by Mari Mancusi
So how come I still felt such overwhelming dread the closer I got toward the mountain?
CHAPTER FIVE
When people first hear “ski and snowboard school” they usually assume that all our classes take place outside and that we soar down the slopes from dawn till dusk without a care in the world for anything boring and educational. But, though most of us would probably prefer that kind of all-practice-all-the-time schedule, unfortunately the grand state of Vermont feels it’s important that we athletes still receive a well-rounded education. I suppose it makes sense, seeing as the average winter-sports career has a retirement age of about thirty (without any retirement plan to speak of). Sure, the more accomplished athletes usually end up as coaches, such as my dad, or working the circuit as announcers or the like. But the rest? If they didn’t manage to score enough sponsor seed money during their glory days, they needed a backup plan.
That said, we still had to practice. A lot. So to maximize our time out on the slopes during the winter months, we’d spend off-season (from September to mid November and April to June) on an accelerated academic track—getting in as much regular instruction as possible before that first big snowfall. After that, our classroom time was cut in half, and we spent the majority of our days in training. Which, by the way, could mean an hour in the weight room or a round of soccer just as easily as a session in the half-pipe. At Mountain Academy they worked on sculpting the total athlete. After all, you couldn’t make those massive airs if you weren’t strong in many different kinds of ways.
This year, however, I’d missed all that early-semester cramming, courtesy of Mom’s Florida homeschooling, and I’d arrived right in time for the true winter season, where we’d spend the entire afternoon out on the mountain. My classmates were all out there now, somewhere, honing their skills on the half-pipe or in the terrain park, while I, myself, would remain on an independent study program with a private instructor until I was pronounced ready to rejoin my friends.
It felt strange being back on a chairlift, inching my way toward the summit while watching the tiny antlike skiers and snowboarders glide down the mountain below. It was a Friday, November, early in the season, so the place was pretty quiet, with only a few retirees and locals dotting the trails. Once Saturday hit, the resort would be packed with weekend warriors, ready to get their shred on after spending a rough week slaving away in their offices. I envied them, in a way. For them, the sport was a simple pastime, and no one was counting on them to do anything but have fun.
I gnawed at my lower lip, my anxiety rising with the altitude. On impulse, I started to sing under my breath, like I used to when things got tense during a race, concentrating on hitting all the right notes, remembering all the words—forgetting everything else. To my relief it seemed to work, and by the time I got up to the top of the mountain, I was so into the song, I almost forgot to get off the lift.
I raised the bar as the chairlift slowed, unfortunately not enough to stop me from stumbling on the dismount, unused to the feeling of slick snow and ice under my board. My face flamed as the lift operator made a move to help me back up. I waved him off, thankful that, at least, he must have been new and didn’t recognize me. Once I cleared the chairlift path, I undid my second binding and carried my snowboard across the flat, toward the green-circle trail Baby Bear—where I was to meet my private instructor.
“Lexi! Over here!” a familiar voice cried just as I’d almost reached my intended trail. I whirled around in surprise. I hadn’t realized the new terrain park, the Apocalypse, was two trails down from Baby Bear. And I definitely hadn’t realized that the advanced freestyle snowboard class would be meeting there this afternoon. And I definitely, definitely hadn’t planned on being recognized by Brooklyn as I tried to sneak past them. Awesome.
I ducked my head and kept moving, hoping perhaps Brooklyn would think she’d mistaken me for someone else. Some random stranger who just happened to be wearing the same exact purple-and-yellow limited-edition Burton jacket I’d won at Regionals last year.
Um, yeah. Right.
“Hey, Lexi, come over and check out the new park!” So much for low profile. Now the whole class was calling to me. Reluctantly I changed my path and headed over to the top of the trail, where the students were sitting on the snow, waiting for their turn to drop into the park below. Including, I noticed dismally, Olivia herself.
“Lexi!” Coach Basil exclaimed, waving at me. “Welcome back!”
