HIS LAST FALL

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “Well, let’s hurry before everyone else makes the same decision. We’ll never get a taxi.” My mom, always five steps ahead of everyone else, gets the family moving. “I wanted to try that little place on the corner before we turn to the arena.”

  There’s no possible way anyone would have any idea what restaurant she’s talking about. Who pays that kind of attention?

  “Oh you mean the one with the neon sign in the boot out front?” my dad asks. Okay, no one but my dad would understand my mom’s crazy logic and figure it out.

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Reagan, over here,” Marley yells across the room waving me over.

  The room used for press conferences is large, but still stuffed with reporters. Microphones, cameras, and enough hairspray to supply an eighties hair band. Marley sits in the back of one of the long rows of chairs they’ve assembled. The only people who ever sit down at these interviews are family members. The first few minutes everyone pretends to be composed human beings, but once the athletes come in, chaos always ensues.

  The chairs are little, but Marley sits directly in the middle of two of them. Her elbows sticking out and her eyes narrowed, making sure everyone knows this is her space. She knows what to do. These rooms get savage.

  “Hurry and sit down,” she says rushing me with a waving hand.

  She slides over to one seat and I drop down in the other now empty one. The two sides clicking together, my chair becomes unbalanced like we’re playing an adult version of musical chairs. “Thanks for saving me a seat. Where are my parents?”

  “Eating breakfast. Your dad said they’d catch it on TV.” She shrugs.

  My parents have followed Remi along longer than I have. I guess they figure if they miss one last press conference, it won’t be the end of the world. Besides, their view from the TV will probably be better than ours. Right now most of the reporters are sitting in their seats in a dignified manner, the cameramen lining the outside walls. But it won’t last. We’ll maybe catch a view of someone’s hand, or a foot in between the crush of bodies, but it’s never likely.

  The lights dim in the room, reminding me of kindergarten when the teacher used the same method as a way to quiet the class. Except here it has the exact opposite effect. The murmurs and quiet conversations pick up as the lights dim further and then finally everyone quickly hushes. The American snowboarding team walks into the room single file from one of the doors behind the podium. The reporters immediately jump up from their seats, like a president walked in. There’s clapping, a few tears, and someone whistles in the back.

  “Here we go again,” I comment and stand with Marley when she does.

  She claps loudly to match everyone else. “This is Remi’s last time. We need to support him.”

  “Okay,” I say clapping as fast as possible, but mostly for her benefit, not mine or Remi’s.

  Her boyfriend is the first to walk out the door and stands on the far right of the podium. Knox brings up the rear of the group, and even though I swear it’s impossible, he looks right at me and spots me in the crowd. His smile grows and he winks in my direction. Camera’s flash, the shutter sounds overwhelming. But there’s no way he could see me standing in the back, hidden by what feels like five hundred reporters. Is there?

  Knox and I have only started on our journey together and we’re definitely in the puppy love phase, but my stomach does a little twisty role at the thought he found me in this crowd. It doesn’t make sense, considering I’ve been around Knox since we were teenagers. But it happens just the same.

  The hotel finally did get clearance for everyone to reenter the rooms, but it was late last night. We had time to stop at the little restaurant my mom talked about and order dinner. When my parents, Remi, and Marley headed back to the hotel, I stayed with Knox in the team rooms. Every athlete is jittery the night before a big event and Knox is no different. He spent over forty-five minutes visualizing his win on the snowboarding cross. It’s a new competition at this year’s event, and Knox wants to be the first American to win a gold in it.

  Every one competing wants to be the first to win a gold in it. It’s an easy and quick way to get your name in the record books forever.

  In a lot of ways, it’s like a downhill skiing event, but don’t tell Knox I said that. Snowboarders race down the hill facing a bunch of jumps, berms, and narrow curves. So maybe it’s more like a motocross event, but on snowboards. And a little bit dangerous. You’re supposed to make it down the hill with your supreme ability to stay on your snowboard, but more often than not at least two snowboarders will collide while racing. Basically, it’s a perfect sport for an adrenaline junkie like Knox.

  The public relations person, the same guy we’ve seen throughout the last week and a half, steps in front of the group and takes a microphone. He must have kissed Asbell’s ass thoroughly the last four years to get this gig. The brown-noser prattles on about the significance of this event and the importance of all countries putting aside their differences and coming together to blah blah blah. It’s the same thing they say every year.

  At every event.

  “Is Knox nervous?” Marley whispers in my ear.

  I shake my head no, but widen my eyes so she knows I mean fuck yes. But I absolutely cannot be overheard by any reporter admitting Knox is nervous. Something like that could damage his career. Even if it’s a perfectly logical emotion to feel at this time. In this day and age, athletes aren’t actual people. They’re not allowed to be fearful or nervous or fucked up in any way. So much senseless pressure. Thank goodness I have no athletic ability.

  “I’ll allow the athletes to answer a few questions.” The spokesperson steps back as the reporters basically rush the stage. He points to a young woman in a dark business suit. Women always get to ask the first question.

