Golden Girl (16 page)

Not to mention time to talk to Logan. He'd text me when he got home from school and he didn't have to work, and we'd play games online or just chat back and forth. And the more I learned about him, the more I liked him. He was sweet. Silly. Encouraging. Saturday couldn't come soon enough.

But Friday came first. And weirdly, I found myself waking up, longing for snow. It was as if my body was telling me it was ready, just as Coach Basil had predicted. So I went with it. Called up my trainer and asked him to meet me on the mountain. I was ready to rock this thing.

Except now, looking down, I wasn't so sure anymore. My heart started to struggle to the beat of a different drum, sending waves of anxiety to the tips of my fingers and toes while my mind raced with horrifying visions of cracked wrists and broken ankles.

“Are you okay?” my trainer asked, peering at me with concern.

I gave him a distracted nod, trying to concentrate on the techniques the nurse had taught me after my first panic attack. Deep breaths. Slow, deep breaths to calm my racing pulse and lower my heart rate. Pushing away the haunting visions of my accident and filling my mind with happy thoughts instead.

Like thoughts of Logan, for example. His goofy smile. His threats of a snowball assault if I didn't find a way to have good time.

I think you're awesome,
he'd said.
And who are
they
to tell me
I'm
wrong?

“What's so funny?” my trainer interrupted, jerking me from my thoughts. I looked up, startled.

“What?”

He laughed. “You're just standing there, grinning like a loon. Did I miss some joke?”

“Oh.” I blushed. “No, I'm just . . . thinking of something nice.”

“That's good,” he said approvingly. “Positive thoughts are important. Just let me know when you're ready and we can go. No rush.”

“Okay.” I turned back to the mountain, forcing myself to look down . . .

. . . and all happy thoughts flew from my head in a flash of light.

“Um,” I stammered. I knew the trail below wasn't the least bit steep, yet somehow it suddenly seemed a cavernous abyss. “Um, yeah. One sec, okay?”

Come on, Lexi.
I bit my lower lip.
Think of Logan, think of Logan.

But as the wind whipped at my face, I realized that wasn't enough. And the fear once again threatened to consume me. Not the fear that I couldn't get down this particular slope, this particular time. But that I would never be able to get down any slopes ever again.

On some level I knew that didn't make any sense—after all, I'd been down several trails with Logan the weekend before and it seemed logical that I could do it again. But at this point, all logic had gone out the window and the panic rose inside of me at a frightening rate. My chest tightened, the pressure mounting. I frantically wondered if my trainer would be as understanding as Logan had been if I told him I wanted to ride the chair lift back down the mountain.

No,
I scolded myself.
That's not going to happen this time. No matter what it takes. You just need something to distract you. To get your mind off all the crazy.

But what? What could possibly distract me all the way down the mountain? Counting? Solving math problems in my head? I was never very good at math to begin with—that might only make things worse. But what else? What else was I good at? Besides snowboarding, of course. And how ironic was that?

My head shot up. “Do you mind if I sing?” I asked the trainer, feeling more than a little embarrassed at the suggestion. But singing had helped me once upon a time, back when I was still competing. Maybe it could still help now.

He looked a little taken aback. Then he grinned. “As long as you don't expect me to join in. My voice pretty much has the power to break glass. And not in a good way.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed, sucking in a breath. Gathering up my nerves, I started humming my favorite Manic Pixie tune. Softly at first.

Then adding volume.

Then words.

When I got to the chorus, I pushed off.

Down the mountain I went. Singing at the top of my lungs.

I'm not going to tell you it was my best run ever. Or that I suddenly showed mad skills or speed. But somehow, through sheer force of music, I guess, I made it to the bottom. Right now, for me, that was something.

In fact, it was a lot.

And the next trail we faced, I didn't hesitate quite so long at the top. I just sang and thought of Logan and the band, and soon the exhilaration of racing down the mountain managed to drown out my last remaining fear.

Until, that was, I fell.

