The White Gates

by Bonnie Ramthun

  “Waster,” someone sneered, but Tor didn’t see who it was. He hunched his shoulders and gripped his backpack and thought about his snowboard.

  When Tor walked into the school lunchroom, he eyed it with suspicion. Lunch was always the worst at any new school. He got a tray and resigned himself to finding some place all by himself. He kept a firm grip on his tray and watched closely for feet stuck out to trip him. His family had moved a lot before his mom had left to go to medical school—his dad was in real estate investing, and that meant a lot of moves. After his mom had left and his parents had divorced, Tor and his dad had moved even more. Tor had been in at least three elementary schools and two middle schools before Snow Park.

  Then he saw Raine and Drake sitting alone. Tor cautiously raised an eyebrow at them. Raine nodded once. He walked toward them and a slight whisper ran over the lunchroom through the loud clatter and noise. Tor saw heads turn toward him as he took a seat by Raine.

  “Thanks,” he said briefly.

  “Raine likes to upset the social order whenever possible,” Drake said with a sharp, almost angry smile. “We’re supposed to hate you, of course. So we ask you to sit with us. This is so confusing some people’s heads might actually explode. How was glorious Gloria?”

  “Terrific. I’m going to have another lesson after school,” Tor said. “I’m sore all over.”

  “She’s great, though, isn’t she?” Raine said.

  “Yeah,” Tor said happily, and Raine nodded in satisfaction. Drake flipped open an algebra book and for the next half hour, Tor ate while Drake taught Raine about the quadratic equation. It was the most peaceful time he’d had all day.

  The last class of the day was choir, a choice that Tor had initially protested the night before when his mom went over his schedule.

  “Choir? You’ve got to be kidding,” he had said, looking at his mother with outrage and embarrassment. “You signed me up for choir?”

  “Music is mandatory here,” his mom had said, shrugging. “You have to choose orchestra, band, or choir. Honestly. I know you don’t play an instrument, so I had to put you in choir.”

  Tor entered the choir room late because he had trouble finding his way to the auditorium. There was a big crowd of kids packed into circular risers, all of them chattering like seagulls at the beach. The noise died away as Tor entered the room. He felt his face heat up as all those eyes turned toward him, and he felt the weight of their interest.

  “Tor,” a woman said, coming forward to shake his hand. “I’m Ms. Adams. Nice to meet you.” Tor realized that this teacher, unlike all the other ones, actually meant it.

  Ms. Adams was very short and very slender. She had fair, freckled skin and vivid red hair that curled wildly around her face. She was dressed in soft dark brown pants and a green velvet sweater, and her pointed face looked a lot like an elf’s. Tor couldn’t see her ears and wondered if they were pointed, too.

  “Do you know your range?” Ms. Adams asked.

  “Range?” Tor replied, confused.

  “Are you a bass, a tenor, or a baritone?” she asked. “Never mind. Take a seat with the baritones and we’ll see.”

  Tor found a seat and didn’t have to scrunch down because the two boys on either side made room for him. They made a lot of room, with expressions on their faces like they smelled something bad. Tor stifled a sigh and took his seat.

  “Let’s get some work done,” Ms. Adams said, and everyone whipped out sheet music from their packs. Ms. Adams passed a sheet up to Tor and he looked at it blankly. He’d never seen sheet music up close before.

  “This is called ‘Angels We Have Heard on High,’” Ms. Adams said crisply. “We’ll be performing this at our holiday concert, so let’s get everything just perfect.”

  At the end of the hour, when the three o’clock bell rang, Tor had forgotten all about watching the clock. He’d never taken any voice lessons before and he had no idea how a choir sang songs. Ms. Adams had worked the soprano section through a difficult piece while everyone else sat and listened intently. Tor saw Raine with that group. Then Ms. Adams worked the bass section of boys, where Drake sat, then the alto girls, and finally the baritones. Each section sang the same words but in a different range. Tor mouthed the words. He really had no idea how to sing.

