By TINA LABELLARTE

The alarm clock rang shrilly, shattering the morning stillness. I leapt across the bed and with my usual expertise, slapped the clock off the dresser, effectively stilling its noise.

A sudden chill swept through me. My mind froze. "It's only November 22!" was my single thought.

I crawled across the bed and cautiously opened the curtains in my room. The suspiciously 'cold glass of the window and the white frost I saw on the brownish grass alerted me. The iciness of the floor as I crept softly and swiftly to the living room was another indication.

I reached out my trembling hand and switched on the television set. "A high of 30 degrees is expected with a 60 per cent chance of precipitation." I snapped off the set and went about the business of preparing for school with a heavy heart.

Protected by a hat, warm mittens, scarf, and midi-coat, I battled my way through the cold and wind to the bus stop. As I stepped onto the bus, I heard it - a

definitely loud and miserable sneeze followed by a flurry of sniffles.

All day, as I entered each class, I listened carefully for the telltale signs of sneezes, coughs, and sniffles. Rumors of "three inches of snow tonight" were racing around the cafeteria. "Ski Club will have a special meeting at 3:30 tonight to discus's plans for a possible Friday ski outing," boomed across the intercom.

As I hurried to my locker, I heard those joyous ski‑enthusiasts shouting, "It's snowing; it's snowing!" I closed my eyes and 'charged defiantly out to the 'bus, with thoughts of sunny beaches filling my head.

Riding home on the bus I had a crazy notion that if I could just make it through the day without admitting winter was on its way, I could prevent its coming.

I stepped off the bus, promptly slipped on a vicious patch of ice, and landed with a cough and a sneeze. I sniffled miserably, opened my eyes, and saw a flurry of little white snowflakes. "Winter is here!" Whoops, I admitted it!