by Mari Mancusi
“Sure,” my coach replied, entering the room and plopping down on Caitlin’s bed. She nodded her head in time to the beat and mouthed a few of the lyrics. “One of the girls’ moms works in the admin building here at Mountain Academy. She heard I liked music and gave me one of their demos—to see what I thought of it.” She paused, then added, “She told me the other day they were all bummed out ’cause their singer quit on them. Sounds to me like they found a pretty good replacement.”
Wow. I hugged my knees to my chest, feeling my face flush. Should I tell her? “Um, that isn’t their replacement,” I confessed, deciding to go for it. “That’s just me.”
Coach Basil cocked her head in confusion. “What do you mean, just you?”
I stared down at my lap. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything. “Just me, singing?” I finally explained. “I met up with them yesterday and we messed around a little. No big deal.” I swallowed hard as I realized I’d just basically admitted to going off campus without permission. Hopefully, she wouldn’t pick up on that.
“Are you kidding?” she cried, luckily in music-lover versus den-mother mode. “It’s huge! Lexi, you sound incredible. I mean, I’ve overheard you singing in the shower a few times, but this!” My coach paused, listening intently as the second song ended and the third began. “Were you auditioning for them?” she asked. “Are you looking to join the band?”
“Well, they did ask me,” I admitted. “But, of course, I can’t do it. I mean, there’s no way with all my training and school and stuff. I lost a whole year because of the accident; I have to work double-time to catch up. Maybe even triple. Which doesn’t leave me any time left for things like band practice.”
Coach Basil’s enthusiasm deflated a little, and I got the weird feeling that I’d somehow let her down. “I suppose you’re right,” she said at last. “The schedule they keep you girls on . . .” She shook her head. “I remember what it was like. All that dedication. No time for anything else. And then . . .” She trailed off, staring into the distance.
I knew exactly what she was thinking about. Her own stalled-out career after an accident like mine prevented her from competing. It was all-too-familiar territory for me now.
“How . . . ?” I started, not sure how to phrase my question. Coach Basil turned to look at me sharply. “How did you know?” I finally managed to say.
“That my career was over?” she asked pointedly.
I grimaced, but nodded, both wanting and not wanting to know the answer at the same time.
“I didn’t at first,” she confessed. “I kept trying to get back to where I was before the accident. I trained every free second. I signed up for every race. I didn’t let myself take the time to allow my body to properly heal. And so, a couple months later, I injured myself all over again.” She frowned. “I was lucky I didn’t paralyze myself that time. Doctors said if I had fallen one inch differently, I would never have walked again, never mind snowboarded.” She paused. “After that, I had to face the truth.”
“That your dreams were over forever,” I concluded with a long sigh. Everything she’d put into the sport, everything she’d sacrificed to become the best—it had all been for nothing. Would that be my fate as well?
Her eyes turned stern. “Okay, so I can tell you’re totally missing my point here,” she said. “All I’m trying to say is I pushed myself too hard, too fast. I was so worried about being forced to give up my dream that I made it happen all by myself.”
I hung my head, hearing all too well what she wasn’t saying. She had been too worried about me, after my fall, to properly scold me for going against her orders. But now I was in for it.
“Look, Lexi,” she continued, giving me a sympathetic look. “I know how much you want to prove to everyone that you’re fine. I was the same way back then. But pulling stupid stunts like you did in my class on Friday—well, that’s only going to prove the opposite. And it could get you hurt—all over again.”
She was right. Of course she was right. What if I’d seriously hurt myself? Knocked myself out of the game forever, just to prove something to some stupid girl and her friends—whose opinions shouldn’t even matter.
“If you concentrate on your recovery and you take your time, I have no doubt you’ll eventually get back to where you once were,” Coach Basil said. “It may set you back a year. Maybe two years—who knows? And along the way you’ll have people tell you you’re not going to make it. That you’re taking too long, that you’re missing too many opportunities. But you have to force yourself to ignore all the noise. Concentrate on listening to your own body instead and what it’s telling you. When you’re ready, you’ll know.” She smiled. “And then you can show them all.”
