The week passes in a daze. The majority of the student body wears black in honor of Reece and the halls are eerily quiet, like someone pressed pause on life. I write my most memorable event paper—hello, avalanche—and I’m already dreading the final essay. I try not to think of the awful day Mom died, but knowing it’s due next week when Reece hasn’t even been buried is making it hard to breathe. Fortunately the teachers are being super understanding about the comatose students and are going especially easy on us.
The only thing that snaps me out of my stupor is a rumor that they might cancel the Dash. “How long does it normally take to clean up after an avalanche?”
Mike shrugs. We’re in the cafeteria, picking at our lunch. “Considering people died, probably longer than normal.”
I look down at the table and Blake rubs my shoulder. “We know. You really want to be on the ski team. But winning the Dash isn’t the only way. There’s still tryouts.”
I sigh. For the first time since I found out about the competition, my excitement weakens. As much as I want to be on the team, it no longer feels like the most important thing in the world. “I know. It’s just that I’ve gotten myself so amped up for this thing.”
Mike smirks. “Yeah, we know.”
I throw a fry at her, but Blake snatches it off her tray and pops it in his mouth. “No wasting fries.”
It’s not until Thursday, the day of Reece’s funeral, that a decision is made. The loudspeaker clicks on during English and all eyes lock on the speaker above Ms. Simpson’s desk.
“Good afternoon. We know many of you have been waiting to hear about the Eldora Dash. Officials have decided that because Corona wasn’t affected—” Everyone in the classroom takes a breath, “—the race will continue as planned. Good luck to those of you competing.” The speaker clicks and there’s a beat of silence before the speculation on which run was affected begins.
“I heard the chairlift got taken out on West Ridge.”
“Thank god they’re not moving it to Pacer Glades. That’s a double black.”
“Like an easier course will make a difference for you.”
I twist in my chair and lock eyes with Blake. He smiles, sending a flurry of butterflies loose in my stomach.
The Dash is on.
The school allowed anyone to go to Reece’s funeral, regardless of whether or not they were actually friends with him, and even though I’ll miss his quick smile and perverted comments, I can’t bring myself to go.
I haven’t been to a funeral since Mom died and I can’t imagine being back in that dusty pew, the air thick with sickeningly-sweet floral arrangements that make it almost impossible to breathe, pretending not to be overwhelmed by the crushing realization that she’s gone. I’m sure it would be different since it’s Reece, but I don’t want to chance it.
So many kids took advantage of the opportunity to miss class that the teachers in my last couple periods don’t even bother giving a lesson, so I’m caught up on homework before the end of the day. The only thing I still haven’t started is my final essay. You’d think it would be easy with death constantly on my mind, but I’m like a deer frozen in the headlights of an oncoming car: every time I start to write, I freeze.
***
Friday night Blake and I are snuggled on my couch watching a ski-movie marathon: Better Off Dead, Ski School, and a little known gem called Aspen Extreme. I’ve also got Jonny Moseley’s greatest hits running on my phone.
“This is how you get amped up?” he asks for the hundredth time.
I nod, entranced with Jonny’s aerials.
He leans closer, resting his head on my shoulder. “Should I be concerned?”
I turn my head and our noses bump. His blue eyes are focused on mine and all thoughts scatter. “Hmm?”
The corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re gonna do great.”
I blink, clearing away the haze that envelops my brain whenever he’s this close. “And I can’t convince you to enter?”
He closes his eyes and presses his forehead against the side of my head. “I told you...”
“That it’s not your thing. I know.” I don’t want to push him if he really isn’t into it, but he’s so good. I pick at the blanket covering our laps. “I wish you could see you the way I do. It’s like your board is a part of you and your movements are as natural as breathing.”
“Funny, that’s how I’d describe you.” He kisses my cheek. “I know you want me to do this, but I can’t commit to practice with my work schedule.”
Oh yeah. Spoiled, selfish me keeps forgetting that one detail. I snuggle against his side and his hand finds mine, tucking it against his chest. I eventually fall asleep that way and don’t wake up until the movie ends and he’s sliding out from beneath me.
I walk him to the door and he kisses my nose. “Good luck tomorrow.”
Panic stiffens me. “You’ll be there, right?”