  Then Ms. Adams raised her stick, everyone rose to their feet, the student at the piano started to play, and all the pieces came together. Tor could hear every range of voice all blended into one, and it sounded completely different than before. The sound was amazing, because he was right in the center of it all, hearing the “o” sound, up and down like a snowboard going over bumps. The “o” was the “o” sound in Gloria, in a language Ms. Adams had told them was Latin: “Gloria in excelsis deo.” The song was nearly as pretty as his snowboarding teacher.

  Before he thought about the time, the bell rang and the class gathered their bags and thundered out of the room, talking and laughing. Tor gathered his things more slowly, hoping the corridor would be empty when he left class. This choir class had been a good way to end his day and he didn’t want to walk home remembering being slammed into a locker.

  “You’ll be a baritone, I think,” Ms. Adams said to Tor, startling him so that he nearly dropped his sheet music.

  “Uh, thanks,” he said, not knowing what else to say. He actually hadn’t sung a single note.

  “I’m new here, too,” Ms. Adams said suddenly, and Tor looked up to see her at the front of the room, arms folded, still carrying her little stick in the crook of her arm. She really did look like an elf. Her directing stick even looked like a wand. Did elves carry wands? Tor wasn’t sure.

  “Oh,” he said, zipping his bag closed.

  “I’ve only been here two years, which is like yesterday to this town. You want to talk to someone, I’m always here,” said Ms. Adams. “An outside opinion, as it were. Just remember. I’m here.”

  This gave Tor a little bit of comfort as he walked out of the choir room. He was happy to see that the hallways were empty as he headed for his locker. As he came to a corner, he heard voices and stopped instantly, as wary as a deer.

  “You really think the curse made Brian sick?” The person sounded fearful.

  “Of course it did,” another voice said angrily. “He’s a great rider and he’s in great shape. There was nothing wrong with him!”

  “But you know, what he has us do, don’t you think that might—”

  “No way. He told us we’d be okay, and we are, aren’t we? We’re winning races all the time!”

  “Yeah, but Brian—”

  “That’s the curse. The rest of us, we’re all fine, aren’t we? The curse, that’s what made him sick. You know we have to get that doctor out of town, or somebody else is gonna get sick. Maybe die.”

  “Yeah,” the timid first person said, sounding stronger and more sure. “You’re right.”

  “Let’s go. I’m sick of this place,” the other voice said, and Tor got ready to run if they headed his direction.

  Their footsteps went the other way and Tor was alone, his heart pounding, wondering what the snowboarders were talking about. What were they doing? And who was the he that was making them do it? Tor opened his locker and shouldered his book bag and headed home, the questions in his head spinning uselessly like a hamster in a wheel.

  He was almost home when he glanced up. The resort slopes were full of skiers and snowboarders. They looked like black dots on a field of white. He had forgotten he had a snowboarding lesson! He broke into a clumsy run, his book bag thumping against his back.

  The schoolbooks went on his bed, and Tor was in his boarding clothes and out the door. His snowboard rested in his elbow, and he felt everything fall away as he headed for Snow Park Lodge and the mountain beyond.

  “YOU’RE UP, YOU’RE up!” shouted Gloria, and that was when Tor caught an edge with his snowboard and smashed into the snow with his face. He skidded downhill and lifted his head up to gasp after he spit icy cold snow
from his mouth. Snow packed his goggles. He lifted his snowboard with his feet and flipped so he faced downhill and sat up, still gasping.

  A sound like someone tearing a piece of paper in two announced the arrival of Gloria. She sat down in the snow next to him.

  “I’m okay,” he said, and started laughing. She grinned and gave him a whack on the back.

  “Let’s rest for a minute,” she said, and put her elbows on her knees.

  The town spread below them like a toy village. The day had cleared and the sun was a brilliant electric blue, as blue as Gloria’s eyes. Without goggles the snow would have been too dazzling to look at. Tor wiped out his goggles and got the last of the snow off his face.

  The chairlift line was busy, constantly hauling riders and skiers up the mountain. Two snowboarders whooshed by, one of them shouting “Yo, Gloria!”

  “Hey!” she called back. “Isn’t this the life, Tor?”

