He shrugs. “I’m not.”
“Great,” I manage. “So we’re good.”
“Of course.” He waves me off. “Friends.” But he still won’t really look at me, stares instead over my shoulder at the ebb and flow of the Village.
“Sure, friends,” I echo. “Awesome.”
My schoolwork done for the week, I catch a ride to the Village with Trick on Friday morning. I’m meeting Isabel for a quick coffee when she gets done with the gym and then I’ll find Oli on the mountain at ten when she heads to practice.
My phone rings. Josie. With a pang, I realize I haven’t talked to her in forever.
“Hi,” I say, standing in a patch of sunlight outside of Elevation.
“Where have you been?” she asks. “I texted you twice yesterday!”
“I’m sorry, Jo. Just busy.” Ugh, there’s that word again.
She sighs. “Tell me about it. You wouldn’t believe the number of SAT words we have to memorize for English.” Something in the way she says it makes me imagine the white tape of a finish line, both of us struggling to cross it first.
“Yeah, me too.” Ms. Raff sent me the list yesterday. My 500 Must! words for the SAT, with the overbearing exclamation point. I haven’t even looked at it yet. Josie chatters on — something about junior prom, which she assures me is going to be totally lame because they picked the dumbest theme ever. I’m only half listening. Through the window of Elevation, I see Beck sitting at a window table. I take a few steps back into a little shadow. He texted me earlier this week about hanging out, but I haven’t written back. His head bent over his phone, he hasn’t seen me standing outside yet.
The Ski Lift Bench seems like a year ago.
“Mara? Are you there?”
I start. “What? Oh, sorry — the theme. Yeah, it sounds totally dumb. See, this is why I don’t go to school dances.”
“Seriously, right?”
Beck looks up from his phone, his eyes catching me watching him through the window. He gives a short wave. No avoiding him now. “Um, Jo — I have to run.”
“Oh — okay.” She sounds hurt, but recovers quickly. “Well, call me soon.”
“Definitely.” I head into Elevation and cross to Beck’s table. “Working hard?”
He shows me the game he’s playing on his phone, something with brightly colored blobs that seem to be flinging other brightly colored blobs at each other. “I make it a habit to never work hard at anything.” He tries for charming but mostly just seems tired, his hair even more disheveled than usual, bruised dark patches beneath his eyes.
“Everything okay?”
He leans back in his chair. “Okay, sure.” Drained of his normal swagger, he seems smaller somehow. “Had a fight with my dad, so, you know, typical Friday morning.”
I think of that day in the parking lot, his dad’s too-aggressive grab. I glance at his nearly empty coffee cup. “You need a refill?”
His smile doesn’t make it to his eyes. “Sure.” Just then, Isabel and Logan come through the door, stopping when they see us. Beck leans forward, his forearms resting on the table. “Great. The model citizen brigade.” He goes back to his game.
I grab his cup and, at the counter, refill his coffee. Isabel comes up behind me. “Someone looks crabby,” she says, her eyes flicking to Beck.
“Fight with his dad.”
“Ah.” Isabel nods. “So just your average Friday.” She hands her mug to Natalie. “Can I get some hot water, Nat?”
I order a latte, then take Beck’s coffee to his table. “Do you want to come sit with us?” I motion to where Isabel and Logan huddle at a far table, whispering.
“I think I’ve had enough behavioral modification lectures for one morning.” He takes a sip of his drink. “Thanks for the refill, though.”
“Sure.” I hesitate, then add, “Sorry about your dad.”
“Give me a call sometime,” he says, his voice flat, “or keep avoiding me — your choice.” He returns to his phone, his shaggy hair falling into his eyes.
I meet Oli at the top of Big Blue. Something about being up here, the slight wind in my face and the stretch of Tahoe scrolling out in front of me, lightens the heaviness of seeing Beck. Oli motions for me to follow him down the catwalk to a Shirley Lake shoot. I take wide turns until I snowplow to a stop at the bottom, grinning. I’d managed the whole run with ease, that light feeling I had at the top intensifying.
