The Slope Rules

by Melanie Hooyenga

  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 ma
n 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.”

  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 sc
ream, 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.