//------------------------------//
// Chapter 3 
// Story: Frost Driven 
// by Spectra1 
//------------------------------//

The next class started, and I think it’s fair to say no one was in the mood for geometry. I don’t even think Mr. Cloudbright was, and as near as anyone could tell, he lived for that stuff. He gave us a pop quiz anyway. He had it printed up already, and I guess he felt like it was as good a way to wait for the announcement as any.
As soon as we all had our heads bent down over the quiz, cell phones started going off. Not ringing of course. Cell phones weren’t allowed at Morningside, and they were kind of not kidding about that. The first time you were caught, you got a warning, and after that you took “the suspension bridge.” That meant detention the second time, a longer detention the third time, and then suspension.
I was more concerned about indirect proofs at the moment, but the room was quiet and every now and then you could hear a cell vibrating in someone’s backpack, like a big, fist-sized bug trying to get out. Kids would cough or scrutch their chairs back to cover it up, but let’s be honest – if you’re smart enough to teach indirect proofs, you’re smart enough to figure that out.
Cloudbright didn’t move, though, didn’t even say anything. He should’ve been adding names to the list left and right, but I think he understood: Parents were getting worried, wondering if their little angles (Ha!) were coming home soon. And, I mean, isn’t that what cell phones were for, like, originally, before all the apps and web surfing and rapping ringtones? When I was a little filly, I had a dinky round cell phone with one button so that I could call my mom or she could call me. It had some embarrassing name, like Doodlebug, but it really should’ve been called Leash.
Finally, fifteen minutes and four-and-a-half questions later, not counting one that I skipped, the loudspeaker crackled to life with the official word. “May I have your attention for an announcement, please? This is your principal speaking,” it began. I don’t know why. I mean, we obviously knew it was Throckmarten, and he obviously had our attention. “Due to worsening conditions, school will be dismissed at one o’clock this afternoon. All athletic and extracurricular activities have been canceled. All buses leave at one fifteen. Thank you.”
Spitshine leaned across the aisle and hoof bumped a kid named Clefthoof, who everypony called Drumstick. Of course, Drumstick was going home at one fifteen, and Spitshine would be stuck here with Summerluck and me till four or so.
Drumstick turned to hoof bump me. At first, I was going to leave him hanging. I mean, my game had just been canceled. I hesitated maybe half a beat and then reached out and bumped his hoof anyway. When it came right down to it, it wasn’t about my game or whether I’d be on the first bus out. We were forced to go to high school, stuck in here and marched around like livestock. Anytime they had to let us loose, it was sort of like a victory, you know? We knew it didn’t amount to much, but we broke off little bits of freedom, and we hoof bumped when we did.
The ponies whose phones had gone off before, took the opportunity to stick their hoofs deep into their backpacks and bags to switch them off. They didn’t really need to: The lines were already getting swamped and the service getting worse with the weather, but none of us realized it yet. I didn’t have to worry about it in any case: I didn’t have mine with me. I’d already had my warning this marking period, and detention was not an option for me because it meant missing practice.
“Alright, cool it,” said Mr. Cloudbright. “This class is not over yet.”
And that was true enough. It seemed a little unfair that we would have to finish this quiz after all – I really had no clue about question three – but after that, all we had was lunch, so we were basically done. I mean, the way it was coming down now, they probably would’ve sent us home on the spot, except I think they were legally obligated to feed us before throwing us out into the snow. Since it would turn out to be my last real meal for quite a while – if you can call school lunches at Morningside a real meal – I guess I should’ve been grateful. I actually remember little things about that lunch, like how the whole cafeteria had a bursting-through-the-roof sort of energy to it. It was louder than usual and ponies were moving between the tables, talking and laughing.
I remember the snow, drifting sideways into half crescents in the windowpanes, and I remember that I didn’t eat my corn. I don’t know if I took a bite and thought it was a little too soggy or if I just remembered that it had been soggy the last time, but I left it there on my tray.
As dumb as this sounds, that bothered me for days. I mean, soggy or not, it was decent corn prepared by people who were at least borderline professionals. It was definitely a whole lot better than what I’d end up eating soon enough, and I’d just thrown it away. I still remember the little flash of yellow as I pushed the tray onto the conveyor belt that took it into the back of the kitchen, where the giant, hissing dishwashing machines were. Whoever thought you could be haunted by corn niblets?
After lunch, Spitshine, Summerluck, and I sat on the floor of the hallway outside the library and watched the buses roll slowly into the storm. The hallway had these big, tall safety glass windows. Sitting there, looking forward, it provided a pretty amazing view of the snow outside.
Mr. Riftknob, the assistant principal, hustled by and stopped short. He was a big, dark grey stallion. “What are you guys still doing here?” he said.
We had to sort of crane our necks to look up at him. “Summerluck’s dad is picking us up.” I said.
Riftknob considered this for a second, or, more likely, he considered us for a second. We weren’t really troublemakers, but none of us were going to be elected Student of the year, either. We were sort of right in the middle, discipline-wise. I’m sure that made us the hardest sort of cult for Riftknob to figure out.
“He’s pick you up, huh?” he said, still trying to size us up.
“Yeah,” said Summerluck. “You know, these big buses on these slick roads ... Plus, he’s just down the road, working in the salt flats today.”
I looked over at Summerluck. He sounded pretty convincing. He was doing this right because everything he said was true, he was just leaving something out. Those were the easiest lies to tell.
Riftknob didn’t say anything for a second. He was thinking about something, maybe about how the school buses could barely make it up some of the hills around here, even in the best weather.
What Summerluck was leaving out, of course, was that his dad wasn’t planning on picking us up for another several hours. At this rate, I estimated, that could amount to another foot of snow. (I wasn’t thinking big enough, of course; it was more like three times that.) But if Summerluck wasn’t saying, Riftknob wasn’t asking. In the end, he didn’t let us stay because he trusted us. He let us stay because he drove a carriage. It was like one step up from a bike, and he wanted to get home sooner than later.
“Alright,” he said, “but go wait by the gymnasium with Goldlash. He’s in charge of pickups, and they’ll be locking all of these other doors in a few minutes anyway”
We sat there, our heads titled up at him.
“Now,” he said, and we climbed onto our hooves.