Girls Only!

by Beverly Lewis

  “Hopefully, a win,” she said.

  “That too.”

  She invited the principal and each of her teachers to watch the race. Most of them said they’d come and cheer her on. “We want our hometown girl to take first place,” her English teacher said.

  Hometown girl . . . There was a nice sound to that. Yep, she was the village girl, all right. Their star skier and their best hope for winning.

  Nothings going to stop me now, she thought.

  As she headed home, her backpack seemed much lighter than she’d expected. Most of her teachers had gone easy on the homework. Especially when they heard she would be racing some of Colorado’s best skiers.

  Back home, she set to work on her school assignments. She knew the sooner she was finished—to Mom’s satisfaction—the sooner she could hit the slopes again. She hoped to be done by early afternoon so she could spend the rest of the day skiing Falcon Ridge, working out with Coach, and maintaining her strength, stamina, and overall fitness. Same thing tomorrow.

  Youth service night came and went, and so did ballet class. She hadn’t gotten a call from a single friend all week. And she didn’t pick up the phone to call anyone, either. Her thoughts were only on the prize. She was a society dropout. An outcast, probably, in Jenna’s eyes.

  But Manda didn’t care. Winning was heavy on her mind.

  Star Status

  Chapter Eleven

  The day before the race, Manda was so psyched she could hardly eat breakfast. But Mom had cooked a hearty and healthy breakfast for the two of them. She even set the table with a tablecloth, flowers, and cloth napkins.

  “I’ve been doing a lot of praying lately,” Mom said midway through breakfast.

  “Hmm. You pray all the time.” Manda grinned across the table.

  Mom nodded sweetly. “There’s something you should know, honey . . .” She paused. “I’ve thought a lot about this, and I don’t think this will derail your efforts tomorrow. If I thought it would cause you a distraction, I’d save this chat until after the race.”

  Mom’s absolutely radiant, Manda observed, watching her with interest. “Do you have some big news, Mom?” she asked.

  “Not such big news, no. But Matthew—uh, Mr. Greenberg—has asked me to join him in prayer for God’s leading. For the two of us.”

  “So he didn’t say anything about marriage yet?”

  Mom’s eyes blinked a little too fast. “Not in so many words.” Her smile gave her away. “I guess you could say we’re coming into the courtship phase.”

  “Way cool. Courtship leads to the wedding altar.” She was thrilled.

  “Don’t get your hopes too high, Manda. We truly want God’s will for our lives.”

  “Sounds to me like you’ve found it.” She waited for another one of Mom’s casual comebacks, but none followed.

  After another long pause, Manda asked, “Is Mr. Greenberg going to take the company transfer . . . move away?”

  Mom said thoughtfully, “That’s all part of the pact we’ve made.” Then, with eyes more serious, she said, “Would you like to join in our prayer adventure?”

  Manda was taken off guard. She didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t been talking to God lately. She didn’t have the right to ask the Lord to help her mom make an important decision, did she? Not if she wasn’t thanking Him for the blessings she’d already received. “If I’m going to pray, it better be about only one thing,” she said.

  Mom gave her a sideways glance. “Winning is everything for you right now.” The words sounded peculiar—the tone Mom used—like she wanted to make a point and had. In a roundabout way.

  “I eat, sleep, breathe, and taste victory,” replied Manda. Coach Hanson and others had fostered this attitude in her. Her mother had, too. Mom had been a downhill racer herself, years before Manda was born. Sure, Mom knew the kind of pressure she was feeling . . . one day away.

  “Will you miss Tarin if, well, if you and Mr. Greenberg don’t—”

  “Honey, let’s not get into all this. Not today.” Mom got up and went over and kissed the top of Manda’s head. “There will be plenty of time to talk.”

  “After tomorrow.”

  “Right,” Mom said.

  “I’m going to make you proud,” Manda replied.

  Her mom went to the calendar hanging on the wall. She pointed to tomorrow’s date: March 17. “After St. Patrick’s Day, we’ll have lots of time to talk. Okay?”

