It had started to snow again, and the boat was soon lost to their view. They climbed in a snow-globe, just the two of them and a short stretch of ladder fading out above and below. The ladder had black rungs and white rungs, arranged seemingly at random, and Peter accepted unquestioningly the fact that he couldn’t grasp the black rungs with his hands nor stand on the white rungs with his feet. Half of his attention was on this problem, and most of what was left was trying to distract him so he didn’t accidentally (or purposely) look up and catch a glimpse under Alice’s skirt.
“So why didn’t I remember you yesterday?” he asked. The question had been on his mind for a while.
“I’m no expert, you know.”
“You just seem… I don’t know… more comfortable with all this, I suppose.”
“Well,” she said, “what did you dream about the night before last? The night before that?”
“Fair point. Did you remember me?”
“Not really. I remembered dreaming you, but not what the dream was about.”
At this, he did look up. “That didn’t seem weird to you?”
“No, not particularly,” replied Alice, looking down at him. “I noticed you in class a few times last week.”
“Oh,” said Peter, blushing.