A former pro-snowboarder, Coach Basil had retired at age twenty-five to coach at Mountain Academy after a tendon injury cut short her winter-sports career. In addition to being our coach, she also taught drama and served as the den mother for our floor. We all liked her and would often end up hanging out in her room, listening to her extensive indie-music collection. Sometimes she even let us download the albums from her player, as long as we promised not to tell the establishment.
“Thanks,” I muttered, my face burning under my helmet. “It’s, uh, good to be back.”
“And it’s great to see you, of course,” Coach Basil replied carefully. Then she gave me a hard look. “But to be honest, Lexi, I didn’t think you’d be up here so soon. In fact, I was told you wouldn’t be rejoining our class for at least another month. . . .” She trailed off, and I flinched at her pitying expression, desperately wanting to dig myself a hole in the snow and hide. I could feel the eyes of my classmates on me now, especially Olivia’s. What was I supposed to say? That I wasn’t rejoining the advanced class after all? That I was actually headed over to the bunny slope instead?
I knew in my head there was no shame in it; in fact, any normal person would think it was a smart and sensible thing to do—to take it easy and find my feet before jumping off the deep end. But my fellow students weren’t normal people—they were total sharks, and any hint of blood in the snow would spark a feeding frenzy. After all, there were only limited spots on the teams, and I couldn’t let them think for even a second that mine was up for grabs.
“Please! You know Lexi,” Brooklyn butted in. “She just couldn’t wait to bomb this amazing new park.” She turned to me, eyes shining. “Lexi, I promise you, girl, you are going to fall in love with this thing. It is made of awesome.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Olivia cut me off. “It is awesome,” she agreed in a most patronizing tone. “But Lexi, are you sure you’re ready to hit something so difficult? I mean, after all you’ve been through! Maybe you should take it easy for a while. In fact,” she added brightly, “there’s a great bunny slope just across the way. Maybe you should just hop on over to that instead.” Behind her the Boarder Barbies giggled and nudged one another.
I didn’t know what to say. This was getting worse and worse. If I turned tail now, headed over to Baby Bear as Olivia had suggested, I’d only confirm what everyone was secretly hoping. That I’d lost my edge. That the injury had ruined me. That my coveted Golden Girl status was ripe for the taking.
But if I said, no, that I’d planned to hit the park all along, well, then I’d actually have to hit the park. With no warm-up. And my entire advanced freestyle snowboarding class watching.
I knew I should turn and go. After all, I shouldn’t have to prove anything to them. They could think what they wanted—it didn’t change anything in the end. But then I caught Olivia’s smug smirk out of the corner of my eye. As if she knew exactly what kind of bind she’d put me in.
I made my decision.
“Are you kidding?” I found myself saying. “I’m totally here to conquer the Apocalypse. And all I can say is there better be zombies!” I pantomimed locking and loading my imaginary shotgun with as much bravado as I could muster.
My classmates laughed and cheered. Coach Basil frowned. “Hang on a second. I need to make sure this has been cleared by your coach—or at least your father—before I let you go.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her walkie-talkie. “Class, hang tight for a second.”
She turned and walked a few feet
off so we couldn’t overhear her conversation. I could feel the eyes of the rest of the class on me. I knew if I was going to make my move it would have to be now. Once Coach Basil talked to my dad, it’d be back to the bunny slope and humiliation city for sure.
Quickly and quietly—so as not to attract Coach Basil’s attention, I strapped my feet into my board. I’d had to buy a new one to replace the one I’d snapped during the accident last year. It was a little stiffer than my previous board, but that would only help me go huge on the jumps. Once I was strapped in, I inched over to the starting gate and peered down at the park below. Wow. Dante hadn’t been kidding—this park was killer. The biggest, baddest park I’d ever seen—with sky-high rainbow rails and huge tabletop jumps. Handrails, kickers, picnic tables—this park had it all. I would have loved everything about it before my accident.
Now it just filled me with dread.
