by Mari Mancusi
“ ‘What would you attempt to do if you knew you could not fail?’ ”
I’d come up with a thousand choices over the years as I’d walked under that archway. Most of them having to do with sacrificing everything to go for the gold. But today a different choice made its way through my mind. I would choose, I decided, to spend one grand and glorious day on the slopes with the most interesting boy I’d ever met. And not waste one single moment of that grand and glorious day being afraid. It wasn’t an Olympic-size goal, to be sure. But at the moment it felt nearly as important.
As I approached the circular driveway, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes fell upon Logan’s mother’s station wagon. Logan hopped out of the front passenger seat and cheerfully opened the back hatch of the car. He took my snowboard from me and loaded it up, then joined me in the backseat.
“Are you ready for the best day ever?” he asked, his eyes gleaming with excitement as his mother put the car into gear and started down the Mountain Academy driveway. “I could barely sleep last night I was so psyched.”
I giggled, trying to tell myself that he was just excited about snowboarding itself—after all, he didn’t always have an opportunity to score a free lift ticket. But something deep inside of me wondered if perhaps even a tiny part of his insomnia had something to do with seeing me again. I hoped so anyway.
We arrived at the mountain about twenty minutes later, with Logan’s mom pulling up to the drop-off spot and handing Logan the vouchers. “You have fun,” she instructed. “I’ll be back to pick you up around three when I get off of work.”
“Thanks, Mom,” Logan replied, grabbing the vouchers and leaning over into the front seat to kiss his mom on the cheek. I smiled to myself; it was so sweet to see how well he treated his mother.
We scrambled out of the car, slamming the doors shut behind us. After we grabbed our boards and bags from the back, his mother pulled away, leaving us alone together. I bit down on my lower lip as the reality of what I was about to attempt reared its ugly head. Logan was going to expect a professional, well-trained snowboarder. What was he going to think of me if I couldn’t perform to his expectations? Which admittedly was an all-too-likely scenario, based on what had happened on Friday.
“So what trail do you want to hit first?” Logan asked after we dumped our bags in the lodge, traded our vouchers for tickets, and headed outside to the chairlift. I knew he was trying to be patient, but he was also super excited to take that first run. His enthusiasm made him even more adorable in my eyes. But it did nothing to stop my nerves.
He scanned the map, then handed it to me. “Unfortunately there’s nothing as crazy as over at Green Mountain,” he added, sounding apologetic. “In fact, the whole place is really just a big hill. But, you know, beggars can’t be choosers.” He flashed me a grin as he handed me my lift ticket.
I took it, turning it over in my hands. “It’s perfect,” I assured him. After all, the last thing I wanted right now was a challenging double-black-diamond trail. And the fact that none of my snobby classmates would be caught dead on “Slow and Weak,” as they’d dubbed Snow Peak, was a dream come true. In fact, this was pretty much the best possible place to find my feet again, and I was determined to make the most of it. Especially since Logan had given me a free ticket. I’d tried to tell him I’d pay for my own—not wanting him to waste the precious voucher on me—but he insisted on it being his treat. I’d only have insulted him by refusing it.
We headed over to the antiquated two-person chairlift, slow as molasses compared to the high-speed quads over at Green Mountain. We got in line, watching the chairs groan and creak as they cranked up the mountainside. Once upon a time Snow Peak Resort had been a thriving slice of Vermont’s ski and snowboard culture, but when the economy was hit hard, smaller resorts like this one struggled to survive. It was too bad, really. Snow Peak was a great mountain for families. And I kind of liked the nonpretentious vibe. No one here worried about showing off top-of-the-line equipment or dressing to impress in ridiculous designer outfits. They came only to snowboard or ski. And to hopefully have fun.
We rode the chair to the top and dismounted, with me somehow managing not to fall on my face this time. Logan pointed to a nearby trail, and I followed him over to it, dragging my board behind me. As I approached the drop-off, my eyes fell upon the trail marker. Ugh. A black diamond. I tried to tell myself that a Snow Peak black diamond was probably only as difficult as a Mountain Academy blue square—a medium-difficulty-level trail—but it didn’t stop my pulse from kicking up to an anxious beat.