I felt the tears spring to my eyes. I opened my mouth to reply but found I couldn’t form the words. But Coach Basil only smiled again, pulling me into her arms and giving me a warm hug.
“I believe in you,” she whispered. “You can do this.”
At that moment, as if on cue, the music swelled, and my own voice came belting out over the air in a perfect tune of solidarity and hope. Coach Basil pulled away from the hug, glancing over at the laptop with a knowing grin.
“You know,” she said a little impishly. “Music has been shown to have great healing properties.” She paused. “I mean, just saying.”
I stared at her. “You’re saying I should join the band?”
“I’m saying . . .” She rose to her feet, heading for the door. When she reached it, she paused, then turned back to me and gestured to my laptop. “You should burn me a copy of this. It’d make a stellar addition to my collection.”
I grinned back at her, my heart soaring. For the first time in forever I felt a shred of hope. “I think I can make that happen.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Five days later and I found myself staring down into Baby Bear, my heart pounding in my chest as I struggled to suck ice-cold air into my lungs. The trainer they’d assigned me was a new guy—transferred from our sister school out west—and not someone I’d known from before. Which was good, I supposed. At least he wouldn’t know how far I’d fallen from grace.
I have nothing to prove to anyone, I reminded myself, remembering Coach Basil’s words.
After our talk I’d decided to take the week off, telling my dad I needed time to get back into the swing of things—get caught up on my schoolwork and better adjusted to life on the mountain again. He hadn’t liked it, but Coach Basil, true to her word, had backed me up, and he’d eventually given his okay.
So Monday through Thursday I did just that. Went to school in the morning, then went back to my dorm and studied in the afternoons while everyone else was out on the slopes. Okay, I admit some of that so-called studying might have involved Manic Pixie lyrics and melodies—and singing along to the recordings Coach Basil had let me download from her iPod. I was still too chicken to actually text Scarlet and Lulu and tell them I wanted to join the band, but I did follow the band’s Instagram so I could keep in the loop. And soon I found myself looking forward to everyone heading out to the mountain so I could score some solo singing time.
Not to mention time to talk to Logan. He’d text me when he got home from school and he didn’t have to work, and we’d play games online or just chat back and forth. And the more I learned about him, the more I liked him. He was sweet. Silly. Encouraging. Saturday couldn’t come soon enough.
But Friday came first. And weirdly, I found myself waking up, longing for snow. It was as if my body was telling me it was ready, just as Coach Basil had predicted. So I went with it. Called up my trainer and asked him to meet me on the mountain. I was ready to rock this thing.
Except now, looking down, I wasn’t so sure anymore. My heart started to struggle to the beat of a different drum, sending waves of anxiety to the tips of my fingers and toes while my mind raced with horrifying visions of cracked wrists and broken ankles.
“Are you okay?” my trainer asked, peering at me with con
cern.
I gave him a distracted nod, trying to concentrate on the techniques the nurse had taught me after my first panic attack. Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths to calm my racing pulse and lower my heart rate. Pushing away the haunting visions of my accident and filling my mind with happy thoughts instead.
Like thoughts of Logan, for example. His goofy smile. His threats of a snowball assault if I didn’t find a way to have good time.
I think you’re awesome, he’d said. And who are they to tell me I’m wrong?
“What’s so funny?” my trainer interrupted, jerking me from my thoughts. I looked up, startled.
“What?”
He laughed. “You’re just standing there, grinning like a loon. Did I miss some joke?”
“Oh.” I blushed. “No, I’m just . . . thinking of something nice.”
“That’s good,” he said approvingly. “Positive thoughts are important. Just let me know when you’re ready and we can go. No rush.”