No big deal, I told myself, trying to ignore the eyes of my fellow students glued to my every move as I prepared to push off. I’d taken breaks from snowboarding before—it was like riding a bike. Not something I’d ever forget. Dad told me to get right back on that horse—that holding back would only psyche me out and make things more difficult in the end. This was my chance to prove not only to them—but also to myself—that I still had it. That Golden Girl still reigned supreme.
All I had to do was hit one feature. A jump, a rail, something to show them I hadn’t lost it completely. As I squared my shoulders and attempted to force down my fear, I worked to summon up the adrenaline rush I used to get from looking down into a park. Could I find that somewhere again, buried deep inside?
“Lexi!” Coach Basil’s disapproving voice cut through the crisp air. “I just spoke with your father, and he said you were supposed to—”
I pushed off, her protests lost in the crunch of snow as I dropped in, heading toward the first rainbow rail. The wind whipped at my face, stinging my cheeks and making my eyes water, but I ignored the pain, focusing on the task at hand. All I had to do was pop up onto the iron railing, slide down it, then jump off. Maybe throw in a little trick—a tail grab, a 180 turn, something small. No big deal. A six-year-old could do it.
Well, if that six-year-old got up enough speed, they could. Which, for some reason, I was having difficulty doing—my legs refusing to obey my brain’s instructions, deciding instead to dig the edge of my board into the snow, forcing me to slow down. By the time I reached the rail, I didn’t have enough speed to launch onto it, and I had to totally bail, skipping the feature and heading farther down the mountain.
You’re okay, I told myself. You’ll just hit the next one.
Unfortunately, the next one in this case turned out to be a huge tabletop jump. The same kind of jump I’d fallen on back in December. Great.
“Lexi!” I could vaguely hear Coach Basil’s voice from far away. “Stop right now! You’re not supposed to be—”
I tucked my body in tight, forcing myself to hit the launch pad head-on. Clenching my hands into fists, I attempted to find both speed and courage at the same time.
But just as I reached the jump, my vision spun, throwing me off-balance. A dizziness crashed over me and my throat locked up—stealing away my breath. My knees buckled under me as I careened off course, flew up into the air, and face-planted in the snow. As my heart pounded in my chest so hard I was sure it would break my ribs, a scream echoed through my ears. It took me a moment or two to realize it was coming from my own mouth.
“Lexi!”
Coach Basil’s voice sounded like it was coming from far away, muffled by a thousand layers of cotton. I shook my head, attempting to clear my vision as I swiped away the snow caked onto my face. I tried to sit up, only to find myself collapsing back onto the trail, my hands shaking hard enough to create a whirlwind of flakes swirling around me.
“Are you okay?” Coach Basil cried, her voice closer this time. I felt hands on me, helping me sit up. I was still dizzy, but my vision had started to clear. “Did you hurt yourself?”
Did I? It took me a minute to assess. But no, nothing seemed to be injured. Except, of course, my pride. Not to mention my hopes and dreams.
And my golden snowboarding career, which now had officially turned to tin.
CHAPTER SIX
Seriously, what were you thinking, Lexi? Hitting the hardest snowboard park in the history of snowboard parks your first run after your accident? That’s crazy—even for you!”
Caitlin plopped down beside me on my bed, where I was currently curled up, fetal position, staring at the wall. Pretty much the same position I’d been in since early that afternoon, after being dragged down the mountain by ski patrol. Which, I might add, pretty much ranked up there with the most embarrassing experiences of my life—with my entire advanced freestyle snowboarding class getting an up-close-and-personal look at my apocalyptic defeat on the Apocalypse.
It was one thing to fall. That was humiliating enough. But then—when I realized I couldn’t get back up no matter how hard I tried? That was when I wanted to crawl behind a snowbank and never come out.
Instead I lay there, sprawled out on the hill like the saddest of snow angels, with even the idea of standing up on my board making me sick to my stomach. My hands were shaking, and I could barely see through my tears. Coach Basil had to literally unstrap the board from my feet, just to get me to move. All while Olivia and the Boarder Barbies watched from their perches above.
