Absolutely Truly by Heather Vogel Frederick Page A

that. But for moving water, it’s a little more complicated.”
    He went on to explain that as water cools below the freezing point, the molecules slow down and start to stick together, forming crystals. Ms. Ivey passed around a handout with diagrams showing those stuck-together bits, which were called “frazil.”
    â€œYou’ll note they’re roughly one millimeter in diameter,” Mr. Bigelow went on. “Very tiny, but small is mighty in this case. As the frazil clump together, they form snow in the air, ice in the water. Now in the case of moving water, they first accumulate against solid surfaces—like those rocks over therealong the riverbank, or the bridge’s supports below us.” He pointed to the top of the falls. “See those icicles up there?”
    We nodded.
    â€œThose started as clumps of frazil. And so did that,” he added, pointing to the broad ledge of ice that had formed at the bottom of the falls. It appeared to be holding up the entire mass of frozen water that had once been the waterfall. “Look at all the different formations! Chandeliers of icicles! Undulating folds! And all those nodules and layers and cauliflower lumps! It’s like something out of a fairy tale.” He sighed happily. “Isn’t nature spectacular?”
    I fished my binoculars out of my backpack (a birder is never without her binoculars) to inspect the waterfall more closely. Now I could see that the ledge of ice at the bottom was actually an inch or two above the river.
    â€œWater is still getting through underneath that ledge, right?” I asked. “It’s not frozen solid, I mean.”
    â€œAh, our new student has sharp eyes,” said Mr. Bigelow. “And binoculars! Extra points for bringing binoculars. You are correct, Truly. Water is still flowing through, though at a much slower speed than usual.”
    I panned across the face of the waterfall, then stopped. Hanging down from the top of the falls was something that looked like a large, frozen tube. With the aid of my binoculars, I could see a fine spray of mist emerging from the end of it, like clothes out of a laundry chute.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I asked, handing my binoculars to my science teacher.
    â€œOh my,” Mr. Bigelow breathed when he spotted it. “Students, you all need to see this.” He passed the binoculars down the row of my classmates. “That, my friends, is very rare! You can actually see the waterfall in the process of freezing from the outside in. At the moment, water is still flowing through it, like a pipe. Eventually, though, if this cold weather continues, it will freeze into a solid column of ice.”
    I stood there for a long time, gazing at the waterfall and thinking, oddly enough, of my father. Had his injury frozen him from the outside in? And was the father I’d known all my life still in there somewhere, a trickle of him at least?

CHAPTER 7
    â€œSee you tomorrow,” said Cha Cha.
    We were standing outside Lovejoy’s Books, finishing up the donuts Mr. Bigelow had bought for us at Lou’s Diner, just like he’d promised. The rest of our class had gone back to school, but our teachers had let the two of us remain behind downtown since I was headed to the bookstore anyway and Cha Cha was going to the dance studio. Their receptionist was on maternity leave, and Cha Cha’s mother had texted her to see if she could fill in for half an hour while she taught a tango class.
    â€œHave fun sledding later,” I replied.
    â€œThanks. Have fun with pre-algebra.” She laughed as I made a face, then waved good-bye and crossed the street.
    I waved back, then stepped inside the bookshop—and right into the middle of an argument.
    â€œNo cat, and that’s final!” said my father in his LieutenantColonel Jericho T. Lovejoy you’d-better-not-answer-back voice.
    Aunt True laughed, which startled me. Laughter is not