The air is so still I can feel Mom all around me. I take a deep breath, holding her as tightly as I can as I slice though the snow. The first jump is a hundred feet away and it’s early enough that there’s not a line so I don’t have to wait. I crouch into a tuck, picking up speed. Sunlight catches the top of the jump, calling to me, daring me to go faster. I crouch lower, my fists balled, until I’m at the lip of the jump. I straighten my legs and twist my core so my entire body spins to the right. In that split second I see the guys at the top of the hill, a little kid watching me, the line of trees where the chairlift is, then the bottom of the hill comes back into view.
I relax my knees as my skis hit the snow, then resume my tuck for the next jump. I’m on it in seconds, soaring through the air. This time I keep my legs tucked up, arms against my legs. I land harder and a flash of worry darts through me, but my knee is fine. It’s been okay since Christmas.
I smile as I approach the third jump. I usually save big tricks until I’ve had a few runs, but between the fight with the Snow Bunnies and the talk with Blake and the missing notebook I have too much energy telling me to go for it.
I arch my back as soon as my skis hit the jump and my legs flip over my head.
Sky.
Snow.
The base of the hill, where two people in jeans and out-of-date winter coats are leaning on their poles.
“Oof.” I exhale as I land, then quickly do a side stop to avoid the couple who decided the bottom of the jump is a good place to stand. The tranquility I felt from Mom evaporates. I don’t spray them with snow like I want to, but stop close enough for them to hear me. “You need to move. That’s not—”
The guy smiles at me. “That was unbelievable! I didn’t know you could do that on skis!”
“Um, thanks. But you really need to move.” Austin is already on the second jump and since the third is the biggest his air could land him right where they’re standing.
The woman points at the hill, oblivious to what’s about to happen. “This is so amazing. We don’t have snow like this where we live. I never knew you could do things in the air like that.”
Speaking of air, Austin’s in it now, heading straight for us. I whip my head between him and the couple, and it’s like everything moves in slow motion. The couple finally realizes what’s about to happen just as Austin sees they still haven’t moved. His body does a weird twisty thing to try to avoid them and he lands hard on his side.
I hurry to him. “Austin, are you okay?”
He flips onto his back, legs bent. “What is wrong with you people!” His shout carries through the morning air.
“Omigod, are you all right?” The woman shuffles toward Austin but I stop her with a glare.
“You need to get out of here before someone else gets hurt.”
Austin lifts his head. “And don’t hang out at the bottom of the jump!” He looks at me. “Dumbasses.”
They finally get a clue and shuffle away.
I lean forward. “Are you okay?”
“My ass is gonna have a bruise the size of my face, but yeah, I’m okay.”
“There’s a visual I didn’t need.”
A piercing whistle makes us turn. Reece pinwheels his arms backwards as he soars toward us in an attempt to slow himself down. He lands a safe distance away but doesn’t slow down until he’s practically on top of us. He throws his weight to one side in a hard stop, covering us with powder.
Austin wipes his face with his sleeve. “Asshole.”
Reece flips his goggles onto his forehead. “You break a nail?”
I laugh. Most of the snow missed my face. “More like his ass.”
“Even better.”
Evan whoops from the top of the last jump and we all take cover. He lands short like Reece did and, like Reece, sprays us with snow. This time I get covered and I shake out my ponytail, laughing. Some girls complain that guys our age are too immature but that’s what I like about them. They don’t care what they look like or what anyone who might be watching thinks—they live for the moment and do what comes naturally. Girls like Brianna and Kenzie spend so much time overthinking things that they never relax and have fun.
Austin throws a snowball at Evan but he still hasn’t gotten up. As a recent veteran of a faulty landing, I recognize a diversion when I see one.
I tap his board with the tip of my ski.
He meets my eyes, jaw clenched.
“You okay?” I mouth.
He gives his head a quick shake. “Can’t believe I’m out after the first run.”
Evan hops closer to Austin. “Oh shit, are you really hurt?”
Austin brushes snow off his board, stalling. “My hip’s jacked, but I’ll be okay.”
Reece winks at him. “Text Bri. She’ll make you forget all about your broken hip.”
Austin throws a handful of snow in Reece’s face. “Help me up, asshole.” He unhooks one foot from his board, then Evan and Reece each take an arm and haul him to his feet. He tests his weight on the bad leg before nodding.
I glance longingly at the line to the lift. In another hour it’ll be twenty people deep, but right now there’s only a handful of people. “You guys care if I get another run in before...” I have no intention of joining them in the lodge if Brianna’s going to be there, but I don’t need to say that to them. They were at the party.
“Yeah.”
“Sure.”
“See ya later.”