  “It’s a deal.” Manda pushed away from the table. She helped her mom clean up the kitchen. And nothing more was said about tomorrow’s race or Mr. Greenberg.

  * * *

  By mid-morning, strong westerly winds began blowing heavy gray clouds into the area of Falcon Ridge. By noon, Coach had to call off practice, sending Manda and the other skiers home early. Disappointed and worried about the status for tomorrow’s race, Manda stood watching the blizzard from the living room window. She groaned. “Can you believe this?”

  Mom encouraged her to hold steady, not to jump to any conclusions. “We’ll wait out the storm. This mess could blow out in a few hours.”

  But the longer they waited for conditions to improve, the worse things got. Reports of the surrounding ski areas made Manda wilt. Dressel Hills was being buried alive!

  In another hour, all incoming flights to the Aspen airport were grounded. Then, on top of everything else, Uncle Frank called to say his flight was canceled.

  The snowing and blowing continued the rest of the day and into the evening. The blizzard of the decade, one TV announcer called the white tempest. Life in general came to a halt in Alpine Lake. But nearby Dressel Hills was hit hardest. The Downhill Classic was postponed until next Tuesday.

  Manda couldn’t remember ever having experienced such intense disappointment. The rescheduled race put her into a tailspin—set her back so far she had no idea how she could psyche herself up again.

  She was ready to conquer a mountain. But now the mountain was out of reach.

  * * *

  When the storm subsided late Saturday afternoon, the roads were cleared in short order and village life returned to normal. Manda hurried off to the slopes on Sunday for another day of practice. By Monday, the day before the rescheduled race, she forced her speed and focused her attention on the course—and winning. After another long day, she was pumped up and ready to go.

  That evening, Uncle Frank arrived an hour before supper. Mom did her usual song and dance about how terrific it was that he’d still come after the blizzard.

  “Tomorrow’s the big day, kiddo.” He squeezed her so hard she thought she might break apart.

  “Sure is!”

  “Are any celebrities turning out for my niece’s win?” he teased, laughing.

  “There won’t be any heads of state, if that’s what you mean,” Manda said.

  “Oh, but the town mayor will be there,” Mom spoke up.

  “Doesn’t that count for something?” She loved to banter with Uncle Frank.

  “I’ll bet some Hollywood types will trickle over from Aspen.” He looked at Mom. “Don’t you think so, sis?”

  “All I can tell you is it’s big—the racing event,” Mom replied.

  “Yep, and if I win this one, I’m off and running toward the next level—Coach Hanson says so.” Manda was thrilled to give Uncle Frank this kind of report.

  He nodded his head, sitting on one end of the sofa. “Which reminds me, I want to take your coach out for coffee while I’m here.”

  Manda had no idea what that meant. But knowing Uncle Frank, she wasn’t worried. He had her future at heart. Winning or placing high tomorrow would put her over the top. In every way.

  It was no longer could she do it, but when.

  She felt so jittery sitting there in the living room talking about the race. She wanted to get out there and run it, especially after the unexpected delay. Of course, she had to sleep well tonight, get her full nine hours in. But how could she with so many things twirling in her h
ead?

  The race loomed. But not as enormous as the Dressel Hills mountain itself. Brushing her hair before bed, she knew the win was hers for the taking. Tomorrow was all about snatching her dream.

  The sweet taste of victory was within reach!

  Star Status

  Chapter Twelve

  From the finish line, Manda and her teammates looked like flecks perched on the summit. Distant specks in the vastness of snow and ice.

  She waited near the starting gate, high atop Eagle’s Point, ready to roll. She was to be the third skier on the schedule. Mom and Uncle Frank and the Greenbergs were in the crowd of spectators somewhere. Exactly where on the course, she didn’t know. She liked it that way. Better not to know.

  Hard-driving contemporary Christian music pumped through her headphones. In the past, at other races, music had helped give her the edge she needed. If all went as planned, she would be totally jazzed and ready by the time it was her turn.

