At Inokashira Park, the black trunks of the cherry trees rose from the pristine snow. Not California, Wyatt West thought, and waited for the familiar pangs to subside. A galaxy of snowflakes tumbled and twirled around his head. When the homesickness had run its course, he walked into the park, watching his boots mark the smooth surface. And there, like a construct of his dreams, was Yoshimi Watanabe. His next-door neighbor stood in an open expanse of white, facing Wyatt but not seeing him, her arms extended to the sides. She wore the ivory button-down and short plaid skirt of her school uniform. Red high-top basketball sneakers adorned her feet. Her navy peacoat and leather book bag had been stashed under the shelter of a distant pine.
Available at: http://works.bepress.com/mitch_wieland/15/