Pride comes before a fall, Olivia had told me that fateful day. She hadn’t been wrong.
Seriously, what was I thinking—believing I could just pick up right where I left off before the accident, no big deal? It seemed crazy now that I thought back to it. The stupidest idea ever. But then I remembered their eyes, drilling into me. Olivia’s self-satisfied smirk. I’d wanted so badly to prove I still had it. That I was still Golden Girl. Still number one. And so I’d let common sense take a backseat to idiocy and managed to prove the exact opposite.
At first I’d seriously thought the fall had triggered a heart attack. After all, I had all the textbook symptoms: shaking hands, shortness of breath, aching chest, numbness in my left arm. But when I asked the nurse in the first aid hut, she only shook her head. “There’s nothing physically wrong with you, dear,” she told me. “You just had a panic attack. Probably post-traumatic stress from your accident last year. You need to take it easy for a while. Take your time getting back up to speed. Maybe try the bunny slope?”
A panic attack? I didn’t even know what that was. At least a heart attack was something real. A physical reason for me to have crashed and burned in front of my classmates. I could have redeemed myself from my hospital bed. Brave Lexi who tried to snowboard with a broken heart. That sounded almost noble.
But no, according to some quick WebMD research, the cause of my epic fail was literally all in my head. And there was no quick fix for this kind of thing either.
Feeling defeated, I’d trudged back to the dorm, where I lay in bed for the rest of the afternoon. Ignoring my father, who called three times and knocked on my door twice. The last thing I wanted to do was face him—Mr. Broken Collarbone at the Winter X Games. I bet he never let a little panic attack keep him from the sport he loved.
“It’s not my fault,” I moaned to my roommate. “You should have seen the way Olivia was looking at me. Like she was going to tell everyone in school how I’d lost it if I didn’t go and prove that I hadn’t.”
“Yeah, well, you sure showed her,” Caitlin snorted. I groaned.
“That’s it,” I declared. “I’m never, ever leaving my room again. Seriously. Not even to eat. They can drag out my corpse when it starts to out-stink Susan’s socks.”
Caitlin rolled her eyes. “No way,” she protested. “You do that and you let Olivia win. So you fell. Big deal. We’ve all fallen. Olivia more than most, I might add. The best revenge is to get right back out there and show her you couldn’t care less. That it’ll take more than some silly tumble to bring G
olden Girl down.”
She sounded almost inspiring. But I knew she had an ulterior motive for the pep talk. Namely, to convince me to accompany her to the student ice cream social that evening. She said it would be good for me to get out of bed and enjoy the DJ and dancing and make-your-own-sundae bar. Normally I would have been all over this kind of thing—but now I just couldn’t bring myself to face all the other kids staring at me and whispering.
“You’ve all fallen, but you’ve all gotten up,” I pointed out miserably. “I had to be rescued. Does that scream future Olympian to you?” I rolled over in bed, staring up at the ceiling. “Face it, Caitlin. My career is over. I might as well drop out and enroll in public school at this point. Give it all up for good.”
“Yeah, cause that’s a well-thought-out plan,” Caitlin remarked wryly. “Seriously, Lex. Stop the pity party for one second and think about it. You suffered a major accident. And your brain needs time to recover too—just like your body did. So how about you cut yourself some slack here?”
I made a face. “Do you think Shaun White cut himself some slack?” I asked, naming the world’s most famous snowboarder. “Or what about Jamie Anderson? You think she ever had a panic attack on a simple tabletop jump?”
“Yes, I do, actually,” Caitlin proclaimed. “In fact, I bet she’s had some pretty major panic attacks in her day. And yes, I believe even Shaun White himself may have fallen once or twice in his illustrious snowboarding career. In fact, I’ve seen the YouTube videos.
“But luckily for us,” she added, “and the entire snowboarding industry—neither of them quit the sport they loved because they were afraid of what people would say about them.”