  Manda knew she was fast. But watching the first skier leap out of the gate and soar like a bird of prey through the air, she knew she was up against some fierce competition.

  The fiercer, the better, she thought, thinking of the tiger she was about to let loose within her.

  One by one, each skier would go hurtling down the hill. Some at speeds even her mom’s car had trouble achieving. But the part that counted most was racing against a clock that evaluated each downhill racer in hundredths of a second.

  To top things off, each skier got only one chance. A single run, and the race was over. Manda tingled with excitement. The surge of anticipation crept down her spine, into her rock-solid legs. I’m so ready, she thought.

  Standing at the top, she looked below. The challenge of layers of new snow and ice lay before her. Red snow fences lined each side of the course. No matter what, she must avoid crashing into them. They were a killer.

  Closing her eyes, she could see the memorized course clearly now. Everything she was up against. The vertical drop, the technical things, the corkscrew section, the finish . . . This was a speed course, first and foremost.

  And then, she was next to ski.

  When the signal came, Manda lunged forward. Crouching into her racing tuck, she felt the thrill of the contest.

  Ski, baby, ski . . .

  She popped over the slope at the top of the hill. Then she began to wind her way down the steep course.

  Squeezing into a tight ball, she let her legs absorb every bump and dip in the course. She took the turns as narrowly as possible, pushing . . . pushing with every nerve, every cell of her body at attention.

  Now the halfway point. She wrung out every bit of speed during the middle section of the course. Anyone watching the race—anyone at all—would be able to see the race clock. They’d have an idea of how well she was doing. Mom . . . Mr. Greenberg . . . Tarin . . . Uncle Frank. Her history teacher, the principal. Half of Alpine Lake had turned out for the well-publicized race.

  Is Daddy watching? she wondered. Does he even know? Does he care?

  She cut her wind resistance even more by pulling tighter into her Tootsie Roll tuck. She had to win this race.

  At the end of the middle section, the Corkscrews came into view. She felt herself losing her balance as she made first a hard right, then a hard left. But by sheer force and determination, she righted herself. She was cautious not to overcorrect and go flying, head over heels, into the snow fence. She’d seen too many skiers wipe out “sprawled eagle” in midair. Not her. Not this time.

  She pushed back thoughts of Daddy. This race wasn’t for him at all. This day was all about Miranda Garcia. Her dazzling, bright future.

  “Ski for yourself . . . ski for you.” Heather’s words thrust her onward.

  She zoomed toward the steepest section of the race—a stretch that would boggle the mind of the most advanced recreational skier.

  There were two big jumps in the midpoint just before the narrow chute that made up the finish.

  First, one landing—she was hot. Thoughts of her father staring at a TV somewhere, watching his girl do her best intruded her thoughts, but only momentarily. Downhill racing was her thing. Who cared if her long-lost father knew how good she was? Or how much she wanted to succeed—shoot for the Olympics someday.

  The second landing came so quickly. She was speeding nearly out of control. She almost didn’t have time to brace herself for the jump. Poles thrashing in the air, she resisted losing control. Ka-bam! She came in harder than usual on the landing.

  Finish line . . . in sight. She must get between here and there in under two seconds. Way under, if she wanted first place.

  Dropping into her tightest racing tuck ever, she shot through the tapered chute to the cheer of hundreds of downhill fans. When she zipped past the finish line, she turned and looked up at her time. One minute and 37.14—her fastest yet.

  Who on the Alpine Lake team could beat it? Could anyone?

  * * *

  The next skier was up. And the next.

  When the race was finally over, every single skier had raced as if their future depended on it. But only Manda had snagged first place. She was number one!

  A dazzling round medal was placed over her head. Breathing fast, she stroked the long ribbon. Can this be real? she thought. Can this really be happening to me?

  Lifting the coolest prize ever to her lips, she kissed the emblem—a snowflake and the initials DHDC. This year’s Dressel Hills Downhill Classic belonged to her and her alone.

