Sophia
Three days later, I don’t know why I agreed to go skiing. I guess I didn’t want to look uncool. And besides, wealthy people love to ski. If I’m going to live this life, I’m going to have to fit in somehow.
I took ski lessons in middle school. I remember mastering the bunny hill with pizza French fry. But today we’re going to be hitting much steeper slopes than that.
I grip my poles awkwardly. Hailee, Alex, James, and I all share a lift chair that’s heading up the mountain. We’re not far from Lake George, skiing at a resort that boasts the highest vertical drop not in the Rockies.
That doesn’t seem like a selling point. In fact, it’s more of a warning. Thanks for the heads-up. I will stay far away from any large vertical drops, thank you.
Unfortunately, during her winter out west, Hailee has gotten big into skiing. So here I am. She and Alex came to Lake George yesterday. Hailee couldn’t stay away any longer, and I should’ve feigned weakness to get out of skiing.
Now I’m staring at the mountain as the lift climbs higher and higher. The top is hidden in mist. I keep expecting it to end soon. This is the East Coast, after all. There are no snowcapped peaks, but it feels like we’re climbing forever.
James must sense my unease. He holds on to my forearm. “Everything alright?”
“Yeah! Totally cool. I’m just not big on challenging gravity.”
Hailee leans forward. She looks like a giant bug with her bright-orange ski goggles. “That’s the fun of it. Just trust me, . You’ll have a good time.”
It’s been amazing to see Hailee again. Our relationship feels like it’s at its strongest. Maybe because it survived us being apart for months. Before there had been an undercurrent of mistrust. At least one that I felt. Ever since her shitty ex Ford said I slept with him last summer I’ve felt so terrible when I was with Hailee.
It’s sad how people can poison a friendship with a lie. I don’t believe she ever really believed him but the fact that she even asked broke my heart. The good news is we’ve been tight as two peas in a pod since she came to visit. Close as sisters.
I look at the summit and gulp. The wind blows hard, so in response to Hailee I just give her a thumbs-up. My primary anxiety is getting off the ski lift without falling. The thing doesn’t even stop. You’re just supposed to slide all smooth off it.
But I’m not smooth. And that’s about to be brutally revealed to James. The top comes into sight, and I watch the skiers in front of us disembark. Okay. I can do it too. Just don’t lock your knees. Let gravity do the work. There’s a little slope.
I cringe when it’s my turn, but to my great relief, I don’t topple and take everyone down with me. I slide coolly to the side.
Okay. First win.
There are a few slope options at the top of the lift, and we shuffle and pole our way, trying to choose which one to take. James and Alex want the black diamond, but Hailee is going whichever way I am.
“The blue and the black meet up here,” Alex says, pointing at the slope map. “It’s just the initial drop that separates the two in difficulty.”
“Well. I know where I’m going,” says James. “Alex, last one to the bottom buys dinner.”
“You’re on.”
The two start ferociously planting with their poles towards the start of the slope.
“Wow, look at those titans of industry go,” Hailee says, and I laugh.
“Boys are boys. Always.”
James and Alex’s banter begins to dim as they descend the mountain.
“Are you comfortable with the blue diamond?” Hailee nods at the start of the slope.
“Is there an easier slope?”
She bares her teeth in lighthearted apology.
“Okay. I can do blue.”
“You can always just scoot down on your butt for a bit if you need to. I had to do that a couple times in Washington when I got in over my head. But trust me. You’ll be more in control than it looks.”
“I might just do that.”
“Alright. Let’s hit it!” Hailee starts to make her way to the slope entrance.
We wait for a pack of snowboarders to go, and then we go over the point of no return.
We build speed, and Hailee is solidly in front of me. She keeps an eye over her shoulder to make sure I’ve got the hang of it. And I do, albeit I’m going a very responsible ten miles per hour or so.
I’m cruising, not racing.
“Give it a little gas! Trust me!” Hailee shouts back, and I oblige.
I open my legs more.
“French fry or die, bitches!” Hailee yells, and I’m smiling. She really does come more alive on the mountain, and I can see why.
I begin to build speed. Pretty soon I’m racing. I test my steering and veer right and then left. Perfect. Controlled. I can do this, easy peasy.
Pretty soon the little pit of fear in my stomach has turned into pure elation as we glide down the slope.
We’re hooting and hollering, and I’m even making sharp enough turns to send up waves of snow. But as we descend some, the fog is back, and visibility is somewhat limited to maybe a hundred yards or so. That’s about as far ahead as Hailee ends up. As much as I let loose, she is still a multitude faster. Maybe on the next slope, I’ll be comfy enough to match her speed.
Soon she’s gone completely, and so is everybody else. I’m alone on the mountain but not scared. It’s nice just hearing the slice of my skis. Smelling the fresh air and the trees.
The slope’s route is obvious—there’s a highway of ski tracks in the snow. But as I get farther down the slope, something is wrong. The slope seems to end at a big wall of snow, but I’m not at the bottom of the mountain. I can’t be more than halfway down.
Are we supposed to jump over it? I wonder, but the snow is rough and high and not rounded like a jump would be. By the time I realize that the slope cuts a very hard right, I have to move my legs too quickly.
