Girls Only! (27 page)

Reach for the Stars

Special thanks to the International Ski Federation, the U.S. Olympic Committee, and various ski instructors at Ski Cooper, Silvercreek, and Winter Park in Colorado—where else!

My heartfelt appreciation to Allison Jones, who has won numerous awards in Alpine skiing, placing First
four
times at the ’98 National Winter Paralympics (Juniors Category) and who graciously answered my questions. Allison was featured in the January/February ’98 issue of
American Girl Magazine
.

Hugs to my daughter Janie, who helped with research on bone fractures for this book.

Information about Picabo Street (Alpine skier and Olympic gold medalist) can be found on the ESPN SportsZone Web site.

To

Allison Jones,

an extraordinary Alpine skier

who reaches for the stars . . .

and beyond!

Reach for the Stars

Chapter One

Twelve-year-old Miranda Garcia gazed down the black diamond slope. “Ski your heart out,” she whispered to herself.

Falcon Ridge lay below her, rigorous and still. The first practice run of the day always left her a bit breathless. But she liked it that way.

Long and steep, the course required extraordinary courage. But Manda, who liked to refer to herself as “Downhill Dynamite,” was ready to seize the challenge.

Pairs of closely spaced flags, called gates, waved gently in the frosty morning air. The slope was as familiar to her as the downhill skis on her feet. After all, the finish line was only a few blocks from her back door. She’d grown up here. Alpine Lake, Colorado, was the ideal hometown for a downhill skier with her heart set on Olympic gold.

Miranda rocked back and forth on her skis at the starting gate. She focused on the course ahead.
Ski, baby, ski
, she thought.

She’d memorized every inch of the dangerous slope. The steep drop-offs, the midsection “Corkscrew” with its series of sharp turns, and the sizzling-fast beeline to the finish.

The practice run would require concentration and energy, but she remained cool and confident. She took several deep breaths—her customary approach to waiting for the starting signal.

If she skied well today, Coach Hanson would be glad he’d entered her in the Dressel Hills Downhill Classic. The annual race was only six weeks away—on St. Patrick’s Day—one ski resort to the north of Alpine Lake.
This
year, the competition was open to intermediate through advanced skiers, with categories for both girls and guys. She was eligible in more ways than one!

“I can’t wait to see you compete at Dressel Hills,” her mom had said that morning at breakfast. “I’ll watch you float through the air like an eagle. And those jumps of yours, especially before the final stretch . . . well, you’re amazing!”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re my biggest fan,” she’d replied.

Then came a big hug. “I’m so proud of you, Manda!”

Miranda liked her nickname far better than her given
name. Manda was short and to the point. Not as flowery as Miranda. More like who she
really
was.

After the kitchen was made spotless once again, they’d gone their separate ways. It was typical for most winter Saturdays at the Garcia home. Manda headed off to ski with her coach; her mom to the Alpine Ski Academy at the base of Cascade Peak.

Manda had decided years ago that snow skiing must be in their genes—hers and her mother’s. Adelina Garcia, Manda’s mom, was a certified ski instructor. She specialized in preschool-age beginners. For as long as Manda could remember, her mother had been passing on her love for Alpine skiing to little tykes. Including her own daughter!

Manda could hardly remember
not
being on skis. From her earliest little-girl memories, she was either skiing with her mom (or alone) or mountain biking on long trails during the summer, working out and waiting for the first snowfall.

Winter was by far the best season of all.

At last, the starting signal came from Coach Hanson.

Manda shot out of the gate. She pushed off with her poles and charged onto the course. Quickly, she dropped into her speed tuck, folding her body into a crouched position. Her hands were close to her chin, and she moved her elbows next to her body.

Tight as a Tootsie Roll
, she thought, curling herself down. It was the best way to slice the air at top speeds. Sometimes sixty miles an hour . . . or more!

Swish!

She flew over the icy snow, carving her turns by digging her ski edges into the slope. She zipped past the sharp drop-off to her right and headed for the first jump.

Whoosh!

For several seconds, she was airborne. But Manda was careful to remain in her racing tuck. She landed gracefully, like a feather caressing the snow.