“Look who’s skiing blues like a star!” Oli waves a ski pole in a victory loop. “Take that, Shirley Lake!”
“Miss Perfect rocks Shirley Lake,” I blurt out, feeling like an idiot the second the words emerge. Where did that come from?
The wind flutters the sleeves of his jacket. “That whole video thing really got to you, didn’t it? Those dumb kids putting it on the computer.”
I poke at some built-up snow on my skis with one of my poles, watching skiers move past in the deep bowl of Shirley Lake. “I guess.” I brace myself for whatever version of the You shouldn’t let other people bother you advice that will now undoubtedly come my way.
But Oli just sighs, studying the lift carrying people back up the mountain. “It must be tough these days, what you kids deal with. It’s hard enough to be a teenager, but with the Internet now …” He whistles through his teeth. “I actually don’t even know much about that MyTube Tweeter stuff. It all seems so brutal.”
I burst out laughing at his botching of the names. “YouTube and Twitter, you mean.”
“Whatever.” He shrugs. “Bunch of nonsense.”
“I shouldn’t care what other people think of me.”
“Hard not to,” Oli says. “But I think the important thing to remember is that most people aren’t.”
“Aren’t what?”
“Thinking about you.” He scissors his skis back and forth. “In my experience, most people are just trying to find their car keys.”
He skis off toward the Shirley lift.
I blink twice before I register her. Josie. Standing on our porch, the twilight deepening the charcoal of her down jacket. “Wait — what?!” I manage before she engulfs me. Her brother, Reuben, and a petite woman with short black hair stand behind her, grinning. “You’re here?” I keep repeating into her down-jacketed shoulder.
“Inside! I’m freezing!” She pushes me back into the cottage, introducing me to Reuben’s girlfriend, Lucy. Josie’s eyes sweep the room. “Wow, Mar, this is tiny.”
“Cozy,” I remind her.
“It’s darling,” Lucy says, her pale blue beanie bright against her dark skin.
They stand like mirages in my living room. “How did … what are … ?” I stammer.
“We’re surprising you, silly!” Josie tucks some hair behind her ears. “I was calling to tell you this morning, but you rushed off the phone. For the weekend! I even took the last three periods off from school today. Reuben and Lucy have been wanting to take a ski weekend up here and I convinced them to let me tag along! We’re staying at a fancy hotel! Are you excited?” Josie can seem to talk only in exclamation points or question marks. “Come have dinner with us! Are you surprised? We just got here!” She squints at me. “Trick didn’t tell you, did he? I made him swear he wouldn’t tell you.”
Her energy like a tidal wave, I take a step back. “You talked to Trick?”
“We called him at his work — at Neverland. He didn’t tell you, right? You’re not just pretending to be surprised.” She stares at me intently, decides I’m authentically surprised, and hugs me again.
“Tranquilo.” Reuben comes up behind his sister and puts his hands on her shoulders. “Give a girl some air.” His brown eyes are warm. I’ve always adored Reuben. Best big brother ever. “Mara, would you like to join us for dinner? We’re staying at PlumpJack.”
I’d never been inside the hotel, only walked by it. “Yeah, great!” I say, still feeling breathless but trying to match Josie’s energy. “Sorry, I just can’t believe you’re here.”
; Later, Josie and I sit on one of the queen beds in their hotel room, giggling over our cheeseburgers and fries. Reuben and Lucy decided to eat downstairs in the bar, but they ordered us room service. Reuben claimed they wanted to talk about “boring oceanographer stuff,” but I know he wants to give Josie and me time to hang out in private.
Josie finishes a story about a party she went to last weekend with two of the other girls from the jazz band. She drags a fry through some ketchup on her plate. “The cops had to come and tell us the music was too loud, but they said it was the first time they had to tell a bunch of teenagers to turn down jazz. So funny.”
“Sounds funny,” I agree.
She tilts her head, her eyes suddenly serious. “It’s so great to see you. When are you coming home?”
I take an extra-long sip of Diet Coke. “I’m not really sure.”
“But you’ll be back in time for our first match, right? First week of March? I want Coach to sign you up for doubles with me. Should I tell him?” She pulls out her phone.
