Everyone is sleeping. Everyone minus Tate. Tate is wide awake, his face pressed at the window, praying for a snow day.

Tate has a little sister. Her nickname is Tot. She only eats potatoes. Tot doesn’t think it will snow.

Tate breathes on the cold window and spells a message to the glowing grey sky. “I’m begging you, sky!” he writes. “MAKE THE BIGGEST BLIZZARD IN HISTORY.”

Then Tate falls asleep, but the sky never sleeps.

In his dream, Tate is catching snowflakes on his tongue. In her dream, Tot is dipping french fries in mashed potatoes.

Now everyone is sleeping. Everyone plus Tate. And somewhere in the cold winter sky, his prayer is being answered. Well, sort of.

“WE WERE BOTH RIGHT!” Tot yells an inch from Tate’s face. She is wearing snowpants and giant mittens. It is 6AM.

Tate pops up and runs to the window while Tot bounces on his bed.

“There’s no snow!” says Tate.

“I know!” says Tot. “But Dad said it’s a snow day.”

“How is it a snow day if there’s no snow?” asks Tate.

“I don’t know,” says Tot. “But Dad said so.”

“Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad!” yells Tate from upstairs.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?” replies Dad from downstairs.

“IS IT A SNOW DAY?” Tate shouts down.

“YES!” Dad shouts up.

Dad is in the kitchen, burning bacon. It smells good but it’s inedible.

“Extra crispy!” he says sliding the plate down the kitchen counter.

“Can we have hash browns instead?” asks Tot. “Or what about potato pancakes?”

Tate picks up a piece of bacon and clinks it against a glass of orange juice three times. He stands on his chair and asks a very important question.

“Am I the only one who is completely confused?”

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“There’s no snow outside! How is this a snow day?!?”

“Principal Mendez emailed everyone at midnight.”

Dad hands Tate his phone.

With an abundance of caution, we have decided to close school tomorrow. This storm remains very unpredictable and we recommend that students use this day to catch up on homework, reading, math…

“We’re going to the park!” Tot says, grabbing Tate with her little mitten hands.

“But you didn’t eat your bacon!” says Dad.

“We’re not hungry,” Tate says, shoving the bacon in his pocket.

Tot hurls Tate’s jacket, gloves, and scarf at him all at once.

“I have mixed feelings,” says Tate, but Tot doesn’t know what he means.

“I don’t know what you mean,” says Tot, but Tate answers with a question.

“What’s a snow day without snow?” asks Tate as they walk to the park.

They are the only kids at the park. An old woman is sitting on a bench, eating carrots and hummus. She is surrounded by pigeons. An old man is juggling tennis balls. For some reason, he is also surrounded by pigeons.

“Is this what old people do when we’re at school?” asks Tate.

“I’M THE KING OF THE WORLD!” interrupts Tot, standing at the top of a tiny slide. She slides down head first on her back.

“What’s the matter?” Tot asks, looking up at Tate.

“I just wish there was snow.”

“No snow? No problem!” says Tot.

She reaches down and scoops up something invisible. Using both hands, she molds it into a perfect circle. Then she pulls back her arm like a Little League pitcher and hurls the imaginary object at Tate. He ducks down to dodge it, just in case.

“What was that?” says Tate.

“An imaginary snowball,” says Tot.

Tate thinks for a second and smiles. Then he reaches down to the dry ground. “INCOMING!” he yells.

Tot falls off the slide and playfully screams.

“You hit me right in the forehead!”

Tot chases Tate. Then Tate chases Tot. They are running and smiling and pelting each other with invisible snowballs. The old people are staring at them but Tate and Tot don’t care.

“Let’s make a snowman!” says Tate.

“I’ll make his body! You make his head!” says Tot.

They are walking in circles, rolling giant snowballs. When the snowballs are big enough, Tate lifts the snowman’s head on top.

“Now he just needs a face.”

Tate and Tot look at each other and run toward the old people. Tate asks the old man if he can borrow two tennis balls. Tot asks the old woman if she can spare a carrot stick. Tate is running so fast, it’s like he’s flying. Then he trips over a root and he’s actually flying.

Tot drops the carrot and rushes to her brother. Tate is holding his elbow and trying not to cry.

“It’s okay, Tate,” says Tot. “We don’t have to pretend anymore.”

And then the tennis balls roll down the hill right next to the carrot and they look just like eyes and a nose.

Tate looks at Tot and smiles. “I must have tripped over the snowman and knocked him over,” he says.

Tate reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slice of Dad’s burned bacon and places it beneath the carrot.

“Perfect!” says Tot.

“I’m hungry,” say Tate.

“I’m probably hungrier than you,” says Tot.

“I could eat a whole whale,” says Tate.

“I could eat an entire tire,” says Tot.

Tate decides to buy a hot dog from a little food cart in the corner of the park. It’s called Hank’s Franks. But Tot doesn’t eat anything other than potatoes.

“Do you have french fries?” Tot asks Hank.