He runs his hands over my arms. “Yes. I wouldn’t miss it. But in case I don’t see you...” he brushes his lips over mine and I lean into his embrace. Every now and then I still can’t believe that he’s here—that I’m here—that after our brief thing over Thanksgiving we’ve ended up together. His heart pounds against my chest and I pull him closer. If it weren’t for Dad clearing his throat in the hallway I might never let him leave.
We jump apart and Blake dips his head. “Sorry, sir.”
“See you tomorrow, Blake.” Dad’s voice is stern but he’s fighting a smirk.
I kiss Blake on the cheek and shove him out the door. “Bye.” I turn and face Dad, heat flaming my cheeks. “Sorry.”
“Kissing by the door I can handle. Just let me believe that’s all you’re doing.”
My mouth drops. “It is!” Well, sort of. Just kissing anyway. And maybe a little groping. But nothing else. For now.
“You should get to bed. Big day tomorrow.”
“Understatement of the year.” I head toward the stairs and he pulls me into a hug.
“You’ll be great.”
I manage to sleep despite my nerves. This anxiety is unfamiliar but I haven’t competed in so long it’s like my body forgot its routine. In the morning, Dad’s got oatmeal with a cut-up banana waiting for me, and we’re on the road while the sun’s still rising.
The parking lot is already full when we arrive. Dad stops in front of the lodge. “Go check in while I park.” I make my way to the registration table and take a deep breath. “Cally Clarke.”
The girl hands me my bib and points to the main door. “You’re in heat five. They’ll let you up during the fourth. They’re alternating skiers and boarders every two heats so you’ll be after boarders.”
“Thanks.” I move away from the table and look around for a familiar face. Evan and Austin are across the room with—ugh, cringe—Brianna and Kenzie hanging on their arms. Mike’s supposed to be here and I really hope she doesn’t see that. I’m debating whether or not to break up whatever’s going on when I’m hugged from behind by someone too short to be Blake. I spin around.
Amber’s dressed in head-to-toe navy and beaming. She’s literally bouncing on the balls of her feet. “You ready?”
I laugh. “Not as ready as you. How much caffeine have you had?”
“Just a large coffee. Plus one at home. And another when I got here.”
“Please tell me you’ve eaten? I don’t wanna be around when you hurl.”
She ticks off her fingers. “The standard: banana, oatmeal, and a spoonful of peanut butter. Plus pasta last night.”
“Ha, that’s better than me.”
She glances at my bib. “Which heat are you?”
“Five.”
She jumps up and down. “I’m four! We’ll be up there at the same time!”
I’m beginning to wonder if Amber’s on more than just a caffeine high, but everyone around us is fully amped. I seem to be the only one still waking up.
We move away from the registration table, and farther away from the Bunnies, and she grows serious. “So were you here when it happened?”
I nod. “I convinced Mike to run Muleshoe with me—her first time on a black—and that’s when it hit.” I fill her in on my personal avalanche story, still a little amazed I was able to get Mike off the mountain in one piece.
“That was quick thinking to ride her down like that.”
“It’s how my mom taught me to ski. I figure if it works on a newbie, it can work on someone who’s injured.” Even now, my legs tremble thinking about how close we were to real danger. “But she never would have been hurt if I hadn’t made her go up there.”
She pushes opens the door and we look out over the crowd. “Stop. You didn’t make her—”
The squeal of the loudspeaker cuts her off. “Racers in heat one, make your way to the top. The first heat will begin in thirty minutes.”
I sigh. “Ugh, we have to wait forever.”
“Let’s get closer so we can watch them finish.”
“Hang on, I need to find my dad first.” And hopefully Blake. I was hoping to see him before the race but it’s getting more crowded by the minute and it might be impossible to find anyone. I unzip my phone and send him a text. You here?
He replies right away. Not yet. Sorry. I’ll see you at the bottom.
My heart sinks, but I try not to let it show. Okay.
I’m really sorry. Good luck. You don’t need it.
That makes me feel a little better, but I still wish he was here.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh, nothing. Blake isn’t here.”
She smirks. “That’s probably better anyway. You need to stay focused on the race.”
My eyes widen, but I smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve seen how googly-eyed you are when you talk about him. I can’t imagine what it’s like when you’re together.”