At moments like these, Manda felt she could conquer most any mountain. Even Eagle’s Point in Dressel Hills seemed within reach. She’d had a few practice runs on it—enough to know how dangerous and exciting it was. She loved a good challenge, and Eagle’s Point was definitely that.

Downhill Dynamite!

Manda took the sharp turns as solidly as she could. Her legs felt each bump and jolt beneath her skis. But this was an excellent run. One of her best all week.

The Corkscrew was next. A succession of zigzagging turns, it marked the completion of the middle section. Manda slowed just a bit, enough to make the turns without losing control completely.

The dizzying-steep part of the course was now in sight.
It was a straight path to the finish line—at breakneck speed—with two enormous jumps coming up fast.

Her poles flapped in the air, but Manda fought to keep her cool. The first jump and landing. High and up she soared. Down she came with a perfect landing. Easy enough.

Next, the second big jump. Towering high above the course, she saw Alpine Lake, the ski resort valley below her. Though she didn’t have time to fully enjoy the view, she could hardly wait to tell her mom about this amazing run. She could feel the confidence in her bones.

Her second landing was slightly harder than usual, but the finish was less than two seconds away. She’d beaten her all-time fastest record. She was sure of it!

Wrapping herself into the tight tuck again, she hightailed it toward the finish line. On the way, the wind caught her right ski pole, and it flew out of her gloved hand. But Manda let it go. She could retrieve it later—after she was clocked.

Swoosh!

She flew past the finish and slowed, making a hockey stop by tipping her skis on edge.

“Wow, Manda—way to go!” Benny the timer called.

She skied over to the young man in the blue-and-white ski outfit. “How’d I do?” she asked, breathing hard.

Wide-eyed, Benny read his stopwatch. “One minute, thirty-nine and a half seconds. On the button.” He looked
at her, grinning. “You shooting for Junior Olympics this year?”

“Sooner or later—you bet I am!” Manda pumped her fists into the air. Her time was far better than she’d thought possible, at least for a practice run. Usually, it took a cheering crowd to get her adrenaline going.

Just then she heard the familiar
swish
of skis behind her. She turned to see Coach Hanson, tall and lean, taking wide, careful zigzags as he headed toward her and Benny.

What’s Coach doing?
she wondered, surprised to see him.

He waved her wayward ski pole as he came to a quick stop. “I just received a message for you,” Coach Hanson said, his eyebrows knitting into a deep frown. “Manda, your mom had an accident. She’s on her way to the hospital.”

Manda’s heart sank. “The hospital? What happened?”

“She had a bad spill on the slope,” he replied, handing her the ski pole. Then he removed his cell phone from his pocket. “Here, use this to call the hospital,” he offered.

A vision of her mom strapped to a stretcher made Manda shudder. “No . . . thanks anyway. I want to be there with her,” she whispered. “As soon as possible.”

Reach for the Stars

Chapter Two

The smell of rubbing alcohol made Manda cringe as she scurried down the hospital corridor. She darted ahead of her coach, arriving at the information desk nearly out of breath.

“My mother’s here . . . in the emergency room,” she told the receptionist. “An ambulance just brought her in.”

The blond woman offered a kind smile. “Does your mother have a name?”

“Oh yes . . . yes, she does. Sorry.” Manda gave her mother’s full name. “And she hates hospitals,” she blurted.

“Well, who doesn’t?” the information lady said cheerfully. “Yes, your mother’s in the ER at the moment. Let me show you the way.” She led Manda and her coach
down the hall to the double doors that opened into the bustling emergency room.

“Thank you,” Manda remembered to say. Then she followed Coach Hanson past the swinging doors. Several doctors and nurses were busying themselves behind a long counter.

One of the nurses looked up. “May I help you?”

“Yes, I’m Adelina Garcia’s daughter,” Manda said. “Please, may I see her?”

“Ah yes. The ski instructor’s daughter.” The nurse motioned for Manda to follow her. “Your mother’s been asking for you, dear.”

Coach shrugged and jerked his head in the direction of the double doors. “I’ll wait for you, okay?” he said softly.

Manda waved her thanks and hurried to catch up with the petite nurse. “Is my mom going to be all right?” she asked when they arrived at the curtained-off area.