As if in response to my sudden anxiety, my board hit a chunk of ice, causing me to stumble. Logan grabbed me before I could fall. “Steady now,” he teased, his eyes sparkling. “Don’t want you to hurt yourself before you even get started!”
I laughed, but it sounded hollow. I knew he was just being funny, but I didn’t need the reminder of the possibility of getting hurt. As I sank to the ground, to strap in my right foot, I forced myself to take a peek down the trail. I swallowed hard at what I saw. Everyone always ragged on Snow Peak as being too easy, but from my vantage point, it looked like a steep cliff, dropping off into a snowy abyss. My heart started slamming against my chest, and my pulse began to race. I tried to do the breathing exercises the nurse had taught me on Friday to calm my nerves, but they didn’t seem to be working.
“You ready?” Logan asked, as he hopped to his feet and bounced on his board. He offered me a hand, and I took it with shaky gloved fingers, trying to find some sort of strength through his grip as I pulled myself to my feet. But instead, my knees wobbled, and my legs threatened to give out from under me.
What had I been thinking? Did I really believe I’d just be able to forget all that had happened and become my old self again, simply because I was with a cute boy? Why, this was even stupider than what I’d pulled on Friday, going down the terrain park to prove myself to a bully. And if it ended the same way, which, let’s face it, was a definite possibility, then what would Logan think of me? To him, I was this cool snowboarding chick, a hot rider from an elite school. He was expecting a killer day on the slopes—with me not only keeping up, but probably surpassing him in skill. After all, I’d been given all the advantages he’d been denied. What was he going to think when I fell flat on my face?
I should have told him. I should have spoken up before we cashed in those vouchers. Because now it was too late. I had let him waste those precious free tickets on someone who wasn’t even going to be able to do one single run. He could have invited someone else. Or gone alone twice. But no. I’d kept silent, ignoring reality, hoping for a miracle, and now he was the one who was going to pay for my patheticness. It’d be a wonder if he ever talked to me again after what I was about to have to admit.
“See you at the bottom!” Logan cried, completely oblivious to my inner nervous breakdown. He gave me a wave then dropped in, effortlessly gliding down the trail and leaving me behind.
I willed myself to push off. To at least attempt a single run. No one’s watching. It’s no big deal, I tried to tell myself. But as I stared down the precipice, begging my body to obey my mind, the landscape loomed and spun, throwing my already topsy-turvy stomach into a tailspin. My heart continued to pound, and my fingers went numb.
I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t convince myself to let go.
I plopped down on the snow, my head in my hands, embarrassed beyond belief. Logan was going to regret the day he ever met me, I was sure of it.
“Lexi?” Speak of the devil. Logan called up from about fifty yards down. He’d stopped to wait for me, I realized. Which was really sweet. But he’d be waiting a long time. “Are you okay?”
I couldn’t even bring myself to form an answer. Because, really, what could I say? That I was okay—but I was just going to hang out here all day instead of taking a run? Or that I wasn’t okay? That I’d conveniently forgotten to tell him I could no longer snowboard? Neither answer seemed like a good idea, so
I just waved him on, yelling that he should keep going and I would “catch up later.” Whatever that meant.
But I had underestimated Logan. And a few minutes later he was by my side again, having unstrapped his board and hiked back up the side of the trail.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, giving me a worried once-over. “Did you hurt yourself?”
I wanted to say no. But instead the “yes” burst from my lips, and I found I was unable to hide the truth from him a moment longer. The words tumbled over one another as I told him all about the accident, my therapy, Friday on the slopes when a panic attack had derailed me. The panic attack that had now resurfaced as I stared down the hill.