They push-slide toward the lodge and I skate back to the lift, ready for some serious runs. I’ve been skiing every weekend since we moved here, but that’s nothing compared to what I’d be doing if I was on the ski team. If I have any chance at winning the Dash at the end of the season I need to up my game. Aerials are cool, but like Coach Brown always said, showboating doesn’t win competitions. If I want to win, I need to put in time on the moguls and straight runs, too.
I take the same lift up but cut over to the next run. Double black. My breathing slows as I survey the bumps. From up here they look like gentle slopes, but once inside the crevices can be as deep as I am tall. I bend at my waist until I feel the stretch in the back of my legs, then push myself over the edge.
Moguls are a completely different animal than jumps, but it’s equally hard on your knees. If not harder. I fall into a rhythm after the first couple bumps—bend, push, bend, push—shifting my weight with each new obstacle. I’ve taken this run a couple times but today’s different. Coach Brown’s instructions ring in my ears. Those knees need to be locked together. Every second counts. Don’t look anywhere but eight feet in front of you.
I never understood why eight feet and not five or ten, but eight feet is just enough distance to see the next bump while your body’s reacting to the one you’re still on. Instinct is crucial in slope-style and I’m lucky enough to have it.
My legs burn as I push through the final dip. A smaller jump lies where the bumps smooth out and those instincts tell my body to tuck. I’m preparing for another flip when the little voice in my head says maybe I should go easy and not bust my knee on the second run of the day. I twist my torso, settling for a simple three-sixty, and land easily at the base of the jump.
I touch my knee on reflex. The familiar ache is back. I tell myself it’s because of the moguls, but a harder landing could have been bad.
I take the lift up the same run and go through Coach Brown’s drills, skipping the jump at the end. After an hour I’m sweaty and ready for a break. And I’m itching to end with an aerial. I go easy on the bumps, letting my legs react but not pushing for time, saving my energy for the jump. When my skis hit the paint marking the edge, I tuck into a ball and twist to the right, flipping my body into a corkscrew somersault. It looks harder than it is and is easier to land because my feet stay underneath me, but this time something’s wrong.
When I finish the rotation I’m too close to the ground.
I brace myself for the impact and land hard on my side. My skis pop off and momentum carries me into the deeper powder at the edge of the run.
I come to a stop on my side but roll to my back to remove pressure from where I landed. I let out a groan and lift my head. My skis are close to where I landed, fifty feet up the hill. I drop my head back into the snow. I’m gonna have an Austin-sized bruise on my ass.
Clouds drift overhead and I allow myself a minute to catch my breath. I know I shouldn’t have tried that trick, but at least it wasn’t my knee.
Slope Rule #8: Listen to your instincts.
The sound of a board cutting through the snow gets louder. “You okay?”
I turn my face, shielding my eyes.
Blake’s standing over me, backlit from the late morning sun. It’s eerily similar to the first time I saw him.
“What are you, my knight in shining armor?”
“That was a pretty spectacular fall.”
“And I was worried no one saw it.” I prop myself up on an elbow as he squats next to me. Bits of hair stick out from his helmet and—why is he touching my leg?
“Seriously, are you okay? You haven’t moved.”
I glance at my knee, not wanting to tell the truth so he doesn’t stop touching me. Although if he’s touching what hurts... “It’s not my knee. I landed on my side.”
His gaze travels up my leg. “You broke your ass, didn’t you?”
I smile. “It seems to be the theme today. Austin did the same thing on the first run.”
His eyes cloud over. “You’re here with them?”
“I needed a ride. We got one run in before he got hurt and they went back to the lodge.” And Amber’s still MIA. “Can I ask you a favor?”
He raises an eyebrow.
“Can you clean up my yard sale?”
His face breaks into that adorable half-grin. “Be right back.” He releases his feet from his board and runs up the hill toward my skis. When he reaches my side, he jams each ski into the snow and leans them against each other, forming an X. Then he sinks into the snow next to me.
“Wasn’t sure how long you need.” He meets my gaze, then looks away and fidgets with the lift ticket hanging from the zipper on his pocket.
He’s nervous.
Which makes me nervous. It’s last night all over again—when I found him on my front porch—and I’ve forgotten how to talk. I wiggle into a sitting position and just happen to slide a little closer to him in the process. We’re not touching, but we’re close.
He drops the ticket and rests his hand on mine. “Can we—”
He stops.
Can we what? Make out? Roll around in the snow for a bit? My body warms at the last thought. There’s still so much I need to know, but I can’t seem to resist him. I dip my head so I can see his eyes.
“Can we start over?”
His words set my nerve-endings zipping every which way. I turn my hand in his so we’re shaking hands. “I’m Cally.”