  She waves her cameraman forward and steps to the side to grab a microphone. I clench my teeth and rise higher in my seat to get a better view. This is my favorite part of any press conference. It’s a mini competitive event in itself. It’s the time when a reporter can ask absolutely anything. Nobody has vetted these questions. This is how Bill Clinton ended up getting asked what kind of underwear he wears. I’m always waiting for the day a reporter asks a truly off-the-wall question that will make us all gasp in our seats. It’ll be media drama. They’ll make memes of it on the Internet.

  Of course, that never actually happens. It’s always questions like, “How do you feel about today’s race?” or “Do you hope you take home a gold medal today?” What athlete doesn’t want to win the gold medal? So many wasted opportunities.

  When reporters want to spice it up and be daring, they’ll ask about breakfast routines. Or how many hours a man spends in the gym. Topics I’m sure they find super exciting, but anyone with a hint of common sense knows are stupid. They eat a lot of healthy crap for breakfast and spend a lot of hours in the gym. Even though it’s unlikely to happen, I hold out hope one day somebody will give us a real doozy of a question.

  The reporter asks about how top athletes deal with event jitters. And of course all the guys give her their standard public relations approved answers. Drink a glass of water, talk with their mom or their wife, and sometimes they meditate.

  It’s all a load of bullshit. For the last winter games, one of the athletes from Russia smoked half a pack of cigarettes before he went down the hill. He’d be out there hiding behind a building. Puffing away.

  Hey don’t look at me. I’m not the smoker. I didn’t say I understand athletes, just that I know a lot about them. The one attribute they all have in common… they’re crazy.

  This time the conference leader picks a man. He elbows his way to the front of the group waiting for a microphone. “Mr. Jonsson how do you feel about being the new record holder for winning the most medals in the halfpipe event at the Gold-Medal Winter Games?”

  Really? What does this guy expect? For Remi to walk up to the mic and say he hates it. Athletes live for this shit. He didn’t train
since childhood not to have more medals than anyone else.

  Remi beams, taking a step forward to pull himself out from the group. “It’s a true honor. I worked hard and I’m so excited to bring the newest silver medal home for the American team. Where we can enjoy it and celebrate together.”

  More bullshit. The man has a room full of his trophies and medals. He’ll take that sucker home and put it on the wall so he can stare at it for hours at a time for the next year. Every time anyone walks past the doorway to the room, they’ll be expected to stop, look at it, and give it reverence. Sure, he’s proud to be an American and all that jazz, but Remi did not win a medal for Americans. He won a medal for Remi.

  The next reporter asks Cyrus, a parallel giant slalom athlete about how his practices have gone. He gives the standard, they’re great. Everything is wonderful. It wouldn’t matter if this guy tumbled down the mountain six times yesterday. He could be hiding a half broken leg under his track suit right now. He’s always going to say everything is perfect.

  Boring. Boring. Boring.

  “My question is for Mr. Knox Keaton.” The reporter, a short brunette asks, her hand in the air. Knox steps forward, and even though the question will be silly like his pre-event rituals or what he ate this morning for breakfast, my stomach still flip flops, and I hold my breath. “Jenna Fortune has been spotted many times over the last week watching various events. Many of us are curious about the rumors circulating that she is here to see you. Do you have any comments on this?”

  The reporter steps back and Marley slaps me in the arm. “What the hell?”

  Well would you look at that. The first half-exciting question and it’s about my new boyfriend. If that’s what we’re calling ourselves.

  Well, the first half-exciting question and it involves my maybe new boyfriend.

  Knox clears his throat. “I didn’t know Ms. Fortune was attending the events. I have not seen her. I am however very much attached to Ms. Jonsson. And she will be cheering me on at my race this afternoon. Thank you.”

  For a few moments while we wait for the next reporter to step up, the room fills with the constant undertone of chatter. More than likely reporters are trying to figure out who Mrs. Jonsson is. Eventually someone will probably put two and two together. But by then they’ll be on to the next event and the next athletes.

  “Hell yeah! It’s about time!” my brother yells and then follows it up with a horrible whistle from his side of the line. He and Knox share an in the air fists five, both of them smiling.

  I guess the reporters may figure it out a little bit sooner than planned. The crowd laughs, and I sink into the seat as far as possible, my cheeks turning a little pink. I try to look at a speck of dust on the floor so no one figures out who I am. At least not while I’m in this room.

  Marley hits my arm again. “Well this should be interesting.”

  I nod my head slightly. “McKenna is not gonna like this.”

  “Okay, we’ll take one more question from the audience.” The spokesperson raises high on his toes and picks someone in the middle of the crowd.

  “Is there an update on the fire that happened at the American based hotel here yesterday afternoon?”

  “Yes,” the gentleman steps further up. “I’ll answer that one. The fire department did a thorough inspection of the hotel and no immediate threats were found. At this time it is the officials and the US team’s belief that the fire was a false alarm and not a terrorist or other threat. More than likely it was an innocent prank gone wrong and not something done with malicious intent. Security footage is continuously being reviewed and when we determine the exact cause and time, I will have further updates.”

  He turns, giving the signal for the snowboarders to walk off the stage. This is only the first of many press releases to happen today. One for each team.

