left. He never pressured me, never judged me when I retreated into the background, never stopped caring—unlike everyone else.
“I need to get ready. We’ll talk later.”
I don’t know why he still puts up with me.
By the time I reach the library, the small pain behind my eyes is a full-blown headache, but I set up at the agreed-upon table a full ten minutes before five.
Beneath large fluorescent lights, the second story of Chapman Library is divided into three sections. At the top of the stairs, where I sit, an area is cordoned off for study tables, each with its own lamp, and the other two sections spread across each side with rows upon rows of books.
Across the table, I spread my calculus book, spiral notebook, and one-inch binder. On my right side, I line up the bottom edges of a black gel pen and a green highlighter. And when everything is organized, I cast my gaze around the library.
The top floor is nearly empty. Even two weeks before finals, it’s quiet at dinnertime.
He arrives seven minutes after five. Under the harsh fluorescents, his white skin looks translucent, especially beneath his jet-black hair. Sharp jawline, angular features, and he’s slim and tall, visible on the stairs long before he reaches the top—he’s at least six foot. He strolls up the stairs, one arm wrapped around a binder, the other hand inside the pocket of his Bradford hoody, and upon discovering me, stops at the table’s edge, looming. “Uh, Wilhelmina?” He glances at the sticky note on his notebook.
I grimace. “Billie.”
“You’re in my calculus class, right?” He tilts his head.
“Eight a.m. with Hodges?”
I’ve never noticed him, but I nod. I’m usually too engrossed in the classwork to pay attention to my peers.
“I’m Zane.” He leans over to offer his hand. “Zane Nelson.”
For a moment, I stare at the hand. It’s pale like the rest of him, smooth and unused, but his nails are down to the quick. He’s never done hard labor, and he possibly has an oral fixation. But more importantly, I don’t like people touching me.
“Then you’re in the right place,” I say instead. I turn my attention to the books, push my thick-rimmed glasses up my nose, and move a large section of coiled hair behind my shoulder. “Let’s get started.”
Zane pauses before pulling his hand back, then he lays his things down and sits opposite me. “Hold on. Aren’t you a little young to teach me calculus?” He eyes me skeptically, eyebrows furrowed.
I frown. I knew this was coming, of course, especially after Jimmy’s morale-boosting speech earlier, but the headache behind my eyes flares up. I push my fingers beneath my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose. “Yes, I’m eighteen, and yes, I’m a freshman.” I pull back my hand and clasp my fingers together on the table. “That makes me no less capable than anyone else here.”
“How good are you at math? Because I’m a senior and—”
“And you’re only now taking Calculus. If you were good at it, you would’ve taken it sooner. This isn’t an instance where you should save the best for last.”
Unconvinced, he shrugs.
I focus on the edge of my notebook. This is easier if I don’t look at him. “I took every possible math class in high school, five of which weren’t required. I intend to major in Mathematics. This calculus class is going to be a cinch for me. If you don’t want me to teach you, leave. You don’t have to be here.”
We sit in silence as he digests my words.
“Wait.” He leans forward to get a closer look at me. “You’re Wilhelmina Dixon. Are you related to Dr. Dixon?”
I purse my lips. My father is the last thing I want to talk about. “No.”
“You are!” A smile spreads across his face. “He’s the Head of the Math Department. You must be good. Let’s get down to it, Wilhelmina.”
“Billie,” I correct again, but he turns his attention to his notepad. “We need to discuss terms.”
Zane raises an eyebrow. “I thought we agreed on ten bucks an hour? Do you want more?” I shake my head and open my mouth, but he laughs. “Alright, you can have eleven, and hell, if I get a good grade on the final, I’ll give you a bonus. We have a lot of stuff to go over in the next two weeks.”
“A bonus?”
“Yeah, whatever you want. Within reason.”
We sit in silence for a moment, our eyes locked. I doubt my skills as a teacher warrant that much, but would refusing imply I’m unprofessional or unqualified? I need this job. It’s December now, and I haven’t worked since arriving at Bradford mid-August. If I don’t find something soon, I won’t have the money for next semester’s books.
Finally, I turn to my textbook. “We should get started then.”
“Where do we begin?”
I take a deep breath. “How did you score on the midterm?”
With a small smile, Zane flips through his textbook until he finds one of the many papers sticking out. He shoves the stapled sheets toward me.
C-. It could be worse.
My phone chimes, and I reach into my bag to retrieve it. A text from Imogene: When are you free? We should talk soon. I frown and push the phone aside. Right now, my sister can wait. That conversation will require my full attention.
I thumb through the four sheets of paper, glancing over Mr. Hodges’s corrections and notations. Zane has a good understanding of limits, but difficulty with derivatives.
Differentiation needs a lot of work. No idea how he’s processing integrals, since we started that Monday, but it probably needs improvement as well.
I clear my throat and lay his test down. “What’s the definition of a derivative?”
Apparently, he expected more of a preamble. He flounders for a minute before flipping through the book again, searching for the chapter. He’s taking too long.
“This shouldn’t be something you have to look up. It’s an easy formula to remember, and it’s essential to solving for the derivative of any function. Of course, as you should remember, we have plenty of shortcuts, but if you can’t remember those, you need the definition to solve the problem.”
“Um, it’s f of x equals…something.”
“If by ‘f of x,’ you mean ‘f prime of x,’ so far so good.”
Finally, he gives up and stares at me helplessly. “Okay, what is it?”
“Chapter 2.1, Zane. It should be on the first page. Let’s look at it together.”
He furrows his brow before turning back to the book for the pertinent information, and I scoot closer and swallow down the nausea in my nervous stomach.
