I glide into place and bounce my knees. I close my eyes for a moment, imagining myself pushing out of the gate, dropping off the edge, and flying. I don’t wear earbuds like some people, but a jumble of songs skitter through my mind, keeping my adrenaline pumped. I roll my shoulders, then bend at the waist, stretching the back of my legs one last time. Deep breath in and out before looking to the sky. “Wish me luck, Mom.”
“Racer is finished. Get ready.”
The beeps begin then the shotgun sounds and I’m exploding through the gate, just like I imagined. Instincts take over as I crouch into a tuck, gaining speed as I hurtle down the mountain. The gates are spaced looser than my last race—way back in November—and I lean into each turn, cutting so close that the plastic supports slap my legs. My edges skitter across a patch of ice, and I tighten my stance, refusing to let the mountain beat me. I slice through a wide turn and cut across tracks where someone went off the course.
The tracks end at the plastic barrier.
Don’t look.
Don’t think about it.
Keep going.
I push harder, willing my body into a rhythm I used to be able to do on auto-pilot. Shift, cut. Shift, cut. The air is silent up here—nothing but me, the powder, and my skis—and I feel like I’m the only person on the mountain. My breathing slows, the cold air barely registering on the edge of my consciousness. All I see is the next gate.
The course curves with the terrain. The next turn has air and I take a deep breath. This isn’t the time for tricks—this is all about speed. I crest the hill and soar over the ground and it’s like everything pauses. My chest expands. I can feel Mom. She’s here, pushing me to go faster, to be better, to win this thing.
And there’s the crowd screaming at the bottom.
I take a steadying breath.
Don’t lose it now.
I bend my knees for the landing, then bend them further for a tuck. Go. Now. Don’t hold back. Time seems to stand still and scream by all at once and the finish line’s a blur. I stop in a spray of powder that dusts the spectators closest to the barrier.
People are jumping and screaming and waving their signs. I turn back to see the leaderboard and the crowd falls silent.
I’m at the top!
I pump my fist in the air and the screaming starts back up. People I don’t know reach for me over the barrier and I hold out my arm, soaking it all in.
“Cally!”
I turn at Dad’s voice. He’s shoved between a couple kids from school, waving his arms like a crazy person. I skate to him and he pulls me into a hug.
“You looked like you were flying when you came over that hill!”
I look back as the next skier soars into view, the mom-love glow already fading. “I was.” I pop off my skis and hop the fence. “Did you see what happened with Amber?”
“She fell on the last jump. They had to bring the sled to her.”
“I hope it’s not serious. Although I don’t put it past her to keep riding even in a cast.” I want to check on her but I don’t want to miss anyone from school. I feel naked without my phone. “Let me know if you see her.”
When the seventh heat starts, the loudspeaker booms. “Please join us in a moment of silence for those who lost their lives here last week.” Like a switch, signs drop and people fall silent, all eyes on the mountain. Some lower their heads in prayer. Dad loops his arm through mine and pulls me tighter to his side. The silence drags on, and finally the voice returns. “Thank you.”
People continue their conversations, but the energy-level has dropped. It’s not until the first boarder crests the hill that everyone cheers.
“I’d hate to be the first one after that announcement.”
His name and time flash on the leaderboard: Evan. He’s not last but he’s nowhere near first. “Man, I can’t believe they did that right before his turn. Reece was his best friend.”
Evan pulls off his helmet when he reaches the bottom and scans the crowd, tears in his eyes. For the first time I notice he’s wearing a black arm band.
I push to the barrier. “Evan!”
He looks up at my voice and heads toward me. Tears aren’t just in his eyes—they’re running down his face. “I almost couldn’t go.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulder and stand on tip-toe to hug him. “You did great.”
He pulls back to smile at me. “I did awful, but it felt like he was there with me. Does that sound weird?”
I glance up the hill at the final jump, where I felt Mom all around me, then run my finger over the arm band. “Not at all.”
“Mike’s supposed to be on the other side. You coming?”
I look up at Dad.
“Lead the way.”
We follow Evan until we spot Mike tucked against the barrier. He sees her first and he’s already hugging her by the time we make our way through the crowd. We get a couple stink-eyes for shoving to the front, but they cut me some slack when they see my race bib. I get a couple high-fives when they notice the number.
“Hey, nice job!”
“You were awesome!”
“Sign my helmet?”
Seriously? A marker is pushed into my hand and I scrawl my boring-old signature on a bright green helmet.
The kid beams up at me. “Thanks!”
Mike turns to me. “I’m so proud of you!”
“I haven’t won yet. There’s still two more heats of skiers.”
She smiles. “Technicality.”
“Hey, have you seen Amber?”
Mike shakes her head.
“I might head over to the med tent to check on her. I don’t know if she’s got anyone else here for her and since we don’t have our phones, I hate to think of her trapped in there by herself.”
Dad scans the crowd. “She’s probably here someplace.”
“At least wait until the next heat,” Evan says. “Help us cheer on the Monarchs!” He pumps a fist in the air and I raise an eyebrow. That’s a lot of school spirit, even for Evan.
“Okaaaaay.”
Evan and Mike exchange smiles and I roll my eyes.
Another boarder soars into view, and my pulse accelerates. For as much as I love racing, I love being here at the bottom, where the first time you see the racer is when they literally come flying at you. I imagine what’s going through their head and what they’re doing to stay balanced, a non-stop synchrony that, if all goes well, ends with them cruising past the finish line.