“We’re two normal teenagers who happen to be dating.”
“Attached at the face, got it.”
I burst out laughing and swat her arm. “Guilty.”
She nods at my phone. “Ditch your stuff so we can go.”
I find Dad waiting by the lockers. I hold up my bib. “Heat five.”
He frowns. “Long wait.”
“Amber’s in four, so it won’t be so bad.” I open a locker and dump in everything but what I need for the race. “We’re gonna head up so we can watch the earlier heats.”
He smiles. “I’ll be the one down here screaming my heart out.”
I give him a quick hug.
“Knock ‘em dead.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
I hit the bathroom to adjust the knee brace Dad convinced me to wear, then find Amber and we head for the base of the run. I come to an abrupt stop when we round the bend and see the crowd. The energy in the lobby is nothing compared to what’s pulsating around the mountain. A sea of people crowd the barrier holding homemade signs and waving American flags like it’s the freaking Olympics. Skiers and boarders mingle beyond the perimeter, the bibs on their chests marking them as the stars of the day, and little kids swarm them, asking for signatures on their helmets.
It feels like home.
I take a deep breath. “I’ve missed this.”
Amber gives me a soft smile. “Let’s get closer.”
It’s not long before competitors fill the chairlifts. I’m anxious to go up, but we have to wait or there won’t be enough room at the top of the mountain.
“We’re too far away to see much but the big air on the last bump.”
And do we ever. The first racer soars into sight, sending the crowd into a screaming frenzy. He lands smoothly and stays in a tuck until he crosses the finish line.
I smile.
Amber nudges me. “That’s beatable.”
“Sucks going first.”
The rest of the heat ends much the same way—big air, soft landing—but the second heat is a mess. The first three skiers lose their edge on the landing and barely make it across the finish line. The crowd groans with each fall. A couple of skiers who already finished high-five each other but I know better than to be glad they’re out—there’s still a lot of people left and bad luck can strike anyone.
Slope Rule #10: Save the cockiness until the race is over.
The snowboarders bring a new level of excitement, if only because there’s some variation to their movements. They still rely on their edges to gain momentum, but one off-balanced move and they’re eating half the mountain with their face.
When the third heat starts, Amber and I push our way toward the chairlifts. Technically I’m not supposed to go up yet but I figure there’s gotta be enough room for me for moral support.
Once on the chairlift, the silliness from earlier is gone and we don’t speak. It’s time to get in race mode. They check our numbers at the top—the guy scowls at me but I smile and he lets me pass—and corral us to the heated tent to wait. The race is different up here. The cheers from the crowd are a distant roar, drowned out by last minute pep talks and skiers singing to themselves, earbuds in.
I stand when the fourth heat starts, stretching my legs and running through the course in my mind. I need to stay focused and concentrate on what’s directly in front of me.
And maybe pretend I’m racing Blake.
I shake him from my head. Amber’s right. Seeing him before the race would’ve just been a distraction. But still, it would have been nice to—
“I’m next.” Amber’s standing over me and I straighten.
I give her a quick hug, then smack her on the ass. “You got this!”
She straps into her board and the attendants part so she can get in place. The starting bell ticks down—beep, beep, beep—then a shotgun sounds and she pushes through the gate. I lose sight of her immediately but shout her name anyway, then move closer to the start.
After this heat, I’m up.
Seconds tick by, then a low murmur echoes up the mountain. Static comes over the walkie-talkies. “Racer down. Hold the start.”
My chest clenches. I don’t need to ask if it’s Amber, even though my brain insists that it can’t be her. She can’t have fallen.
No one moves in the tent, and they certainly don’t speculate about how bad the fall was. That’s the last thing you want in your head right before racing. No, you stay focused on the course and pretend you don’t know it happened.
Except it’s Amber.
She could be hurt, or it could be she caught an edge and biffed it. Either way she’s gonna be pissed.
I touch my knee brace to reassure myself that I’ll be okay. Every second that ticks by without them giving the all clear is another dozen scenarios in my mind.
Finally a voice comes through the walkie. “All clear.”
The starting bell beeps and in seconds the next boarder is off.
A man with a clipboard shouts over the chatter in the tent. “Heat five starts in three minutes.”
The attendant at the gate points at me. “You’re up.”