“Sorry, just hot dogs, pretzels, and knishes!”

“Hot dogs, pretzels, and kanooshes?” repeats Tot unsuccessfully.

“Not kanooshes!” says Hank. “Knishes!”

“What are knishes?”

“Knishes are delicious!”

“But what’s in a knish?” ask Tot.

Little does she know that her life is about to change. Little does she know that knishes are delicious. Little does she know that knishes are about to become her favorite food forever.

“A knish is a fried pastry filled with mashed potatoes.”

The words echo in Tot’s mind like a spell. She begins to drool. Tate dabs her mouth with a napkin. Hank hands Tot the knish and changes her life forever.

Tot takes a bite of the steaming knish. It is crispy on the outside, soft on the inside. Tot closes her eyes and for a second, she sees the future.

In her psychic vision, Tot is a famous cookbook author and celebrity chef. She writes books about potatoes and travels the world tasting potato dishes. She is at a bookshop, signing copies of her latest cookbook called Tot’s Knishes. Tot swallows the bite and returns to the present.

“Whoa,” she says. “Knishes are delicious!”

Tate and Tot are walking home now. The winter days are short and the sun will set soon. Tot still has knish on her face and a big smile too. Tate is less happy than her.

“You seem less happy than me,” says Tot. “Didn’t you have fun today?”

“I did,” says Tate. “But I’m still sad it didn’t snow.”

“Me too,” says Tot. “But I’m glad we can imagine anything.”

“I guess so,” says Tate, hanging his head down like a sad puppy. He wipes tears away with his gloves. They are standing outside of their apartment.

“Can I tell you a secret, Tot?” asks Tate, sitting down on the stoop. Tot just nods her head. “I got bullied at school again yesterday.”

“Want to tell me what happened?” asks Tot.

“Not really,” says Tate.

“Want to go inside?” asks Tot.

“Not really,” says Tate.

“Want to watch the sunset?”

“I guess so,” says Tate.

“Hopefully those clouds won’t ruin it,” said Tate. He is feeling pessimistic.

“Sometimes clouds make a sunset even better,” says Tot. She is feeling optimistic.

The siblings sit in silence on the stoop for seventy six seconds staring at the setting sun.

“Richie C called me a donut and bit my eraser in half.”

“Isn’t he the kid who chews his own shoelaces? He’s the donut!”

“I’m not even mad at him! Apparently, “donut” is a compliment to him and he hadn’t eaten breakfast. I’m mad at Richie A and Richie B. They just stood there laughing. I thought they were my best friends.”

Tate folds in half like a napkin and cries into his knees.

“Please tell me you didn’t tell your teacher,” says Tot.

“I told my teacher,” says Tate.

“I’m sure the Richies loved that,” says Tot.

“Everyone hates me now,” says Tate and he begins to cry again.

“So that’s why you prayed for a snow day,” says Tot, hugging her older brother.

“Did I ever tell you about the time when Stella D stole my last french fry? I was so mad that I turned redder than the ketchup. And Stella E and Stella F just sat there giggling. So instead of pouring my chocolate milk on their heads, I took an angry breath. Then a less angry breath. Then an even less angry breath. And then I was laughing at myself and with my friends. And wait, why does everyone in our school have the same names?”

“Everyone is always telling me to breathe!” says Tate. “Like there’s something magic in the air.” Now Tate is sitting like a monk, holding his palms up to the sky.

“Breathe in…1, 2, 3. Breathe out…4, 5, 6.”

Tate is making fun of meditation. Tate is not being very Zen. But there is magic in the air and Tate breathes it in. A six-sided crystal of ice falling from the listening sky.Tate is speechless as the magic melts on his tongue.

“A snowflake!” yells Tot.

At first, it is a flurry. Tot counts one hundred snowflakes but that’s as high as she can count.

“One hundred one,” says Tate, but then the snow is blowing and falling too fast to count.

What’s a flurry in a hurry? A BLIZZARD!

Dad practically has to drag them inside because it is getting dark. On the stove, there is a big, bubbling pot of potato soup. Tot tells Dad about the old people and the snowman and Hank’s delicious knishes. Tate tells Dad about the Richies and breathing and the magic in the air.

“Is it weird that I want to go back to school tomorrow?” asks Tate.

“Is it weird that I can’t stop thinking about knishes?” asks Tot.

“Is it weird that I love you both more than ever?” asks Dad.

And the answer is no to all of the above.

While Tate and Tot are sleeping, it snows a record-breaking 55 inches! On the news, they call it the Blizzard of the Century. The drifts are white mountains, taller than street signs. The parked cars look like giant marshmallows on wheels. Even the snow plows get stuck, spinning their tires and skidding in circles. And even though all the stores are closed and no one can dig out their cars and the world is frozen, school is open.

“Why are you smiling?” asks Tate, trudging through the snow.

“It’s baked potato day at the cafeteria,” says Tot. “Why are you smiling?”

“Because sometimes you wake up and life makes no sense but those are the best days of all.”