“I’m so sorry!” I sobbed, the tears pouring from my eyes as I finished my confession. “I wanted so badly to spend the day with you. I thought I could do it. I really did. But I can’t. I just can’t. And now I’ve gone and wasted your mom’s lift ticket and—”
“Hey, hey!” Logan cried, grabbing me and pulling me into a huge bear hug. “It’s okay, Lexi,” he assured me. “It’s really okay.”
“But you could have given the ticket to someone else,” I choked out. “You could have come here twice yourself. Instead of completely wasting it on me.”
“Oh, Lexi.” He released me from the hug to find my eyes with his own. As I dared myself to meet his gaze, I searched for anger, disappointment, annoyance—even pity—but found none of the above. Only concern and compassion shone in his eyes.
“I don’t care about snowboarding,” he told me. “I wanted you to have fun. That’s all. Whether it’s out on the slopes or sitting in a lodge—it’s all good to me.”
“But—but—” I stammered. I wanted so badly to believe him. But still. “I’m sorry,” I said at last. “I feel so stupid. I guess I just wanted you to think I was normal.”
To my surprise, he chuckled. “Please. In my experience normal is completely overrated.” He reached out and unstrapped my board from my boots. “Now come on,” he said once he was finished. “We’ll take the chairlift down. Have you ever done that? It’s actually pretty cool.” He grinned. “And then we’ll order large hot chocolates with extra, extra whipped cream. And I know an awesome spot by the fireplace. We can hang out and play games and talk and . . .” He shrugged impishly. “I think it sounds like the best day ever. What about you?”
I stared at him, scarcely able to believe my ears. He’d willingly give up an entire day of doing something he loved more than anything—something he didn’t often get a chance to do—just to spend time with me? It seemed unbelievable. Until, I realized, I would have done the exact same thing for him, had the tables been turned.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ll race you to the lift.”
He was right; despite the amused looks of the lift operators, it was pretty cool to go down the chairlift. The pressure seemed to drop with the altitude, and by the time we reached the bottom of the hill, I was feeling pretty good about things. Good enough, in fact, to suggest that we go hit the bunny slope instead of going inside.
And so we did.
I’m not going to lie; the first trip down the beginner’s trail had my heart racing all over again, and I wasn’t halfway down before I tripped on an edge and fell flat on my face. But before I could manage to wallow in humiliation city, Logan was by my side, his hand outstretched and his face full of encouragement. I found myself grabbing his hand gratefully and pulling myself back to my feet, continuing down the mountain. It was a slow and torturous journey, but eventually we found ourselves at the bottom of the hill.
“Whoo-hoo!” Logan cried, whooping loudly and offering up his hand in a high five. “You did it!”
“A four-year-old could have done it,” I muttered, forcing myself not to leave him hanging, even as my cheeks burned. “Most likely without falling on her butt five times on the way down.”
“Who cares?” Logan scolded. “Everyone falls. It’s no big deal. Seriously, Lex, you need to lighten up.”
“I know but . . .” My face twisted. “You don’t understand. If I don’t get back to where I was . . .”
“Forget that. Forget all of that,” he insisted, his blue eyes focused on me. “At least for today. Just forget about your training, the Olympics. All of it. Pretend you’re only out here to have fun. You do know how to snowboard just for fun, right?”
Did I? I’d been training so long. So hard. The idea of snowboarding just for fun—without worrying about speed or form or skill—it seemed like a foreign concept.
But Logan wasn’t about to take no for an answer. He reached down, scooping up a large handful of sticky snow, his eyes shining mischievously. “Do I need to teach you the meaning of fun, young lady?” he teased, stepping toward me, snowball raised and ready.
I shrieked and scrambled out of the way, grabbing my own fistful of snow and readying my aim. “Don’t you even think about it!” I cried. “I’ve got a killer arm and I am not afraid to use it.”
“Yeah? Well, you’ll have to catch me first!” he cried, kicking off on his board with his back foot and gliding toward the magic-carpet lift that led to the top of the bunny slope. Giggling, I planted my own foot on my board, following his lead. A moment later we were both headed back up the hill, panting and laughing.