“Your mother may seem a bit groggy. Pain medication has a way of doing that,” explained the nurse. “But I think she’ll be very glad to see you.”

“Thanks,” Manda said and pulled back the white curtain.

There, lying in the hospital bed, was Mom—bruised and injured. Her left leg was hoisted up slightly off the bed, and her face was bruised on the left side. She’d taken a pounding.

Manda flew to the head of the bed. “Oh, Mama,” she whispered, touching a limp hand. “I’m here. It’s me, Manda.”

Her mother stirred, eyelids fluttering briefly, then closing. “I was so stupid,” she whispered. “It’s my own fault.”

Manda shook her head. “If there’s anything you are
not
, Mom, it’s stupid. I won’t let you lie here and say crazy things like that just because you’re hurt.” She fought back tears.

Her mother’s lips formed a weak smile. “That’s my girl. Always tough and tumble.” She opened her eyes for a moment. “How was your run this morning?”

“That can wait,” Manda insisted. “If we’re gonna talk about anything, we’re talking about
you
.” She squeezed her mother’s hand gently, staring at the fractured limb. “Will they have to operate?”

Before her mother could answer, a doctor and two nurses came in. No warning, just breezed past the cotton curtain. Like skiers past a flagged gate.

Manda’s question was left hanging in the air.

The rest of the week, Manda spent every spare minute with her mom after school. Each day, she rode the bus with her girl friends Livvy Hudson and Jenna Song.
Sometimes Heather Bock, a homeschool friend who practiced skating at the mall ice rink, rode along, too. Heather and her older brother, Kevin, were hotshot ice dancers headed straight for star status. Manda thought it the first time she saw them skate.

Manda, Heather, Livvy, and Jenna belonged to a club they called
Girls Only
. The exclusive club was for girls who had one thing on their minds: excellence in athletics. Most of the time, anyway. Every now and then, the foursome admitted to having lingering thoughts of boys. But for the most part, they talked about Olympic this or gold medal that. Just the way Manda liked it.

When the bus came to a stop at Sundown Avenue, Manda slid out of her seat. “Here’s where I get off,” she told her friends.

“Tell your mom I’m praying for her,” Livvy Hudson said with a big smile. Her bright eyes sparkled beneath a full head of auburn hair.

“So am I,” said Jenna Song, offering an eye-squinting smile. Her black hair was bouncy and cute as always.

“My mom’s making a secret basket of goodies,” blond Heather Bock called. “But don’t tell
your
mom!”

“Okay, see ya!” Manda said, waiting for the bus doors to open.

When she was safely on the snow-packed sidewalk, she picked her way over the next half block to Memorial Hospital. She was grateful for true friends like Heather,
Livvy, and Jenna. They and their parents had pitched in and helped, even invited Manda over to spend the night several times.

Manda had enjoyed the home-cooked meals, but she always refused the overnight invitations. Politely, of course. She didn’t mind staying home alone. She needed time to think . . . and to make some very special plans. Besides, she could take care of herself.

There was one thing that worried her, though. It was about missing nearly a week of practice. Skipping her usual habit of training could set her back—too far back to compete at Dressel Hills next month. Yet she knew her first concern was and always would be her mother.

Coach Hanson had been very understanding when she told him the serious nature of the fracture. He’d nodded and patted Manda on the shoulder. “You only get one mom, you know,” he’d said.

Wasn’t that the truth! And Manda had only one parent. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to
this
one—no sir! She and her mom had hung in there, through thick and thin. Mostly thin. Her dad had literally vanished one day when she was only two years old. He simply never came home from work.

Weeks passed. No divorce papers. No note . . . no nothing. When Manda tried to explain the “single-parent thing” to friends other than her
Girls Only
friends,
they’d look at her, heads half cocked and mouths wide. “You’ve gotta be kidding. Your dad just left and never called your mom or wrote or anything?” one girl had asked back in fourth grade.

“Zip, zilch,” was Manda’s casual comeback.

Her father’s leaving was no big secret. She didn’t try to hide the fact that her dad had abandoned them. Anybody who left his beautiful wife and baby girl for absolutely no reason at all had to be a loser.