“I do! I’ve heard you didn’t show up last week for youth group. What’s with that?”
She’s heard? Manda flinched at the interrogation. She wished it didn’t bother her. Evidently, her friends were talking behind her back, reporting to Jen and who knows who else about her church attendance—or lack of it.
“Our youth pastor was out of town, so youth group was actually canceled.” Which was completely true. Jenna simply hadn’t paid close attention to the happenings at Manda’s church. Besides, if she’d really been in the know, Jen would’ve accused Manda of not showing up for the adult service instead.
Manda had no time to argue. Besides, she really wasn’t enjoying these conversations with the pompous president of their otherwise way cool club. Jenna could just keep attending her dad’s Korean-speaking church and mind her own business. “Look, I’ve gotta run,” Manda said quickly.
“Isn’t it a little early to leave for school?” Jenna quizzed her.
“Not school . . . not yet.” She was tired of the drilling. Since when was she required to inform her friend of every little move she made, the tiniest details of her life? “I’m going to the gym to work out for an hour before school. See ya.”
Manda hung up without waiting for Jen to say good-bye. She carried the phone into the living room, depositing it with flair onto the coffee table.
“Everything okay?” Mom was hovering near the fireplace, an afghan wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sure . . . fine.” Manda pulled on her jacket and filled her backpack with her binder and other school essentials.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Mom asked.
“Oops.” She reached for the phone and dialed Mr. Greenberg’s cell number. When he answered, she said that her mom was going to baby-sit for Tarin today. “It’ll probably be for the next few days,” she said, reminding him of the race. “Then things will be back to normal.”
Whatever normal is, she thought.
“Sure, Manda. I’ll drop Tarin off there. Thanks for letting me know,” Mr. Greenberg said. “Placing in the Downhill Classic is top priority for you, of course.”
She could visualize his warm and encouraging smile. “Thanks for understanding.”
After she hung up once again, she hurried to the front door. Her hand was on the doorknob when Mom said, “You’ll be glad to know that a furnace repairman is on his way.”
“Great.”
“I phoned while you were in the shower,” Mom added.
“Well, stay close to the fire. I don’t want you catching cold.” She went and kissed Mom on the cheek. “Better give Uncle Frank a call. He’ll give you what for if he finds out there’s a problem.”
They exchanged knowing smiles, then Manda hurried out the door. She caught the city bus to AAG—Alpine Aerial Gymnastics—Jenna’s turf. All the while, she thought about the upcoming race, hoping and praying that everything on the home front would be just fine. Soon!
Truth was, she couldn’t afford to deal with any more critical issues. Not defunct furnaces, not a wayward father, and certainly not her lack of attendance at church. She was up to here with Jenna’s friendly but too-frequent phone reminders. How would Jen like it if Manda did that to her before a gymnastics meet? She couldn’t imagine poking her nose in Jenna Song’s athletic schedule or life. Never.
* * *
It wasn’t the weight lifting that Manda minded as she worked out at the gym. It was Jenna’s voice, ricocheting back and forth in her head, that was unbearable. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t shake the memory of her friend’s accusing voice. Did Jen actually think Manda was a bad person, staying away from God’s house? And just because she’d missed youth group last week. Get over it!
Sure, she’d missed last Sunday’s service, too. But it wasn’t like she’d stayed away without good reason. The day had been well spent, and Mom had approved. Manda and her teammates, along with Coach, had biked long distance to Dressel Hills, the choice ski resort to the north of Alpine Lake. She was working extra hard to catch up, getting fired up to trounce the mountain.
Until recently, one setback after another had occurred, mostly because of her mom’s broken leg. To help out, Manda stepped in as instructor last month for the preschool ski class at Alpine Ski Academy where her mom worked.
Manda was that way—always looking out for others—“wearing the pants in the family,” her mom often said. Her girl friends thought she’d become so take-charge because her dad wasn’t around. But Manda wasn’t so sure. All her life, she’d remembered being exceptionally confident, eager, and ready to take on the world.
Now . . . if she could just conquer one more thing: a monster of a mountain!
Can I do it? she asked herself, lifting one leg weight after another, feeling the burn in her muscles. She huffed her breath out one side of her cheek, filling her lungs long and deep, thinking through the downhill course on Eagle’s Point in Dressel Hills. Today, after school, she and Coach and her teammates were headed there again for several hours of practice on the beast of a slope. The more she skied the mountain, the more poise—and speed—she could rally. And she would memorize the course, as well. When it came to great skiing, memory played a vital role.
Manda had always had lots of opportunities to ski after Uncle Frank started picking up the monthly tab. The cost of lift tickets was nothing to sneeze at. Growing up in a ski-resort town, she could simply hurry off to the chair lifts and ride up the mountain after schoolwork was finished. Starting with the bunny slopes when she was only a toddler, she’d been following her mother down the slopes, getting faster with each run. And there were school trips to Vail and Aspen, where she would ski with her classmates, always competing, no matter the circumstance. She was hard-wired for ski racing. But could sheer determination, total concentration, and physical prowess snag her the coveted first place?
Was there more to winning?