I feel gravity win. I lose control. I turn my left ski too hard, and it’s not positioned correctly to help me turn. I start to fall. I brace myself, ready to break my back, but inside I slam into the wall of snow with a soft plump.
I blink for a moment, trying to feel if anything is hurt. But I’m fine. The most discomfort I have is some snow falling down the front of my ski jacket.
“Oh!” I say aloud, sighing in relief. I look back up the empty slope from where I came. “Thank God no one saw that.”
“I did.” I hear a voice on top of the wall of snow.
I frown and look up to see James with his goggles resting on his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. I’m a little mad he was witness to my clumsiness.
“This is my slope.” He nods backwards. “When I was going down, I saw a guy do the exact same thing you did right here. So I decided to wait for you to get caught.”
“You were so sure I’d fall too?”
“Was I wrong?”
I raise my eyebrows.
“You fell right into my web, snowflake.” He hops over the wall in just his ski boots. I do not have the skill to get back into my skis on anything but flat ground, but James is skilled. He pulls me out of the snowbank.
“You were worried,” I say, realizing why he was waiting for me.
“Nah.”
“Yes, you were. That’s why you were waiting.”
He shrugs in an aloof, you caught me kind of way. “I had to make sure you got down the mountain in one piece.”
“You hate losing. You’re buying dinner now, aren’t you?”
“Yeah, and since you’re okay… you’re going to pay for that.” He backs up and starts balling up a fistful of snow.
“Oh no you don’t!” I bend over and scoop up some snow myself.
He hits me first in the ski jacket, but his toss is without much power.
“Are you babying me?” I say and throw mine with more power.
He ducks right into my shot, and it explodes on his shoulder.
“Maybe.” He starts to form another, but I’m slower. He throws at my hands and destroys the snowball I’m making, and snow goes shooting up my sleeves.
“Hey! That’s dirty!” I say and wring out my hands.
He takes a few quick steps towards me and takes me down in a light tackle back into the snowbank. “Sorry,” he says.
I take a fistful of snow and crumple it up over his head. He closes his eyes and grins as the flakes fall over his face.
“Okay,” James says, pulling his hat off to wipe the snow off. “We’re even.”
He’s wearing that oatmeal wool hat again. The one with the blue ring of fabric he had in Central Park.
“Why do you have that silly hat?”
“Is it that silly?”
“Yes. It could even be called a stupid hat.”
“You’re just jealous. It’s very warm.”
I can tell there’s something he’s not telling me. The hat looks old and wiry. I realize it must’ve belonged to someone else. It could’ve been Sabrina’s. The woman who took care of him and was murdered. I suddenly feel awful for making fun of it.
“Besides. It looks good on you.” James takes my hat off and puts his on my head. He pinches the corner, to adjust it just so, and then he comes in for a kiss.
His warm mouth is a haven in the cold. A woodstove. Bliss. We kiss for a minute until I grow hot and impatient with my snowpants.
James breaks the kiss and rolls so we’re both on our backs facing the sky. I look up the slope to see that we still have it all to ourselves before I nuzzle in close to his chest.
He takes his hat back, and before he puts it back on, he holds it up and points to the sky. “Do you see the moon?” he asks.
I can see just a phantom of it. Bone white among the wisps of clouds. “I can. It’s beautiful.”
“Yeah,” James says distantly, his arm still extended, pointing.
There’s something about the silence on the slope that’s so perfect that the words come to my lips.
I know what I feel. If I’m being honest, I’ve known for a long time what has been building.
But it’s too early. It would be crazy to tell him I love him. Crazy to tell him the truth. I nuzzle in a little closer and do the next best thing.
I turn towards his neck, and I mouth the words with just a little breath. “I love you,” I say. There’s no way he heard me.
I swear I hear him whisper something back. But with my hood up, I can’t be sure.
“What was that?” I say, bringing my head up to look at him.
“It wouldn’t be the worst death if we stayed like this until we froze.”
“I think you and I have a lot more fun to be had first,” I say.
James gets up out of the snow and brushes himself off. Then he gives me a hand and picks up my poles for me. “You’re right. A lifetime of it.”
“Yeah. A lifetime.”
He puts his hat back on and looks down the slope. “Hmm.” He looks down the slope. “Bet I beat you to the bottom. And I still have to put on my skis.”
“We’ll see about that. And what’s the bet?”
James squints. “Loser has to go down on the other for twenty minutes.”
“Deal. You’re about to have one sore tongue, punk.”
“Even when I lose, I win. You’re the one who tastes like fresh honey.”
“I do not.”
The creases in his forehead sharpen. “You absolutely do. It’s uncanny.”
“James, you’re flattering, but come on.”
“So, some sommelier can describe a wine as oaky, but I can’t say you taste like sweetness and flowers? I don’t think so.”
“Well, you’re about to have twenty minutes to figure out your palate,” I say, and I take off down the slope. After a few seconds, I look over my shoulder to see that James still hasn’t moved an inch.
He’s watching me, and even from this distance, I can see the big smile that stretches across his face.
With the wind whipping and the skis swishing, I have the cover to say it aloud as loud as I want this time. And I do.
“I love you, James Callaway,” I say, and then I tuck my poles under my arms to gain even more speed.
He gave me a head start, pun intended. But I don’t plan on giving him a chance.