about racism against snowboarders.
Hunter laughs.
“Except for you.”
“Hey. I like your skis. You look cute in them.”
“I thought I looked like an idiot.”
“An adorable idiot.”
I make a face. “You get some big air, huh?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s fun. You jump at all?”
“A little. Mike discourages it—too easy to get hurt.”
He nods. “I always liked the freestyle stuff better than the racing.”
“I never tried it.”
“You should. It’s pretty awesome, once you get over being scared.”
I nod. Getting over being scared. Maybe that’s the whole trick to life.
He nods and leans back on his hands, lying flat on his back and looking up at the sky. “I love it up here.”
I stare at the descending sun. It’s difficult to disagree. I lay back too, next to him, feeling the cold snow underneath my coat.”
“We could sit here—wait for the sun to go down.”
“That’s probably against the rules.”
“Definitely against the rules,” he smiles. “It’s awesome though. I’m not big on sunsets, but snowboarding against that kind of light—it’s fun.”
“Dangerous.”
“Not that dangerous,” he grins. I watch his face, relaxed and handsome, appraising the horizon—not really noticing me. He feels at home up here. I get that. I used to be like that. Almost exactly like that.
Maybe that’s what appeals to me so much. He reminds me of who I used to be, instead of who I am now: a girl always glancing over her shoulder, seeing what the mountain looks like, wondering if they’ve set off enough dynamite, wondering if clouds are rolling in, waiting for the next terrible thing to happen.
He turns back to look at me, still smiling. “Hey, so can I ask you a favor?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you come to this dinner thing with me?”
I raise my eyebrow. “I told my dad I was bringing a date,” he says. “But it doesn’t have to be a date. I mean, I’m going to tell him you’re my date…” He cocks his head. “I’m not explaining this very well. I’m sponsored by Oakley, and they’re doing this benefit for some charity—um, Operation Smile—anyways, they asked me and my dad to go and I told my dad I was bringing Laurel…”
“Do I have to pretend my name’s Laurel?”
“No,” he smiles. “I doubt he remembers that part of it anyways.”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow. In Salt Lake City. They’ll take us there and everything. You don’t have to do anything except wear a dress,” he bites his lip. “I was going to go alone, but—you know, I ran into you and, it just seems…seems like a good idea. For me anyways. I don’t know if it seems like a good idea for you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be your fake date.”
He smiles. “I mean, it can be a real date, too…”
“You can’t ask me on a fake date, just to see if I’ll say yes, and then change it to a real date.”
“Fake date it is.”
I bite my lip. “Let’s not tell anyone though.”
“Why?” he looks at me.
“Danny’s friends…my friends…”
“Laurel,” he adds.
“Your friends.”
“No, just Laurel. My friends would like you,” He jumps to his feet. “It’s not going to be fun.” I watch him brace himself on his heels, so he doesn’t careen forward down the mountain. “So, if you were expecting fun, let me assure you, this is not going to be it.”
“Fabulous.”
“Everyone is going to be a total asshole.”
“I can handle it.”
He grins. He smiles. “I guess we’ll see about that, Pip.” He dips his shoulder and disappears down the hill. I follow him fast, breathless—the mountain’s empty, it’s almost like skiing backcountry.
I chase him—catch him, and pass him, tearing away through the deep powder. When I turn, he’s not chasing me. He’s taking his time, in long loping curves down the mountain, leaning so he’s nearly parallel with the slope.
He hits a mogul and lets himself whirl like a spinning top, landing with a thump, coming to a
Hunter laughs.
“Except for you.”
“Hey. I like your skis. You look cute in them.”
“I thought I looked like an idiot.”
“An adorable idiot.”
I make a face. “You get some big air, huh?”
He nods. “Yeah. It’s fun. You jump at all?”
“A little. Mike discourages it—too easy to get hurt.”
He nods. “I always liked the freestyle stuff better than the racing.”
“I never tried it.”
“You should. It’s pretty awesome, once you get over being scared.”
I nod. Getting over being scared. Maybe that’s the whole trick to life.
He nods and leans back on his hands, lying flat on his back and looking up at the sky. “I love it up here.”
I stare at the descending sun. It’s difficult to disagree. I lay back too, next to him, feeling the cold snow underneath my coat.”
“We could sit here—wait for the sun to go down.”
“That’s probably against the rules.”
“Definitely against the rules,” he smiles. “It’s awesome though. I’m not big on sunsets, but snowboarding against that kind of light—it’s fun.”
“Dangerous.”
“Not that dangerous,” he grins. I watch his face, relaxed and handsome, appraising the horizon—not really noticing me. He feels at home up here. I get that. I used to be like that. Almost exactly like that.
Maybe that’s what appeals to me so much. He reminds me of who I used to be, instead of who I am now: a girl always glancing over her shoulder, seeing what the mountain looks like, wondering if they’ve set off enough dynamite, wondering if clouds are rolling in, waiting for the next terrible thing to happen.
He turns back to look at me, still smiling. “Hey, so can I ask you a favor?”
“Yeah.”
“Would you come to this dinner thing with me?”
I raise my eyebrow. “I told my dad I was bringing a date,” he says. “But it doesn’t have to be a date. I mean, I’m going to tell him you’re my date…” He cocks his head. “I’m not explaining this very well. I’m sponsored by Oakley, and they’re doing this benefit for some charity—um, Operation Smile—anyways, they asked me and my dad to go and I told my dad I was bringing Laurel…”
“Do I have to pretend my name’s Laurel?”
“No,” he smiles. “I doubt he remembers that part of it anyways.”
“When is it?”
“Tomorrow. In Salt Lake City. They’ll take us there and everything. You don’t have to do anything except wear a dress,” he bites his lip. “I was going to go alone, but—you know, I ran into you and, it just seems…seems like a good idea. For me anyways. I don’t know if it seems like a good idea for you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ll be your fake date.”
He smiles. “I mean, it can be a real date, too…”
“You can’t ask me on a fake date, just to see if I’ll say yes, and then change it to a real date.”
“Fake date it is.”
I bite my lip. “Let’s not tell anyone though.”
“Why?” he looks at me.
“Danny’s friends…my friends…”
“Laurel,” he adds.
“Your friends.”
“No, just Laurel. My friends would like you,” He jumps to his feet. “It’s not going to be fun.” I watch him brace himself on his heels, so he doesn’t careen forward down the mountain. “So, if you were expecting fun, let me assure you, this is not going to be it.”
“Fabulous.”
“Everyone is going to be a total asshole.”
“I can handle it.”
He grins. He smiles. “I guess we’ll see about that, Pip.” He dips his shoulder and disappears down the hill. I follow him fast, breathless—the mountain’s empty, it’s almost like skiing backcountry.
I chase him—catch him, and pass him, tearing away through the deep powder. When I turn, he’s not chasing me. He’s taking his time, in long loping curves down the mountain, leaning so he’s nearly parallel with the slope.
He hits a mogul and lets himself whirl like a spinning top, landing with a thump, coming to a
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