  “Sure is,” he said. The sky stretched above him. The deep green of the trees poked through their frosting of white powder. He could still feel the sensation of being up and riding a snowboard. It was exactly like the dreams he’d had as a small child, of flying through the sky without wings or plane, being able to swoop and soar however he liked.

  “Time for the chairlift,” Gloria said, and hopped to her feet. “You’re ready for a real slope.”

  Tor knew what he was supposed to do, but he found himself a little scared as he and Gloria reached the head of the line and moved out to the loading line. The chairlift, so slow from a distance, now seemed to be rushing toward him. He reached for the bar and the chair scooped him up and then he was trying not to pant as he and Gloria were lifted into the air. She grinned at him and gave him a satisfied nod.

  Giant concrete pylons marched up the slope ahead of them. Their chair bumped over the first pylon’s supporting arm. Gloria looked at the slopes, watching other snowboarders and skiers, and then she saw something that caught her attention.

  “Look, Tor,” she said, pointing at the next pylon. There was a man in a Ski Patrol outfit and he was buried up to his head in the snow right next to the pylon. Tor blinked in surprise. That couldn’t be right. Then the man moved and Tor saw that he was standing in a hole in the snow.

  “The pylons have an access hatch on the downslope slide,” Gloria explained as they swept up to the pylon. “There’s wiring and mechanical checks that have to be made every week on these big boys.” The man climbed out of a hatch that was surrounded by thick orange padding. The padding went all the way around the concrete pylon.

  “Smashing into a tree isn’t much better, but the pylons are always padded to prevent accidents,” Gloria explained. They bumped over the pylon’s supporting arm and Gloria shook her snowboard, hard. The chair rocked and Tor gasped. Snow fell from Gloria’s board and thumped on the head of the Ski Patrolman below. He was just closing the hatch, and Tor caught a glimpse of a ladder leading down into darkness.

  “Hey!” the man said angrily, and then he saw Gloria and his expression melted into the same sappy smile that everybody wore around her. “Hey, Gloria!”

  “Hey, Rob,” Gloria called out, and then they were past and heading toward the next pylon and the top of the mountain.

  Gloria had coached Tor patiently on getting off a chairlift with a snowboard attached to one leg, but he fell anyway. Gloria, neatly hopping out of his way, came back to help him to his feet.

  “Ready?” Gloria asked, and Tor nodded. “Okay then, let’s do the falling leaf again. Turn your board against the hill to go sideways, go straight for a bit, then back against the hill. Falling gently like a leaf.” She demonstrated by hopping to her feet and sliding gently down the hill. “Aim straight forward,” she said, and pointed the tip of her board down the hill. “Heel side!” She brought her snowboard around with her heels and she stopped going forward and instead slid across the slope.

  “Heel side, go straight, heel side,” Tor murmured, and got to his feet.

  He started to slide across the hill, and he crouched down a bit and tried to relax into the cat crouch of a snowboarder. Then he pointed the tip of his board down the hill and instantly he was going fast, straight down. He kicked his back heel forward and just like that, he was slowing down and gently sliding across the slope.

  Gloria, watching him, gave a big yip of delight and pumped her arm in the air. Tor ignored her and tried the same move again. Straight forward, go very fast. Kick the heel around, slow down.

  “I think I got it,” he said to himself, trying it again. “I think I got it!”

  “Woooo!” Gloria shouted. A snowboarder dressed in neon plaid pants so loud they seemed to leave a plaid image in the air behind him shot by, laughing, and returned Gloria’s yell. “Keep going!” Gloria shouted to Tor.

  Tor made his way down the rest of the hill without falling. He stopped close to the chairlifts and stood, trembling a little but not enough that anyone could see. Gloria shot down the slope and came to a stop by turning her board and blasting Tor with a long white arc of snow that covered him from head to foot.

  “Hey!”

  “It’s tradition,” Gloria laughed. “You made it down the hill! I’m supposed to rub your face in the snow, but I never liked doing that.”

  “Thanks,” Tor said, wiping at his coat and pants, grinning like crazy.