  Time to celebrate!

  She spied Mom and Mr. Greenberg—Tarin too—waving pennants and motioning for her to come over to them. “Oh, honey, you did it!” Mom said, hugging her.

  Uncle Frank was cool as always. He gave her a quick hug and several high fives. He said she was “looking good—better than ever!”

  She brushed away happy tears. She had done what she’d set out to do.

  Mr. Greenberg and Tarin were grinning, and Tarin grabbed her arm. “You’re a star,” he said softly. “I want your autograph.”

  “Sure.”

  “I mean right now.” His eyes were wide with expectancy.

  Mr. Greenberg turned to Tarin. “You’ll see Manda several times next week,” he said. “The autograph can wait.”

  Tarin was less than happy about that. But soon the media began to swarm them. Manda was the skier everyone wanted to interview. Media personnel galore. There were cameramen and women and news journalists vying for her attention. Even the mayors of Alpine Lake and Dressel Hills stood in line to congratulate her.

  Her teammates hugged her and patted her on the back. “Way to go, Garcia,” said one of the guys.

  “You took the bull by the horns,” said another.

  “Hey, I’m no matador,” she said. That brought a round of laughter.

  “Well, you’re the best, Manda,” said one of the girls. “You deserve to win.”

  “Downhill Dynamite!” said Coach Hanson, giving her an enormous hug.

  Manda spotted her principal and her teachers milling around. They’re waiting to talk to me, she thought. And when, at last, she had a slight break in the crowd, they hurried to see her. “Congrats on a great race,” her principal said.

  “Thanks,” she replied.

  School acquaintances, even friends from church who’d known her before today, seemed to look at her differently. As if she’d changed somehow. They stared at her . . . amazed at her performance and speed, sure, but what was that look in their eyes? Admiration? Envy?

  “I’ve been talking with the teachers here,” her principal continued. “We’ve decided to have a Miranda Garcia Day at school.” His face was red from the blustery cold, but his eyes shone. “This Thursday.”

  She was taken aback. “I . . . uh, thank you,” she managed to say.

  “Yes, we’d love to honor you at school,” her history teacher said.

  Honor you . . .

  All this hoopla made her dizzy. She wasn’t used to so many people paying
so much attention to her. “You’re at the top of your sport now,” Uncle Frank said when he and Mom found her again.

  “My girl’s a champ,” Mom added.

  “We’re very proud of you, Manda,” said Mr. Greenberg, following close behind.

  “Star status,” said Tarin. “Very cool.”

  * * *

  The thing Manda had been living for—sleeping, breathing, and all that—she wore proudly around her neck. First place! Had she actually skied so fast? Faster than every skier in the competition? Faster than she herself had ever skied down that or any mountain? Yep, she knew she had.

  She was top dog. Until the next race, of course. But, for now, she could enjoy the win.

  Turning to walk toward the lodge, she glanced over her shoulder once more. Her closest friends were no-where in sight. Jenna, Livvy, and Heather hadn’t shown up. They’d stayed home, probably on purpose. Who could blame them?

  Thinking back, she realized she had not prayed about this race. Not even once. She hadn’t even whispered a prayer for protection or for God’s will in any aspect of this day. Not in the preparation of it, either.

  This wasn’t the way she had done things in the past. No, she had wanted to do it on her own. And she had.

  But now suddenly . . . why was there this miserable, empty feeling in the pit of her stomach? Why didn’t she feel the way she thought she would? Wasn’t she supposed to be jumping for joy, laughing, and celebrating nonstop?

  She couldn’t fool herself. Something was very wrong.

  Star Status

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’m in the middle of my fifteen minutes of fame and glory,” she told Uncle Frank that night. He had treated all of them, even Mr. Greenberg and Tarin, to a nice dinner out on the town. They’d gone to Alpine Lake’s grandest restaurant. And Tarin had gotten his napkin autographed by her.