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Twelve-year-old Isabella used to resent having to spend two-weeks in January in Dad’s frozen cabin in the middle of nowhere. Two solid weeks of cold, gray suck.
She was in the mud room getting ready to go outside so Dad and step-mom could “try to make her a baby sibling.”
“Disgusting.”
She grabbed her skates. She would never use them again after she almost fell through the ice. Billy saved her just in time. Since then, she went to the pond to talk with Billy every day. He’d fallen through when he was her age. Now he’s the pond’s ghost.









