Avalanche

by Brianna Cerkiewicz

  That was the lecture. Here comes the punishment.

  “No field trips for the rest of the year.”

  “But there is some good news,” Mr. Lee says. He hands me a brochure. “I grabbed this for you.”

  Bright red words are on the cover. “Join the Ski Patrol!”

  “I spoke with the head of the team. You impressed them, Andrea. They’re always looking for new members. Especially good skiers. And people who want to help others. You showed that out there. I put in a good word for you.”

  “Really? Do you think I can do it?”

  “Absolutely,” Mr. Lee says. “But I told them you’re going to be busy. You know, with the wrestling team.”

  My mouth falls open. Seriously? He said there would be consequences. But this is the worst. I’d rather have detention all year.

  Mr. Lee has a big smile on his face. “I’m joking about the wrestling,” he says. “But not about ski patrol.”

  I just stare at him. This is the best news.

  Monday is not what I expected. First there was good news. I’m going to join the ski patrol. Now all these kids are coming up to me. They want to know about the avalanche.

  At lunch, two kids ask to sit with me. One is the shy girl from English. In science, we have to choose lab partners. The guy from the ski bus is in my class. He wants to team up.

  CHAPTER 20

  Change of Course

  I don’t see Cole again until the end of the day. She’s waiting at the bus stop. That’s odd. Usually she’s in detention.

  When I say hi, she just looks down. I’ve never seen her look sad. Only bored or mad.

  “I hope you’re not in too much trouble,” she says.

  There’s a blank look on her face. She’s waiting for me to say something. What does she want? An apology? Maybe I’m supposed to ask how she’s doing.

  “Not at all. It worked out great.”

  “Oh, good.” There are a few seconds of silence. “Well, my bus is here,” she says.

  What did I think she would say? That she was sorry? That’s not who Cole is. It’s kind of sad. We’ll still talk. But I’m definitely going to make other friends.

  Mom isn’t waiting for me at home. It’s the one day I want her to be there. Today was the first day of her new job. This gives me an idea. I drop my backpack on the stairs.

  Instead of going to my room, I return to the kitchen. I’ll surprise her by making dinner. It will be a way to apologize. I haven’t been very nice lately.

  Dinner is ready when Mom gets home. Spaghetti and salad. She looks tired but surprised.

  “This is nice,” she says. “You didn’t have to. You’re probably still worn out.”

  “I wanted to. To celebrate your first day. How was it?”

  Her smile fades. I can see the look in her eyes. She’s the one who’s worn out.

  “Sit down,” I say.

  She drops into a chair. “This looks good.” She takes a bite and smiles. “Mmm.”

  “I’m sorry, Mom, for being such a brat. There’s a lot I haven’t told you. About school and the girls from the ski trip.”

  “Oh, really? What’s been going on?”

  I tell her about the first few days of school. About Cole and Alexandria. How I tried so hard to fit in with them.

  “It must have been stressful,” Mom says. “I’m sorry you had to go through that. I feel bad that we had to move.”

  “Don’t. You did what you had to do.”

  She gives me a little smile. “Yeah.”

  Now I’m wondering. What has she been through? Mom doesn’t talk about her problems. We never talk about my dad. And I don’t ask.

  “On an unrelated subject,” she says. “There’s something I meant to share with you. The mom of the man who died emailed me. It’s a thank-you for what you did. The patrollers might never have found him without you.”

  “It was awful, Mom.”

  “Yes,” she says. Her tone has suddenly turned serious. “It could have been you.”

  “I know. You’re right. But there is some good news. It’s about ski patrol. I’ll show you. Let me grab my backpack.”

  I come back holding the brochure. She takes it from me.

  “We need you!” she reads.

  “Can I join? Then I can really help save lives.”

  “Oh, Andrea. That’s perfect for you!”

  “Right? I can’t wait. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Tell me more about the ski trip,” she says.

  “Do you mind if we don’t talk about it? A lot of negative stuff happened.”

  “That’s fine, honey. I completely understand.”

  “From now on, it’s all about being positive. It’s a promise I made to myself after the avalanche. This will be hard to believe. But going online doesn’t even interest me right now. If my friends want to reach me, they know how.”