I still don't know exactly how it happened. Maybe I hit a patch of bare ice. Maybe I lost focus, a little too wrapped up in my song. In any case I suddenly found myself losing my edge, my board slipping out from under me and flipping into the air, sending me down to the earth below.

I hit the ground hard, the impact of my helmet against the ice sending shockwaves through my head and down my backbone. I tried to dig in my edge, but the ice was too slick, and I found myself sliding uncontrollably down the mountain, my heart racing as fast as my body.

By the time gravity released me at a dip in the trail, I was crying my eyes out, pounding the snow furiously.

“It's not fair!” I screamed to no one. “This is so not fair.”

I knew I wasn't seriously hurt. It was just a fall—like a thousand I'd had before. But somehow it felt different. As if my body was saying,
I told you so.

What if I never got past this? What if I never got back to where I was? What if my father was wrong—that I couldn't return to my former glory? What if Golden Girl was gone for good?

“No!” I cried involuntarily, my voice echoing up the mountain. “I won't let you win!” I struggled to my feet, just as my trainer reached me.

“Are you okay?” he asked, peering at me with concern.

“I'm fine,” I declared, with more bravado than I felt. “Let's go.”

Not waiting for his reply, I pushed myself off again, picking up my song where I'd left it. Louder this time. More forcibly. Practically screaming out the words.

Somehow I got down the mountain. And I didn't fall again.

The trainer caught up to me at the chairlift line. He clapped me on the shoulder. “That's the way to do it,” he said. “Do you want to go again?”

I stared down at my feet, still strapped to the board. The old me would have said,
Oh yeah.
I was going to board until my feet bled just to prove I still had what it took. But I was exhausted, I realized. Still shaky. Still scared. And I remembered Coach Basil's words.

Listen to what your body's telling you.

I leaned down and unstrapped the board from my feet. “I need a break,” I told my trainer. “But let's meet up again this afternoon. I'll be ready to go again by then.”

M
y instincts proved correct, and after a nice long lunch break, I was ready to head out to the mountain again, and I have to say, the afternoon session ended up even better than the morning one. Sure, I fell a few more times—but I always got back up, each time managing to keep the panic at bay. By the time the lifts closed for the afternoon, I was feeling more confident than ever.

Once I put my board away in the school ski lockers, I headed across campus toward the dorm, figuring I'd have time to shower and change before meeting up with Brooklyn and Caitlin and the gang for movie night in the lounge. On the way I found myself wandering past the half-pipe where I'd first met Logan, and my pulse kicked up with excitement. Tomorrow I'd get to see him again. I couldn't wait to tell him all that I'd accomplished. He was going to be so proud of me.

I was so caught up in my dreamy thoughts, I almost tripped over a figure crouched in the snow. “Oh! I'm sorry!” I cried, stumbling backward. “I didn't see—”

My eyes widened as I realized who it was. “Becca?” What was she doing down there on the ground?

“Leave me alone.”

Her voice choked on the words, and I realized she was crying. I dropped to my knees and gave her a thorough once-over. Was she hurt? Had she fallen on the pipe? Visions of my own accident danced through my head as I examined her for possible injuries.

“What's wrong?” I asked after finding nothing obvious. “Are you okay?”

My former best friend slammed a bare fist in the snow. I cringed, noticing her raw, red fingers. “I'm fine,” she sputtered, sounding anything but.

I frowned. “You don't look fine.”

“I don't care what I look like.”

“Come on, Becca,” I pleaded. “It's me. Lexi.”

Becca looked up, her eyes darting around the base lodge. Finally, as if convinced we were indeed alone, and no one was going to report her for speaking with the enemy, she turned back to me. “I'm just sick of being so bad,” she admitted. “Seriously, I don't know what's wrong with me these days. I practice all the time. And yet I still stink. I don't deserve to be here. They should kick me out and send me back to public school.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked, honestly confused. “You so don't stink.” Well, maybe lately she'd been stinking as a best friend, but I wasn't about to go there. After all, maybe this was my chance. A chance to remind her that I was there for her—no matter what. “And you definitely deserve to be here at Mountain Academy. You're one of the best snowboard crossers we have here.”