“I haven’t been playing at all,” I say, but she’s already texting Coach Jeffers.
“Catch me up,” she says, taking a huge bite of her burger. While she eats, I tell her about skiing, about getting into a rhythm with Home Hospital, about finding the chem lab at Crest Charter, but mostly I talk about Isabel and Logan. “I spent the first few weeks thinking they’re a couple, but they’re not — isn’t that funny?”
She gives me an amused look. “Is it a good thing for you that they’re not a couple?” she digs.
I flush. “What? No, nothing like that.” I take an unnecessarily large bite of burger.
She looks unconvinced. “If you say so.”
I wipe my hands on the white cloth napkin and find myself telling her something that’s been niggling at me for weeks. “Anyway, the craziest part of being here is that I’m getting to see this whole other life that got swapped out for the one I actually ended up living. It’s so weird.”
“Because you almost grew up here?”
“Yeah. This could have been my life. And, I don’t know, don’t take this wrong, but there’s part of me that wishes it was.”
Josie frowns at her half-eaten burger. “Maybe your mom wanted you to have a better life than you could have had here?”
“People have good lives here, Josie. It’s not all beer and ski parties.” She looks doubtful. “There’s just something about it that sometimes feels like it fits me better than San Diego.” I feel like a traitor for saying so, but it’s the truth.
Josie sips her soda, carefully choosing her words. “It seems like a lot of people up here are on the fringe, like they’re hiding from something. I mean, Trick works at a place called Neverland. There’s a reason that’s funny.” She shakes her head. “I’d go crazy here.”
“Don’t you think you’re being a little judgmental about a place you don’t even know?”
Josie looks surprised. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be. It’s just, this place. It kind of is Neverland. It’s a vacation spot, here so people can take breaks from their real lives.” I start to argue with her, but she holds up her hand. “Okay, okay, I heard the judgment on that one, sorry. I’m sure people have great lives here, but you’ve worked too hard to just toss it all away to be a ski bum.”
I dunk a fry in my ketchup. “Wow, talk to my mom much lately?”
Her voice soft, she says, “Your mom knows that part of the reason you’ve worked so hard is because you have a fire in you. It’s not just Ranfield causing that fire — it’s in you. You’re one of the hardest workers I know. Seriously, you have been the whole time we’ve been at Ran.”
“Yeah,” I agree, my body deflating with a realization. “But what if that’s not such a good thing?”
“Welcome to Neverland.” I stop in front of the shop with Josie, Reuben, and Lucy the next morning before the slopes open. “Let’s get you some gear,” I say, my voice over-bright. I’m trying too hard. Josie notices, shooting me an odd look as I hold the door open for them. After our conversation last night, I’m sure it seems like I have something to prove. “I’ll get Trick.”
I wave to Mr. Never as I pass him at the counter. Pushing through the door to the shop, I find Trick waxing a pair of expensive-looking skis, Piper snuggled in a curl near his feet.
“Oh, hey.” He stands, Piper also jumping to her feet with her tail wagging. He wipes his hands on a tattered rag. “They here?”
I nod, wondering what they’ll see when they look at Trick, if they’ll search him for signs of me.
Of course, maybe I’m the only one looking for these small signs that connect us because he still feels so far away, still a blurry constellation I can’t quite make out but know is there.
“He’s nice,” Josie says as we take the funi up. She sits next to me on a bench, and Reuben and Lucy sit across the funi from us, talking softly in Spanish. “You kind of look like him.”
“I do?” My skin tingles.
She nods, staring out at the expanse of snow. “In the eyes. Not the color. The shape.” She looks down at her boots. “So, not a huge fan of these cement blocks, but if you like ’em, I’m game to try.” She studies the snow-covered mountains and trees. “Wow, it’s freezing, but it’s beautiful.”
I reach over and squeeze her gloved hand. “Thanks for coming here.”
I take Josie, Reuben, and Lucy on Big Blue. Lucy’s already a good skier, but it’s fun to show Reuben and Josie how to make wide smile turns and pizza slices with their skis. I find myself telling them things Logan and Oli have taught me, passing along hints about balance and turning.