  “It sounds like you learned a lot about yourself. Maybe the trip was meant to be.”

  “Maybe. One thing’s for sure. Jamie would be proud of me. I’ll start making some new friends. And speaking of new. Will you help me with something? I want to redecorate my room.”

  CHAPTER 1

  It Wasn’t Me

  Marta Lopez sat with her head down. Her long dark hair fell around her face. If nobody could see her, she wasn’t there. She gazed at a loose thread on her sleeve. Suddenly she felt a nudge.

  “Huh?” She looked up.

  “Are you listening?” her mom asked. “Mr. Dalton is talking to you.”

  Mr. Dalton was the principal of Stone Brook High School. “I have witnesses,” he said. “They saw you do it.”

  He put his phone in front of Marta and her mom. “And I have more proof.”

  Someone had taken a picture of a drawing. It was a donkey with words scribbled under it.

  Marta shook her head. Seriously? She loved to draw. But not on bathroom walls. That was kid stuff. Not something a 15-year-old would do.

  And she would never call Mr. King an ass. He was the art teacher. Art was the only class she liked. Besides that, the drawing was bad. If she had done this drawing? It would have been good.

  “I promise you,” Mrs. Lopez said. “My daughter would never do that. She knows better.” She moved Marta’s hair from her face.

  “Stop, Mom.” Marta pulled away.

  “Tell me you didn’t do this,” Mr. Dalton said.

  Marta knew the truth. But she wasn’t talking.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lopez. It’s important that your daughter learns a lesson.” He looked at Marta. “I’m suspending you for three days. I’ve told your teachers. They will email you any homework. And this will go on your record. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” she mumbled.

  “And, Marta,” he said. “There are only a few weeks until summer break. I urge you to make the rest of the year count. Do your best. And try to stay out of trouble.”

  The meeting with Mr. Dalton was over. But the drama was just beginning. On the drive home, her mom did most of the talking.

  “I swear on all that is holy. I don’t know what to do with you. Or what to say.”

  “Then don’t say anything,” Marta said softly.

  “Shut your mouth!” her mom shot back. “Don’t you dare say another word. I missed work for this. That’s half a day’s pay. And for what? To hear good things? No. To hear that you’re a vandal.”

  Here we go, Marta thought. There was nothing she could do. Her mom was not going to stop.

  “Your dad and I have tried to be patient. But we’re tired of your moods. The way you mope around. You don’t even talk to us. All you do is sit in your room and draw. Draw, draw, draw. In that little notepad. Thank God for the A in art. At least you have one good grade.”

  Marta stared out the window.

  “There’s no excuse. You’re a smart girl. And so pretty. Why do you hide it? Just look at your clothes. That big shirt and baggy pants. And your hair. You never comb it. No wonder you have no friends.
”

  That last comment wasn’t fair. It was true that Marta didn’t have friends. But it wasn’t her fault.

  For most of her life, her parents had been farmworkers. That meant they had to move a lot. Her dad had a phrase for it. Following the harvest. They picked onions in Texas. Lettuce in California. Berries in Michigan.

  With each move, it was like starting over. She was the new girl all over again. It was hard to make friends.

  It took time, but her parents got better jobs. Now they worked at a factory that canned fruit.

  Both worked the canning line. They washed and peeled fruit and filled containers. Her dad made sure the line was set up properly. He also cleaned the equipment.

  The factory canned other foods too. The work was year-round. So far, they’d had the same day shift. But that could always change. It depended on when crops came in. Sometimes one or both of them worked overtime.

  Even with extra hours, it didn’t add up to much money. But the family could stay in one place. It was a better life for their daughters. “More normal,” they had said.

  Marta struggled with the idea of “normal.” What did that even mean? For her it was still a lonely life. She wasn’t able to make friends. But she didn’t try either.

  Her mom’s voice broke through her thoughts.

  “Your grades have to get better. Do you hear me?” she said. “It’s your only chance for a good life. Don’t you get that? Or do you want to work in the fields? I know I don’t want that life again.”

  No, Marta didn’t want that life. But she couldn’t picture what her life would be.