We’re standing close, aware of eyeballs on us, but neither of us moves.
“What if we did a fundraiser game? Invite some RenoRebels alumni, charge admission, donate proceeds to the fire department fund?” I ask.
His eyebrows rise. “That would be amazing.”
“I have my moments.”
“You have a lot of moments.” His voice drops lower. “More than you realize.”
My breath catches.
Then I recall that I’m still wearing this ridiculous squirrel costume.
The loudspeaker crackles and Mayor Barbie announces that the snow is getting bad. What had been light flurries a couple of hours ago rapidly turns into a full whiteout.
23
WINNIE
Mayor Barbie continues,“We need everyone to get home safely. Roads are closing. Please collect your belongings and drive carefully!”
The rink and municipal complex empties quickly, but efficiently. Years of mountain living mean everyone knows not to mess around with sudden weather changes.
Within thirty minutes, almost everyone is gone except for three teens sitting in the corner of the community room, checking their phones anxiously.
“Our parents are stuck on Route 50,” one of them explains.
“They’re trying to get here, but it might take a while.”
I exchange a look with Patton.
“We’ll stay,” he says.
“Obviously,” I agree.
So we wait. And wait. The power flickers once, twice.
“That’s not good,” Patton mutters, heading for the electrical room.
I follow him, still wearing the bottom half of the mascot costume because the zipper is stuck and I can’t get it off. Also, it’s keeping me warm.
Thebackup generator sputters to life, but it sounds like it’s struggling. “Is that normal?”
“Ice in the fuel line, maybe,” Patton diagnoses. “Or snow blocking the ventilation. It’ll keep the emergency systems running, but not the heating.”
As if to punctuate his point, something in the building groans. The HVAC system shuts down with a mechanical wheeze.
“That sounded bad,” I say flatly.
We get the kids settled in the first aid room—the only space that stays warm thanks to its being specially insulated—with blankets and snacks to keep them occupied. Shortly after, headlights cut through the main doors and the kids rush outside.
I say, “Good thing the plows are working.”
Patton shakes his head. “They’re not. It’s not safe out there.”
We go to clean up the first aid room when the electronic doors click behind us.
“Please tell me those didn’t just?—”
