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Emmett and I race through the cold to the warmth of his car after school. A fresh snow has just fallen, and the campus has been transformed. The blinding, pure white glow all around brings me hope that maybe when we return in January, the Elites won’t come at us with the force we’re expecting. But mostly, I try not to think about any of it at all.

The weather in Massachusetts is beautiful, especially in Jameson. It’s a small enough town with a historic square in the middle that gets decorated with lights, greenery, and bright red bows every November, and stands through the holidays. It all looks so beautiful with the snow and the sparkling salt on the cobblestone sidewalks. It’s so scenic that horse-drawn carriages park in wait for people who want to pay to ride around.

The orange and red autumn leaves have shriveled to dried, brown, crunchy dead things that are frozen and buried deep beneath the snow. In some places where the snow has turned to slush from cars or foot traffic, you ca