And totally ready to have fun.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The day ended far too soon, and before I knew it we were back in the lodge, in front of the fire, peeling off layers of jackets, hoodies, ski pants, and boots, preparing to meet Logan’s mother outside. We were still laughing, and my cheeks were flushed from a mixture of wind and excitement. Even though we’d never gotten farther than a green-circle easy trail, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such a good time on the slopes. Logan had been right; over the past year I’d been so concerned with the competitive aspects of the sport that I’d forgotten how much I just loved the feeling of the wind against my cheeks and the snow under my feet.
But all good things must come to an end. We reluctantly piled into Logan’s mother’s station wagon and started back to Mountain Academy. The trip was at least a half hour, but it felt like only a few precious minutes before we were pulling up to the guard shack outside the school.
I watched as Logan pulled out my gear from the back of his mom’s car, setting it down on the sidewalk. “When can we do this again?” I blurted out, unable to stop myself. The day had been a dream come true, but now we were back to real life. Tomorrow I had classes and my training sessions, and Logan had public school and probably work at his uncle’s garage. Even if he did manage to get an evening off, he was still banned from the mountain and couldn’t come for a visit.
Then there was my dad, who thought Logan was bad news. A lowly staff rat, unworthy of his ice princess. How could I make him see that Logan was the exact opposite? That a thousand training sessions with the coach he’d hired wouldn’t be half as effective as a single day on the mountain with Logan by my side?
“Hey!” Logan exclaimed, catching my face. He grabbed me and pulled me into a hug. “We’ll make plans for the weekend, okay? I’ll make sure I get Saturday off work. Maybe we can go to a movie or something. How about that?”
“That’d be cool,” I said, trying my best to sound casual, though inside I was dancing with excitement. A week was a long time, but we could always text and stuff. Maybe even play some online video games.
“In the meantime,” he added, “you have to promise me you’ll keep practicing. And that once in a while you’ll just go out and snowboard for no reason at all—except to have fun.”
“I think I can handle that,” I said with a grin.
“Good,” he declared. Then he wagged his finger at me. “And anytime you start feeling the pressure—from your coach or your dad or whatever—you just remember that I think you’re awesome. And who are they to tell me I’m wrong?”
I laughed out loud. I couldn’t help it. Suddenly I found myself wanting to hit the biggest jump I could find in the park�
��at full speed for the whole world to see. And I could do it too. Because Logan thought I was awesome.
And if Logan thought I was awesome, well, who cared about anyone else?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Ten minutes later I was opening my dorm room door. Caitlin wasn’t there, so I dumped my bag on my side of the room and decided to put on some music to help me wind down. After scrolling through my iTunes collection for a few minutes, trying to decide what to put on, I remembered the Manic Pixie Dream Girl recording Scarlet had given me before I left Bill’s yesterday. I slipped the thumb drive into my MacBook, my finger hovering over the play button. I was admittedly more than a little nervous to hear it—to discover whether I really was any good or if they were only being polite. Then I remembered Logan’s parting words. He thought I was awesome.
I hit play.
The first song burst through the speakers, Roland wailing on his guitar, Scarlet pounding out the beat. I lay back on my bed, staring up at my ceiling, wringing my hands together nervously as the vocals kicked in. At first my voice sounded tinny and small—and I could hear the uncertainty as I stumbled over the unfamiliar lyrics and tune. But by the third or fourth song I seemed to have found my groove, and a rich, powerful voice started belting out from my computer speakers, actually giving me goose bumps. Was that really me? I had to double-check the thumb drive to be sure. I sounded good. Really good. Guess all those misspent nights with Mom doing karaoke had really paid off.
“Hey, is that Manic Pixie Dream Girl?” Coach Basil poked her head into my room. “I recognize the song, but they sound different.”
“You know Manic Pixie?” I asked, sitting up in bed, surprised. I knew Coach Basil was a huge indie-music fan, but still!