Star Status
Chapter Three
For supper that night, Manda helped her mom make oven-baked chicken, potatoes, and glazed carrots. As always, there was a fresh vegetable salad with Mom’s own vinegar-and-oil dressing in a garlic-rubbed bowl. The tangy smell of peach cobbler, made with far less sugar than the recipe called for, filled the kitchen. Manda was a fanatic about her sugar intake. Too much was a killer on the slopes when she needed to draw on the stamina and grit that separated the good skiers from a superior dynamo. She didn’t call herself Downhill Dynamite for nothing.
“What was I really like as a kid?” she asked her mom after dinner as they both settled comfortably into the living room furniture.
The living room—the entire house—was toasty and warm tonight, thanks to a prompt visit by a local furnace repairman. The logs in the fireplace crackled and snapped, casting flickers of light on the wall. Soft violin music played in the background. The perfect setting and time for a heart-to-heart talk.
Looking up from her magazine, Mom grinned across the room. “Hey, you’re still a kid, don’t forget.”
“You know what I mean.” Manda sat cross-legged on the couch. “I’ve got my own memories of who I think I was back then, but I want your spin on it,” she said with a sigh. “So . . . what kind of little person was I?”
Mom chuckled softly, then grew more serious. “The truth?”
“The works.” Manda settled back against the couch.
“Well, let’s see. You were precocious, for starters . . . almost too smart for your britches from day one.”
“What else?”
“Everyone who knew you said how determined you were. Even as a baby, you had strong preferences for when and what you wanted. There was no doubt about that.”
Manda liked the sound of this. “So, was I a fighter?”
“You were very confident . . . still are. Once, you told me that you had your heart set on winning Olympic gold someday. That was after watching the winter Olympics on TV when you were only five years old.”
“I said that?” She c
ouldn’t remember the occasion.
“Like I said, you were stubborn about certain things. That’s what makes you get out there and ski your best.”
“Ski my brains out, right?” replied Manda.
Mom laughed again. “I think a few brain remnants might come in handy at the race, if you know what I mean.”
“Isn’t that the truth,” she whispered, thinking of the powerful skiers she and her teammates would be up against.
* * *
Much later in the evening, Mom brought up the topic of Tarin Greenberg. “He wasn’t quite himself today.”
“Probably missed his number one sitter.” Manda felt smug and good, missing the little boy.
Mom was thoughtful for a moment, then she said, “I can’t really say what struck me differently, but he certainly wasn’t his usual cheerful self.”
Manda wondered about that. Tarin was the ultimate precocious kid, filling up his free time with excursions through dictionaries and sometimes even online encyclopedias. The little boy could turn on articulate expression with a capital A!
She thought back to her first encounter with him. A few short weeks ago, she had interviewed for an after-school baby-sitting job with Tarin and his father. Exasperating, to say the least. Tarin was a boy with an exceptionally high IQ—a five-year-old genius—who knew three languages, and initially had preferred his attention-getting routine, designed to wow every adult he came in contact with. Absolutely obnoxious, that was Tarin Greenberg. Yet, somehow, she’d won the kid over, partly with the help of her harmonica. She could whip out her tiny mouth organ and play a melody or two, and Tarin calmed right down. Amazing! Who would believe it?
“Do you think Tarin’s upset about something?” Manda asked her mother.
“Like what?”
Manda shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“Well, you must have something in mind,” Mom replied.
Sure, she had something whirling around in her head. But to bring it up with Mom might be just a tad touchy. No . . . she didn’t think tonight was a good time to discuss Mom’s growing friendship with Tarin’s father.
“Manda?” Mom pressed for more.
She knows me too well, thought Manda, fidgeting. “Okay,” she said. She uncrossed her legs and looked her mom square in the face. “I’ll level with you.”
“Cool,” Mom said, the word slipping out so easily.
“Not cool . . . please don’t say that, Mom. It just doesn’t fit someone your age—not to be mean or anything, it’s just that—”
“So I’m not cool—too old to be cool, right?”
Oh boy, here we go . . . “Back to Tarin,” Manda said quickly.
“I’m all ears.”
Taking a deep breath, Manda continued. “Tarin’s got his hopes up . . . you know, about you and Mr. Greenberg. The future and all that.”
Mom fell silent.
“And, well, I guess Tarin and I are in the same boat.”
“You’re hoping that his dad and I end up together?” Mom asked.
Manda wondered, Do I dare say it?
“Is that what you meant to say?” Mom probed.
“Not just together as in dating or engaged, but married.” There, the word—the all-important topic—was out in the wide open for Mom to toss around in her brain and in her heart. Manda was all for Mr. Greenberg courting and marrying her mother. The sooner, the better.
Mom closed her magazine and leaned forward, sliding it on top of several others on the coffee table. She touched the artificial floral centerpiece momentarily. Her face was solemn now, and she seemed to be mulling things over. At last, she said, “Mr. Greenberg—Matthew—and I have been praying quite seriously about our friendship. And yes, I must say that things are moving along rather nicely.”
Rather nicely. Whatever that meant. “Do you mean he’s interested in courting you?”
“It’s a bit soon for that, dear,” Mom said, obviously struggling to keep her smile muscles under control. “But you’ll be the first to know.”