The name for the next racer flashes onto the screen and I freeze.
Blake McMillan.
“What?”
Evan nudges me. “Surprise.”
“You guys knew?”
“Just this morning. He had a hell of a time not running into you.”
“So he was here the whole time?”
This time Mike nudges me. “Here he comes.”
I like to think that I can be impartial and rate skiers and boarders on their skill and not what I think of them personally, but when Blake appears in mid-air, arms barely off his body, something inside me bursts. He soars higher and farther than all the other boarders and lands with a grace that makes it looks like he’s still in the air.
“He’s perfect.”
I don’t realize I said it out loud until Mike snorts.
But any response I might have is lost because everyone around us explodes into cheers. Jumping, screaming, arm-waving cheers. Blake pulls off his helmet and the higher-pitched screams get louder, but he doesn’t look at the crowd. He’s watching the leaderboard.
His time appears and his name bumps the top boarder to number two.
“Blake!” I scream, but he can’t hear me. I can barely hear myself. I lean over the barrier and wave my arms until he finally spots me. For a moment it’s like everything freezes and we’re the only people here, then he’s running toward me and drops his board and hugs me like he never wants to let go. “I’m so proud of you.”
His lips move against my ear. “Thanks for convincing me.”
Evan barrels through the crowd and reaches over me to slap Blake on the shoulder. “Great run, man!”
Blake grabs his hand in a weird guy-handshake and I’m relieved that they finally seem okay together. He smiles at me. “And you too.”
I glance at the leaderboard. “It’s not over yet.”
“It’s over.” Blake and Evan say at the same time.
“In that case, help me find Amber.”
Blake hands me his board before hopping the barrier, then we follow Mike and Evan through the crowd, our gear clutched vertically against our bodies to keep from decapitating spectators. Smiling faces blur together into a sea of excitement, and hands slap my shoulders as I pass. We’re almost to an opening when someone grips my elbow.
“Cally!”
I tug Blake’s jacket to stop him as I turn. “Ms. Simpson!”
I almost don’t recognize her in her ski jacket and hat, but there’s no mistaking the pride on her face. “Cally, that was amazing! Reading about what you can do was nothing compared to seeing it in person.”
I’m not sure if that says more about my skills on the slopes or lack on skills on paper.
“If Coach Michaels doesn’t put you on that team...” she shakes her head. “Let’s just say he’ll get an earful from me if you don’t make it.”
“Thanks. I’m really glad you were able to be here.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“Cally, come on!” Evan shouts from beyond the crowd.
“Go catch up with your friends. I’ll see you on Monday.”
Blake grabs my hand and leads me to the clearing. Evan and Mike stand near a tent at the edge of the groomed snow.
“Is she in there?”
Mike nods.
I hand Blake my skis and push through the plastic door. Pop-up cots form two rows, one on each side of the tent, but only three are occupied. Amber’s in the cot farthest from the door, her red curls hiding her face, her leg elevated in an air cast. I’m at her side in two seconds and on my knees, clutching at her arm before she sees me.
She jumps. “Jesus, Cally, you scared the crap out of me.” The smile that’s usually so quick to offset her sarcasm doesn’t touch her lips.
“Amber, I’m so sorry.” I glance at her leg. “Is it bad?”
Her eyes squeeze shut. “Broken in three places.”
I rock back until I’m sitting on the floor. “You’re kidding.”
“I wish. I’m done for the season.”
My mouth falls open, but I don’t know what to say.
She smirks. “I really showed that wall who’s boss.”
I risk a smile back. “Those were your skid marks?”
She shifts on her side to face me, but freezes, jaw clenched. Several deep breaths later she refocuses on me. “How’d you do?”
I lift a shoulder.
“Cally.”
“Last I checked, I’m in first.”
She pushes up on her elbows, her eyes bright, the grimace gone. “I knew you’d crush it!”
“It’s not final yet.”
“Whatever.” She leans back and closes her eyes. “Now I can die happy, knowing you won.”
I smack her arm. “Stop it.”
She juts her chin at the door. “Go watch the rest of the race. You don’t want to be in here when you win.”
I frown. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Just promise not to forget about me in here.”
“I promise.” I give her arm a final squeeze.
I emerge from the tent to find everyone staring at the leaderboard. Dad’s here, too. He smiles at me. “It’s down to the last two skiers.”
I stand between Dad and Blake, slipping my arm through Blake’s.
“You’ve got this,” he whispers.
“So do you,” I whisper back.
I barely breathe during the final two races. Only when the final competitor crosses the finish line and my name stays firmly at the top do I allow myself to smile. Mike and Evan jump in the air, hugging and screaming. Dad and Blake reach for me at the same time, enveloping me in an awkward hug that feels strangely like home.
“Hey,” Evan says, grinning from ear to ear. “You know what would make this even better?”
Let’s see. I won the Dash, got the guy, and put together a pretty kick-ass group of friends. What else do I need? “I have no idea.”
“How about a puppy?”
“Holy whiplash, Batman.” I touch his black armband, my thoughts all over the place. The race. Amber. Reece. And now puppies.
“Dolly had them last night. Not what I thought I’d be doing the night before a race, let me tell you.”
“Puppies?” I flutter my lashes at Dad, who laughs.
“Don’t give me that look.”
“But a puppy!”
He closes his eyes and shakes his head, but it’s more a look of defeat than denial.
“Is that a yes?”