  “Thank you for your questions. That is all the time we have for the snowboarding team. In forty-five minutes we will be back with our ski program and take questions at that time. I hope to see you then. Thank you.”

  The lights dim a fraction as they did earlier, letting us all know he’s serious. We don’t have to go home, but we can’t stay here.

  “Well that was an interesting press conference.” Marley stands for a minute. There’s no way we’ll await around forty-five minutes to hear what the skiers have to say. Not that we’d care anyway.

  I follow, dusting off invisible fuzz from the front of my pants. “Why doesn’t anyone ever ask something good?”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “You need to step back, miss.” An official stops in front of me using his arms to create a wide berth around him. “We’re trying to maintain at least ten feet from the finish line as a safety buffer.”

  Safety buffer?

  Safety buffer? I hate when they use words like safety and buffer. Sure we all know being an athlete comes with the possibility of injury, especially in events with high accident rates like the snowboard cross. The exact event Knox is to run in about two minutes. I don’t need them to remind me.

  Although this comment irritates me, it’s exactly the reason I’m at the bottom of the hill and not at the top where the spectator seats are. If anything happens to Knox, he has to come down the mountain. It’s where he’ll end up if he wins, finishes without an incident, or doesn’t finish because he’s been taken out on a stretcher. This area is the worst place to watch the race from, view-wise, but the best location to get somewhere quickly when this is over.

  The snowboard cross is not a long, ongoing event. There aren’t a bunch of different trials or a bracket system. All the snowboarders line up at the top and race down the same course. One race, one win, that’s all it is. The women raced earlier and the men this afternoon. Both groups get a time trial in the morning that helps decide the placement of the starting line for the official race. Knox finished well, but not the best. His placement is in the middle of the pack. He’ll have to fight his way up at least two spots to win and break away from the group.

  The middle is where most people have collisions. It’s not like this is a synchronized event, it’s an all-out free-for-all. I step back a few more feet and turn my body slightly so the finish line is in sight. It’s also the perfect place to watch the race on the large television screen they’ve placed to the left of where I stand.

  Loud cheering from the stands on top of the hill seeps down to where I wait. On the television screen, a cameraman zooms in on the athletes making their way to the starting block. The eight racers line up in a straight row. Each getting into their starting stance. Some lean far back and get ready for a big push off. But Knox stands straight and tall, ready to meet his fate.

  It happens quickly.

  Once the racers are in position and ready to go, the presenter starts the countdown.

  Five.

  Four.

  Three.

  Two.

  One.

  The starting buzz sounds and the race begins. The gates fly open. The racers are off right out of the start and are met with three small hills. The first snowboarders battle for position early. Knox pulls ahead a half a snowboard length from the rest the crowd. The first main obstacle, a huge ramp, is directly after the three small hills. He hits the top, pulls his knees and jumps. This isn’t the time for tricks or looking cool. They need to use the space to garner position. It’s not about being pretty. It’s about speed and time. His body twists a fraction in the air to brace making contact with the ground and he comes out at the same time as the Canadian snowboarder. Knox’s board inches behind.

  Three fast turns curve the track. The group of snowboarders lean in and make the turn. They veer to the right and my body leans with them.

  Each and every racer on the track twists as they move themselves left. Knox pulls ahead of the Canadian, but not by much.

  I crouch down. It’s easier to watch the race and deal with the suspense when I’m closer to the ground. “Come on. Come on, Knox,” I chant quietly to myself.<
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  There are two ramps ahead. Knox makes it over the first, clears the distance between, and hits the top of the second ramp hard. He’s finally making some distance away from the pack of snowboarders. Normally by now they’d have fanned out to give themselves space, but this group seems ready to go head to head the entire time. It makes the conditions extra dangerous. At any time one of them could trip or stumble and take out the entire pack.

  Knox has two snowboarders on his tail, the Canadian and an athlete from Norway. He hits a series of hills before they do, but not by enough time. John, the Canadian, loses his balance. With his legs wobbling, he flails his arms out and hits Knox directly in the chest. He falls back on his board taking Knox with him.

  “Oh my God. No!” I shove my mitten over my mouth and suck in the material, breathing through it. My stomach clenches as I attempt not to puke.

  Knox slides on his butt trying to regain control of his board and get his balance back. His body contorts as the Canadian continues to slip further off the track taking out another snowboarder with him.

  He struggles, going over a small hill with his body bent at the waist in some horrifying angle. At the bottom half of the last hill Knox gains control and stands up on his board.

  “Oh my God!” I stand to see the race on the big screen better.

  Knox descends a steep slope the racers use to gain momentum at the end of the track. He gains speed going faster and faster until the cameras have trouble staying on him and are forced to pan out. There’s a huge jump at the end of the track. Knox hits hard, bending his knees. He looks to his left and right checking for other competitors. His board hits the ground inches in front of the finish line so hard I swear I feel the shake from where I stand. Knox slides across the finish line with the snowboarder from Norway.

  As soon as he crosses, I immediately run to the end of the track. Knox falls on his back, slipping a few more inches. When he stops I run and jump on top of him, crushing him to the ground. He pushes his snow goggles off his face and I kiss him long and dirty.