Jeremy reached the porch stairs, looked to convince himself he had seen the impossible snow. For a second he thought he saw his footprints in white trailed out behind him but saw he had stepped in the moon.

He put his bike in the bushes--a secret hiding place he sometimes used for himself--avoiding the long driveway back to the garage.

He willed himself lightweight, missing the creaks in the steps and balanced himself on tiptoe up to the door. He heard his parents arguing through the open front window and his hand bonded as one with the knob, unwilling to break the moment by a twist of a dial.