“You mean . . . you might be getting close to an exclusive dating relationship?” She had to know, had to hear the promise of the future—their future—from her mother’s lips.
“Honey, let’s not rush things, okay? After all, I’ve only known the man a short time.”
“But you’ve been seeing each other a lot lately. Doesn’t that count for something?”
Mom couldn’t suppress her smile any longer. “For goodness’ sake, girl, you must want Mr. Greenberg for your father in the worst way.”
“In the best way . . .” If Mom only knew, she thought.
“Oh, honey, let’s do this in God’s timing,” Mom said.
“Okay,” Manda was quick to answer. “But a little help from some of God’s friends won’t hurt anything, right?”
Mom stood up then, said she was tired and ready for a bedtime snack, and did Manda want to join her in the kitchen? In other words, it was time to bring this particular discussion to a polite but swift end.
Manda was smart enough to let the Matthew Greenberg issue drop. For now.
Star Status
Chapter Four
Manda awoke in the night, trying to get a grip on the dream that had startled her awake. The dream had been sad; there was still a lumpy feeling in her throat, like instant mashed potatoes that someone had made with too little hot water or milk. The feeling was all globbed up . . . stuck to her throat.
Her room was dimly lit by only the hallway night-light. She could see the outline of several posters featuring downhill ski champs on her wall, including American-born Picabo Street, German skier Katja Seizinger, and Austrian powerhouse Hermann Maier.
Manda rubbed her temples, trying to recall her dream. At least it hadn’t been a nightmare. But it had been sad, and she didn’t know why. Things were all mixed up in her head now. Confused and overwhelmed, she cried softly, using her pillow as a buffer, hoping she wouldn’t awaken her mother. There was no need for Adelina Garcia’s peaceful sleep to be disturbed, for her to come running to comfort Manda as she often had done in the past. No need for soothing whispers. Those days of sadness and despair were past. At least, she wanted her mom to think so.
Manda was tough enough to handle whatever junk was lodged in her subconscious. “Tough and tumble,” Mom liked to call her, referring to Manda’s approach to speed and daring on the slopes. So why couldn’t she conquer the treacherous slopes of her daily life?
There was, of course, the complication of Manda’s father, the fact that he’d never been heard from after leaving Alpine Lake when she was just two years old. A few rumors had filtered around here and there as to his whereabouts, but no one seemed to have any rock-solid info. Mom was perfectly entitled to remarry, having been granted a divorce due to abandonment several years ago. But the gaping hole in the whole scenario bothered Manda. If not consciously, then it was buried deep in her heart.
She knew she was taking on way too much these days. At just twelve years old, what could she do, really? Manda knew she’d have to lighten up if she was going to impress the socks off any VIPs hanging out on the slopes of Eagle’s Point at the Dressel Hills Downhill Classic.
Just cool it, she told herself. Yeah, right. Like that was all it took to make things better, talking to yourself in the middle of the night. Having a one-way conversation in your head.
* * *
“Are you coming to ballet tomorrow?” Livvy asked her at their lockers the next morning.
“I’ll think about it,” Manda said.
“What about Girls Only Club?”
She paused. “Yeah, maybe.”
Livvy was kind. She said no more. But looking at her, Manda could sense the wheels whirring in her friend’s pretty head. No question, Livvy was probably thinking that one of their club members wasn’t pulling her weight anymore. Which, in a lot of ways, was true.
At least Livvy didn’t shoot her mouth off like Jenna would have—in fact, the way Jenna had yesterday on t
he phone. Livvy smiled her sweetest smile, turned to the locker she shared with Jenna, and began pulling textbooks down from the top shelf, stuffing her backpack for the day.
“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Manda said, opening her own locker.
“Why should I be?”
“But someone else is . . . right?” Manda was thinking of Jenna.
Livvy nodded her head, her auburn hair swirling about her shoulders. “The prez is threatening to call a special meeting . . . uh, about, well . . .” Livvy’s pretty face grew more serious. “To tell you the truth, Jenna thinks maybe you’re just too distracted, as a club member.”
“Aren’t all of us preoccupied with our sports?” Manda shot back. “Isn’t that what the club’s support system is all about?”
“You know what . . . if you’d just talk to Jenna, that might help. Level with her,” suggested Livvy. “Tell her you actually like coming to club meetings, that you aren’t just using your upcoming race as—”
“As what?” Manda cut in.
Livvy hoisted her backpack up over one petite shoulder. “Well, as an excuse, I guess . . . to space out during Girls Only.”
“Is that honestly what you think?”
“We think you’re in way over your head,” was Livvy’s reply.
“Excuse me? What’s this we think stuff?” She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. What did Livvy know, anyway? She thought back to her very private conversation with Heather. Yep, she’d leveled with Heather about some personal things. So . . . what was all this stuff Livvy was saying? Had Heather actually broken a confidence and blabbed to Jenna and Livvy about Manda’s obsession with her father’s whereabouts?
How could she? Manda thought, wishing Heather were here at school instead of being schooled at home.
Livvy pressed her lips together, then said, “I’d better not say any more. I’ve probably said too much already.”
Girls Only! Page 21