Ginger knew it had snowed before she even got out of bed. The whole house sounded different. Everything outside seemed too quiet, as though someone had wrapped the neighborhood in a thick blanket during the night. Ginger climbed out of bed and went to the window.

“Oh, no.”

Everything was white. Snow covered the yard, the trees, the fence, the porch, and the cars parked along the street. The ordinary world had disappeared beneath it. Ginger's brother appeared beside her and looked out the window. “Snow!” he shouted. He sounded much happier about it than Ginger felt.

Ginger did not like snow. Other people talked about how beautiful it was, but Ginger knew the truth about snow. Snow was cold. Snow was wet. It got inside your boots and soaked through your mittens. It stuck to your pants, dripped down your neck, and turned into muddy puddles by the door.

Snow was messy.

Unfortunately, grown-ups seemed to believe that children and snow belonged together. After breakfast, Ginger heard the words she had been hoping not to hear. “Why don't you two go outside and play?”

Ginger looked toward the window. Her brother was already heading for his coat. She considered several possible arguments. She could say she was busy. She could say she had something important to do in her room. She could point out that she had already seen the snow through the window and therefore did not need to go outside to investigate it further. None of these arguments seemed likely to work.

A few minutes later, Ginger stood by the door bundled in so many clothes that she could hardly bend her arms. She had on a sweater, a coat, snow pants, boots, mittens, and a hat pulled down over her ears. Her brother opened the door, and cold air rushed inside. Ginger frowned at it.

Then her brother gave her a little push from behind. “Go!”

Out she went.

The first few steps weren't terrible. The snow made a satisfying crunch, crunch, crunch beneath her boots, and Ginger had to admit that the yard looked strange and interesting. Bushes had become white lumps, the fence posts wore little snow hats, the cars were buried beneath soft white mounds, and even the bare branches of the trees had thin white lines along them.

Then Ginger stepped into a drift. Snow went over the top of her boot.

“I hate snow!” she gasped.

Her brother laughed. Ginger pulled her foot out and stomped away. “It's in my sock!”

“That happens.”

“It shouldn't!”

Her brother scooped up a handful of snow, and Ginger immediately saw what he was doing. “Don't you dare.”

He dared.

The snowball hit her coat and exploded across the front of it. Ginger stared down at herself. By the time she looked up, her brother was already running.

“You better run!”

Ginger grabbed a handful of snow and squeezed it together. Half of it fell apart before she could throw it, but the rest sailed through the air and hit her brother squarely in the back.

Now it was war.

They raced around the yard throwing snowballs at each other. Most missed, and some fell apart in the air. One hit Ginger's hat and knocked it sideways. Another landed directly inside her brother's coat collar, which Ginger considered an excellent shot.

Then her brother decided they should build a snowman. Ginger wasn't interested.

“You do it.”

“You have to help.”

“No, I don't.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't.”

Five minutes later, Ginger was helping.

They rolled a small ball of snow across the yard until it grew so big and heavy they could barely move it. Her brother pushed from one side while Ginger pushed from the other.

“Your side is crooked,” he said.

“My side is not crooked.”

“It is.”

“Your side is crooked.”

Snowman construction stopped briefly while they argued about which side was crooked. Eventually they managed to stack three uneven snowballs on top of one another. Their snowman leaned noticeably to the left.

“He's going to fall over,” Ginger said.

“He's fine.”

“He's leaning.”

“He's looking sideways.”

Ginger considered this. “All right.”

They gave him stones for eyes and sticks for arms. Ginger found a crooked little branch for his mouth, which made him look rather grumpy.

“He looks like you,” her brother said.

Ginger threw another snowball at him.

By then her mittens were soaked, her nose was running, her cheeks hurt from the cold, and there was still snow inside one of her boots. Ginger was ready to go inside, but her brother wasn't.

“Let's make angels!”

Before Ginger could object, he fell backward into the snow and began waving his arms and legs. Ginger stared at him. “That looks ridiculous.”

“Try it.”

“No.”

“Come on.”

Ginger shook her head, but then she looked at the untouched patch of snow beside him. She dropped backward, and cold immediately pressed through her clothes.

“This was a terrible idea!”

“Move your arms!”

Ginger moved them.

“Now your legs!”

She moved those too.

When she stood up, she and her brother looked down at the two shapes they had made. His snow angel looked like an angel. Ginger's looked like something had fallen out of an airplane.

She started laughing. Her brother laughed too. Then the leaning snowman finally fell over, and that made them laugh even harder.

By the time they stumbled back toward the house, Ginger was wet from her knees down. Her mittens were soggy, her hair stuck out from beneath her crooked hat, and every step made the snow inside her boot squish against her sock. The moment she reached the door, she began pulling things off. Boots, mittens, hat, coat—wet clothes landed everywhere.

Someone looked at the pile on the floor. “What a mess.”

Ginger stopped.

Exactly.

That was what she had been saying all along.

Soon she was wrapped in something warm, holding a mug between both hands while her wet clothes hung nearby to dry. Through the window she could see the fallen snowman and the two crooked angels in the yard. Beyond them, the cars were still covered in snow.

Her brother looked outside too. “Want to go back out later?”

Ginger looked at him as if he had lost his mind. “No.”

She took another warm sip and glanced out the window.

She still didn't like snow.

But throwing it at her brother wasn't bad.