  “We’re done for today,” Gloria said. “Tomorrow, you come here by yourself and practice falling leaf. Then we’ll teach you on Wednesday how to do an S-curve.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The back-and-forth move. You’ve got one part of it,” Gloria said, reaching down and unbuckling one of her boots from her board. She stood upright and gave him one of her dazzling smiles. “You don’t need me whooping and hollering at you. You take a day by yourself to learn this part. We’ll have you doing the half-pipe in no time.”

  Tor felt himself get prickles with the thought of doing half-pipe tricks. He suddenly lost his balance and sat down in the snow. Gloria giggled and leaned over to scoop up some snow. She pushed off and her snowboard glided away toward the chairlifts.

  “See you day after, Tor,” she called, and pegged him perfectly in the center of his chest with a snowball.

  Tor released his bindings and took off his helmet and walked off the slope and through the lodge in a happy sort of dream state, imagining himself flying down the half-pipe and flipping in midair, making everyone gasp and then applaud and applaud for Tor Sinclair, champion snowboarder.

  He abruptly came to earth when he reached home and found his mom sitting at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. The daylight was quickly turning to deep winter night, but the lights were off.

  “Mom, are you okay?” Tor asked from the doorway. He’d turned on the light in the utility room so he could get out of his wet snowboarding clothes and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw his mother sitting silently in the gloom of the kitchen.

  “Hi, Tor,” his mom said, not looking at him. She looked very tired.

  “Are you okay?”

  “I lost a patient,” she said. “My first patient, actually. Brian Slader, you saw him. He died at Denver General this afternoon.”

  Tor forgot about his wet things and sat down at the table. He took his mom’s hand in his. It was icy cold.

  “I’m sorry, Mom,” he said awkwardly. He remembered how his mom had said Brian Slader was going to be okay. “How did he die?”

  This was evidently the right thing to say. Dr. Sinclair looked suddenly angry. “Exactly!” she said. “He shouldn’t have died. He was manifesting a rather mild case of pulmonary edema. No one knows why some people get that at high altitudes, but the prognosis is always good if you can get them down in altitude. But Slader’s red blood cell count was terribly low. I’ve looked over the charts. They kept putting units of blood in him and they still couldn’t get his system over the initial shock of all that blood loss.”

  “It didn’t seem like that much blood,” Tor said,
thinking of the bloody pink foam at Brian Slader’s mouth.

  “It wasn’t. There’s no reason for that much loss. Maybe he was bleeding internally. The autopsy will tell us. Tor, you’re soaking wet! Get out of those clothes right now.”

  Tor got up from the table. His mom stood up and turned on a light and started fussing in the refrigerator. She wasn’t sitting still in the dark kitchen anymore, and that was good.

  They ate paella, a dish of rice and spices with lots of chunks of different kinds of meat and seafood. Tor had visited his mom in Detroit last summer and she’d taken him to a restaurant that served paella.

  “I remembered how you liked it, so I figured out how to make it for you,” his mom said in an offhand way, scooping a big bowl for Tor and another, smaller one for herself. She smiled at him and ruffled his hair. He rolled his eyes at her and she laughed.

  Later, after two bowls of hot paella and two glasses of cold milk, Tor sat at the table while his mom washed up. He started looking through his homework. He found himself telling his mom about the Egyptian queen English teacher, Ms. Petrus, and the math teacher, Mr. Ewald, who was as round as an egg and bald too, who looked just like Humpty Dumpty. He even wore a bow tie.

  “Justin Ewald,” Dr. Sinclair laughed, drying the glasses they’d used. “What a perfect description!”

  “He seems okay,” Tor said. His mom took a seat at the table and pulled his English papers toward her.

  “Who else?” she asked, looking at the papers.

  “Ms. Adams, the choir teacher. I think I’m going to like choir. It’s a lot more fun than I thought.”

  “Kaia Adams,” his mom said, getting out a pencil and making some marks on his English curriculum. “Tell me what you think she looks like.”

  “A…well, she looks like a little, er, elf,” Tor said. His mom laughed again.

  “Exactly,” she said. “You expect her to sleep in a tree or something, right?”