“Yeah, well, tell that to Coach Merkin,” Becca muttered, staring back down at her feet. “He said I have to get my time down by at least ten seconds if I want to stay on the team.” She kicked at the snow with her boot. “But I've been running the course all day and I can't seem to find those ten seconds, no matter what I do. And now my knee is killing me.” She rubbed the joint in question for emphasis. I grimaced, knowing all too well the pain she must be in.

“Well, you'll never do it if you're all stressed out like this,” I told her. “In fact, it's a good way to get yourself hurt.” Funny, I never would have given that advice before my accident. But now it made perfect sense.

Becca scrubbed her face with her hands. “I don't have a choice,” she protested. “I can't get dropped from the team. My parents will kill me.”

“Come on,” I declared, an idea coming to me. I rose to my feet and held out a hand to her. “I'm taking you on a field trip.”

She looked at me as if I had sprouted three heads. “I can't go on a field trip,” she protested. “I have to practice.”

“The lifts are closed. You can practice tomorrow. And I'm willing to bet you'll do a whole lot better if you take a break first,” I argued, not willing to take no for an answer. I finally had a chance to help Becca—to show her how much I cared about her—and I wasn't going to let it slip away. I just prayed Olivia didn't pick that moment to show up and cause Becca to go all weird on me again.

Becca bit her lower lip, obviously contemplating. I held my breath, waiting to see what she'd decide. Finally she let out a long sigh and took my hand. “Fine,” she said in a clipped voice. “But I need to get back before nine. I have a conference call with my parents and the coach about my future.”

“No problem,” I agreed, ecstatic she'd actually said yes. “Now come on!”

After hitting the lockers to stash Becca's board and change clothes, I led her down to the parking lot and toward the bus stop. I was so excited it was all I could do not to bounce up and down with joy. Me and Becca, one on one, just like the old days. And where we were going, Olivia would never be able to bust her.

“Where on earth are you taking me?” Becca asked, sounding curious despite herself as the bus chugged up the hill toward our stop, black smoke puffing from its rear exhaust. I remembered the first time I got on the bus; I was just as weirded out. But I couldn't spoil the surprise.

“Trust me,” I said, flashing her a grin.

To her credit, she did, though she still looked a little doubtful as we boarded the bus and took our seats. The vehicle pulled around, out of the resort and down the hill, toward Littleton.

“Aren't we going to get in trouble for leaving campus?” she asked, peering out the grimy window.

“Not if we don't get caught.”

About ten minutes later the bus pulled up to the same intersection where Logan and I had exited the time before. I remembered how nervous I was then; now I was just as excited. Becca followed me doubtfully off the bus, her gaze flicking from side to side. But I just grabbed her hand and dragged her on until we reached Bill's.

“A bar?” she asked, looking up at the buzzing neon letters with questions in her eyes.

“Coffee house,” I corrected, pushing open the door. I turned, wanting to see her reaction as she stepped inside.

Sure enough, her jaw dropped as she scanned the room, taking in all the old-fashioned video games. It was early, and the place was pretty much deserted, save for Bill the pirate barista behind the bar.

“Whoa!” Becca cried. “What is this place?” She skipped over to the Pac-Man machine, wrapping her hand around the joystick. “These are like totally ancient!” she exclaimed, abandoning the game for the Centipede machine next to it. “And the graphics are horrible!” She turned to me, her face shining. “And completely awesome!”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the handful of quarters I'd been stashing in my locker all week, depositing them into her palm. “Go have fun,” I instructed firmly. “And don't even think about snowboarding for the next hour.”

Becca didn't argue, slipping a quarter into the Gauntlet machine, then gesturing for me to join her. Before long, my elf and her sorceress were downing skeletons by the dozen in a never-ending dungeon quest for treasure and glory.