“Okay.” I turned back to the mountain, forcing myself to look down . . .
. . . and all happy thoughts flew from my head in a flash of light.
“Um,” I stammered. I knew the trail below wasn’t the least bit steep, yet somehow it suddenly seemed a cavernous abyss. “Um, yeah. One sec, okay?”
Come on, Lexi. I bit my lower lip. Think of Logan, think of Logan.
But as the wind whipped at my face, I realized that wasn’t enough. And the fear once again threatened to consume me. Not the fear that I couldn’t get down this particular slope, this particular time. But that I would never be able to get down any slopes ever again.
On some level I knew that didn’t make any sense—after all, I’d been down several trails with Logan the weekend before and it seemed logical that I could do it again. But at this point, all logic had gone out the window and the panic rose inside of me at a frightening rate. My chest tightened, the pressure mounting. I frantically wondered if my trainer would be as understanding as Logan had been if I told him I wanted to ride the chair lift back down the mountain.
No, I scolded myself. That’s not going to happen this time. No matter what it takes. You just need something to distract you. To get your mind off all the crazy.
But what? What could possibly distract me all the way down the mountain? Counting? Solving math problems in my head? I was never very good at math to begin with—that might only make things worse. But what else? What else was I good at? Besides snowboarding, of course. And how ironic was that?
My head shot up. “Do you mind if I sing?” I asked the trainer, feeling more than a little embarrassed at the suggestion. But singing had helped me once upon a time, back when I was still competing. Maybe it could still help now.
He looked a little taken aback. Then he grinned. “As long as you don’t expect me to join in. My voice pretty much has the power to break glass. And not in a good way.”
“Fair enough,” I agreed, sucking in a breath. Gathering up my nerves, I started humming my favorite Manic Pixie tune. Softly at first.
Then adding volume.
Then words.
When I got to the chorus, I pushed off.
Down the mountain I went. Singing at the top of my lungs.
I’m not going to tell you it was my best run ever. Or that I suddenly showed mad skills or speed. But somehow, through sheer force of music, I guess, I made it to the bottom. Right now, for me, that was something.
In fact, it was a lot.
And the next trail we faced, I didn’t hesitate quite so long at the top. I just sang and thought of Logan and the band, and soon the exhilaration of racing down the mountain managed to drown out my last remaining fear.
Until, that was, I fell.
I still don’t know exactly how it happened. Maybe I hit a patch of bare ice. Maybe I lost focus, a little too wrapped up in my song. In any case I suddenly found myself losing my edge, my board slipping out from under me and flipping into the air, sending me down to the earth below.
I hit the ground hard, the impact of my helmet against the ice sending shockwaves through my head and down my backbone. I tried to dig in my edge, but the ice was too slick, and I found myself sliding uncontrollably down the mountain, my heart racing as fast as my body.
By the time gravity released me at a dip in the trail, I was crying my eyes out, pounding the snow furiously.
“It’s not fair!” I screamed to no one. “This is so not fair.”
I knew I wasn’t seriously hurt. It was just a fall—like a thousand I’d had before. But somehow it felt different. As if my body was saying, I told you so.
What if I never got past this? What if I never got back to where I was? What if my father was wrong—that I couldn’t return to my former glory? What if Golden Girl was gone for good?
“No!” I cried involuntarily, my voice echoing up the mountain. “I won’t let you win!” I struggled to my feet, just as my trainer reached me.
“Are you okay?” he asked, peering at me with concern.
“I’m fine,” I declared, with more bravado than I felt. “Let’s go.”
Not waiting for his reply, I pushed myself off again, picking up my song where I’d left it. Louder this time. More forcibly. Practically screaming out the words.
Somehow I got down the mountain. And I didn’t fall again.
The trainer caught up to me at the chairlift line. He clapped me on the shoulder. “That’s the way to do it,” he said. “Do you want to go again?”
