Chapter 7
HANNAH
Eventually, I find Maya sitting in an empty ski lift chair, the lift stationary, and take a seat next to her, waiting for her to speak first.
An owl hoots somewhere in the distance, and the trees create shadows from the moon above, looking like monsters across snow banks. It's beautiful how everything remains still, as if the whole world has stopped for just a moment, giving us a chance to catch our breath.
Maya swings her legs back and forth, sighing. “I know, I know—storming off like that wasn’t the best way to handle things.”
I shrug. “Well, in your defense, they kept it from you.”
“Yeah, but I could have reacted better. Gosh, I cringed the whole way up here at myself for it. Hit me next time, please?” She turns to me, smirking.
“Whatever keeps you in line,” I laugh, copying her movements.
Her smile fades, and her legs slow their swinging.
I flex my fingers, my black gloves keeping them warm. “I’m sorry I was the one who found out first.”
She gives me a half smile. “I would rather it be you than some stranger.”
“What about Gift Card Dude?” I tease, nudging her shoulder.
“I swear to GOD you mention him one more time, I’m going to dump hot dog water all over you outside so you freeze with the smell clinging to your body.
” She nudges my shoulder, and I smile when, suddenly, I hear Maya’s chest shaking, barely controlling her laughter.
At least we still have our sense of humor.
“We should go out with a bang, maybe create a winter wonderland event or something,” I suggest, watching stars twinkle above.
Maya grabs my face, noses touching, brown eyes wild. “What are you doing, Maya?”
She kisses my forehead. “Hannah Banana, you’re a fucking genius!” she shouts, rocking our seat back and forth.
Thank God the lift is stationary.
“How? What did I say?”
“We’re not getting any new revenue, so maybe an event can change that? How the hell did my parents not think of this before!”
“Maybe they did, and because of the lack of revenue, couldn’t afford it?”
“Maybe, but there has to be a way around it to at least try!”
My mind starts to grind like rusty gears, formulating an idea. “Okay, so what kind of event should we aim for? We have to try and get not only returning customers but new ones.”
She taps her chin, formulating a deep-rooted plan. “All right, we’re known to have the best slopes, regardless of the neighboring competition.” She pulls out her phone. “I’m just going to see what the others are offering.”
“I wonder if they do events, too. Maybe that’s why they’re able to keep afloat.” I can see the website coming together, with new photos showcasing the brand-new events and what Snowy Peak offers. I smile to myself while Maya types vigorously on her phone.
“No harm in getting inspiration from others,” she comments, smiling devilishly, then says, “I see bake-offs for Christmas cookies, kind of boring. Craft centers, book clubs for winter romance books, snooze fest. Kids' karaoke night. Jeesh, how are they making bucks off of these cheesy-ass events?”
Giggling, I suggest, “You know Snowy Peak is known for slopes? Why not make an event out of that, maybe a competition?”
Maya rocks the cart again. “Hannah Banana!”
“I’m going to kill you!”
“Not after the idea you just gave me, you won’t.”
“Better be a goddamn good one, otherwise you’re about to eat yellow snow,” I threaten, trying to stop the cart from swaying more.
“We can have snowboarders come and do the event! Give them a platform and exposure, along with their families and friends who come to support them!” She smiles, clasping her hands together.
“Creating more revenue,” I say, tapping my chin. “Maybe offer a prize? Make it into an actual competition?” I add. “Would your parents be cool with it?”
“Only one way to find out. I don’t think any neighboring ski resorts offer such inclusive activities. This could be huge, Hannah.” Maya beams.
“I can take pictures of them, hyping up the event!” Man, I hope her parents say yes. “Run the ads and revamp the website. Maybe call the local newspaper to run an article for it?”
She hugs me tight. “Okay, let’s take the night to refresh and use tomorrow to create our pitch and present it to my parents after dinner, sound good?”
“Good to me. I’m freezing my ass off anyway.”
“If we hurry, the hot chocolate station should still be open.”
I nearly trip when Maya hops off the seat first, kicking snow in my face. “You did that on purpose!”
“Can’t prove it!” she yells, running down the hill, sliding with her snow boots on.
The night sky up in Vermont, away from city lights, is clear—stars shining bright overhead.
I can see the Big Dipper and Little Dipper, clearly visible, unlike a typical night in Boston.
The air is fresher up here, calming. It’s never this quiet at home; my life is filled with noise.
My mind is constantly replaying the what-ifs, the roar of my insecurities that have drowned out everything since my diagnosis.
But Maya needs me, her family needs me. If this is the final season here at Snowy Peak, we'd better make it a fucking good one.