At the bottom of Big Blue, Josie snowplows to a stop near me. “Wow, you’re good.”
“Thing is, I’m not,” I tell her. “You should see these kids I ski with up here. Logan’s amazing and Isabel might make it to the Olympics someday. Actually, they’re racing today — I was planning to go watch them if you want to come?”
Josie nods, and says, “Sure, of course,” but there’s a trace of annoyance beneath it. I know I’ve been talking about them too much, my new friends, and she must be sick of hearing it.
I change the subject while we wait for Reuben and Lucy to catch up. “Are you entering the science fair again this year?” I ask, knowing full well that barring some sort of catastrophic event, she wouldn’t miss the science fair.
Speaking of natural disasters, she tells me her idea in a spill of words, something about a simulation of the oceans and hurricanes and temperature change. “Reuben’s getting me a special measurement program for my computer.” She beams. “So I can geek out on all that data.”
“That’s great, Jo.”
After a quick break for lunch, Reuben and Lucy head back out to the slopes, but Josie comes with me to watch Logan and Isabel race. “We don’t have to go,” I insist. “I can see them some other time at a different resort. This just might be the last time I can watch them race at Squaw.”
“Sure, let’s go.” I can’t read her eyes behind her mirrored glasses, but she shrugs. “I’m done for the day anyway — my muscles feel like jelly.”
We shiver at the bottom of the race hill, the day cold, the sharp metal smell of snow permeating everything. The red and blue flags that dot the downhill racecourse snap in the wind. People mill around us, mostly spectators, but there are also a few of the younger racers in their sleek spandex outfits. Josie nods in the direction of a boy in a liquid-blue suit. “What exactly is Aquaman over there wearing?”
“A racing suit.”
“Attractive.” Josie jumps up and down in an attempt to stay warm. “Explain again why this is fun. And why there isn’t coffee.”
I point a gloved hand up the hill. “We’ll just stay long enough to see Isabel and Logan.”
Before I can say more, the crowd seems to buzz as a whole organism, their combined whispers boosting the level of energy in the space all around us. Isabel must be about to race. Logan told me it’s easy to tell when she’
s about to race because everything around you — all the attention, hope, and energy — suddenly cranks up a notch. It’s a good description. I squint up the mountain, through the steely air of the day, watching as the slate-gray streak of Isabel takes form. She shifts and bends around the flags, her body almost parallel to the snow on certain turns. Even from where we stand, it happens fast, and like flash lightning, she crosses the finish to a whooping cry from the collected spectators. I shiver but I’m not cold. Josie doesn’t realize it, but I’ve never seen Isabel race before. Not live. I’ve seen video clips and heard stories.
Like most things, it’s different live.
“Whoa,” Josie breathes, clutching my arm.
Whoa doesn’t begin to describe it.
We watch a few more racers, none of them with the same grace and speed as Isabel. At a break in the race, as they move from the girls to the boys, Josie leaves to find us mochas and returns with two steaming cups. “Hot beverage?” I take it gratefully.
Soon, it’s Logan’s turn to race. He barrels down the mountain, his body in rhythm with the red and blue flags, his movements clean, but something goes wrong. An overcorrection of a turn or a split-second catch of an edge, maybe? Whatever the reason, he goes down — hard — his body skidding down the mountain like a stone skipped across a pond. The audience gasps. I see a woman, probably Logan’s mom, rush forward, grasping the arm of a guy with a walkie-talkie.
Logan doesn’t get up.
I don’t realize I’m chewing the plastic lid of my cup until Josie gently nudges me, saying, her voice concerned, “Mara, he’ll be okay,” and pulls the cup away from my face.
I nod, feeling ill, a liquid stomach-dropping-out-from-under-me sick, and I have to consciously tell myself to focus, to watch, to wait. Be okay. Be okay. Be okay. In that moment, I’m certain that time is elastic, that there is no way it always moves in the same ticking sixty-second minute we’ve been taught to believe in.
The Possibility of Now Page 15
