When Wally asks me to punch him in the stomach, I try not to hold back. I let it rip. I set my feet like he taught me to, draw back my fist, and deliver a blow to the spot he's pointing at—right ... [+]
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The meep of the alarm dragged me from the warmth of my quilt cocoon and smack into Monday morning. I had to bat at it four times before it finally stopped and I found my glasses. 6:00 A.M. and still dark. But there was a certain milky quality leaking through the window that made my heart drop into my stomach.We'd lived in Rochester, New York, just six weeks, and almost every night we'd had what the locals called "lake effect snow," a little dusting like powdered sugar. But the weather girl had been predicting the real deal for a week now: the first snowstorm of the season. Mom had headed sout