I stared down at my feet, still strapped to the board. The old me would have said, Oh yeah. I was going to board until my feet bled just to prove I still had what it took. But I was exhausted, I realized. Still shaky. Still scared. And I remembered Coach Basil’s words.
Listen to what your body’s telling you.
I leaned down and unstrapped the board from my feet. “I need a break,” I told my trainer. “But let’s meet up again this afternoon. I’ll be ready to go again by then.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
My instincts proved correct, and after a nice long lunch break, I was ready to head out to the mountain again, and I have to say, the afternoon session ended up even better than the morning one. Sure, I fell a few more times—but I always got back up, each time managing to keep the panic at bay. By the time the lifts closed for the afternoon, I was feeling more confident than ever.
Once I put my board away in the school ski lockers, I headed across campus toward the dorm, figuring I’d have time to shower and change before meeting up with Brooklyn and Caitlin and the gang for movie night in the lounge. On the way I found myself wandering past the half-pipe where I’d first met Logan, and my pulse kicked up with excitement. Tomorrow I’d get to see him again. I couldn’t wait to tell him all that I’d accomplished. He was going to be so proud of me.
I was so caught up in my dreamy thoughts, I almost tripped over a figure crouched in the snow. “Oh! I’m sorry!” I cried, stumbling backward. “I didn’t see—”
My eyes widened as I realized who it was. “Becca?” What was she doing down there on the ground?
“Leave me alone.”
Her voice choked on the words, and I realized she was crying. I dropped to my knees and gave her a thorough once-over. Was she hurt? Had she fallen on the pipe? Visions of my own accident danced through my head as I examined her for possible injuries.
“What’s wrong?” I asked after finding nothing obvious. “Are you okay?”
My former best friend slammed a bare fist in the snow. I cringed, noticing her raw, red fingers. “I’m fine,” she sputtered, sounding anything but.
I frowned. “You don’t look fine.”
“I don’t care what I look like.”
“Come on, Becca,” I pleaded. “It’s me. Lexi.”
Becca looked up, her eyes darting around the base lodge. Finally, as if convinced we were indeed alone, and no one was going to report her for speaking with the enemy, she turned back to me. “I’m just sick of being so bad,” she ad
mitted. “Seriously, I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days. I practice all the time. And yet I still stink. I don’t deserve to be here. They should kick me out and send me back to public school.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked, honestly confused. “You so don’t stink.” Well, maybe lately she’d been stinking as a best friend, but I wasn’t about to go there. After all, maybe this was my chance. A chance to remind her that I was there for her—no matter what. “And you definitely deserve to be here at Mountain Academy. You’re one of the best snowboard crossers we have here.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Coach Merkin,” Becca muttered, staring back down at her feet. “He said I have to get my time down by at least ten seconds if I want to stay on the team.” She kicked at the snow with her boot. “But I’ve been running the course all day and I can’t seem to find those ten seconds, no matter what I do. And now my knee is killing me.” She rubbed the joint in question for emphasis. I grimaced, knowing all too well the pain she must be in.
“Well, you’ll never do it if you’re all stressed out like this,” I told her. “In fact, it’s a good way to get yourself hurt.” Funny, I never would have given that advice before my accident. But now it made perfect sense.
Becca scrubbed her face with her hands. “I don’t have a choice,” she protested. “I can’t get dropped from the team. My parents will kill me.”
“Come on,” I declared, an idea coming to me. I rose to my feet and held out a hand to her. “I’m taking you on a field trip.”
She looked at me as if I had sprouted three heads. “I can’t go on a field trip,” she protested. “I have to practice.”
“The lifts are closed. You can practice tomorrow. And I’m willing to bet you’ll do a whole lot better if you take a break first,” I argued, not willing to take no for an answer. I finally had a chance to help Becca—to show her how much I cared about her—and I wasn’t going to let it slip away. I just prayed Olivia didn’t pick that moment to show up and cause Becca to go all weird on me again.
