“Hey,” red parka guy says. You can’t see his mouth under his gray neck warmer, but it sounds a little like he’s smiling.
“Hey,” you answer back, sliding in next to him. And then it’s as if your mouth takes over without passing the words by your brain first. But your mouth is actually kind of smart all by itself. “Is this your first run of the day?”
“Second,” he answers. “You?”
You turn. “First. My sister was going to ski with me, but, well, she decided we should meet new people to ski with. You’re my first new person.”
“I’m honored!” he answers, jabbing his pole into the snow. Then he puts out his gloved hand. “Charlie,” he says. “Charlie Dorman.”
You introduce yourself as you shake his glove with yours. Then you notice the chairlift line is moving forward, and you shuffle your skis forward.
“You know,” Charlie says. “I’m glad you came along. Some guys and I are renting a house here, but it turns out none of them actually wants to ski. I was prepared for a lonely day on the slopes.”
You smile inside your turtle fur as you shuffle forward again. “Why did they come if they don’t want to ski?” you ask.
Charlie brings his shoulders up so they almost touch the bottom of his helmet in an exaggerated shrug. “Dunno,” he says. “I actually don’t know these guys that well. We’re college freshmen and all live on the same floor, and . . .” He shrugs again.
You shuffle forward again and inch a little closer to Charlie. “Well, their loss is my gain,” you tell him.
The people in front of you have gotten on their chair, and now it’s your turn. You head to the smooth patch right behind the red line to wait, and you can tell from the way Charlie moves on his skis that he’s a good skier. He seems totally balanced and comfortable. Even though you’re a little embarrassed to admit it, this kind of turns you on.
The chair comes, and you both sit down at the same time. Charlie reaches above you and pulls the bar over both of your heads. This is usually your job, when you ski with Angie, but you don’t mind that Charlie has done it.
“Are you in college, too?” he asks, once you’re both settled in the chair, with your poles across your laps.
You shake your head. “High school junior,” you tell him.
“Oh!” he says. “You seemed older.”
You’re not exactly sure what that means, or if that’s going to hamper Charlie’s kissing potential, but it’s a fact, and you didn’t want to lie about your age. It wasn’t a rule in your deal with Angie or anything, but you figure it wouldn’t be right to get a kiss under false pretenses. Like, it would be bad kissing karma or something.
“It’s the goggles,” you tell him.
For a minute he doesn’t say anything, and you worry that you’re going to have to explain that you were joking, which takes all the funniness out of it, but then something clicks and he starts to laugh. Like, not just chuckle, but really laugh.
“It wasn’t that funny!” you say. But now you’re laughing, too.
“Goggles!” he gasps, and pulls his own goggles up so he can wipe the tears that have dripped out of his eyes.
His eyes are brown, and when he turns toward you, you can see flecks of gold in them.
“I think goggles do make a person look older,” he says. “There’s something, you know, mature about the goggled look. It’s why raccoons look so mature. Natural goggles.”
“Absolutely,” you say, as you laugh. “But they don’t hold a candle to tuxedo cats. They’ve won for most mature-looking animal for the last hundred years running. Or so I heard.”
Charlie laughs so hard he snorts a little, and then covers his nose, making you laugh harder.
The two of you are cracking up—the kind of laughing where every time you stop, you start up again a few seconds later.
Until Charlie’s face changes and he stops laughing completely.
“We have to get off!” he says, looking alarmed.
You look forward, too, and realize that you’re about five seconds away from the top of the lift. Charlie flings the bar up over your heads, just in time for you to get your feet into position to ski off the chair, your poles still in both hands, across your waist.
When you reach the trail map, Charlie is right next to you.
“Whoa,” he says. “That was close.”
“But we made it,” you answer.
“That’s a great way to look at it,” he says, adjusting his neck warmer. “We made it. So, do you want to ski down together? I was thinking about taking this black.” He points to Sirius, one of the harder trails on the mountain. One with a patch of moguls in the middle. You can totally handle it, but you’re not sure if you want to. You definitely had fun with him on the lift, laughing like a lunatic, but maybe you’re not really ready to kiss someone so soon after Nate. Maybe you need to ski by yourself first. You’re not totally sure.
Click here if you agree to be Charlie’s ski buddy for the day.
- - - - -
Click here if you’d rather ski by yourself for the moment.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to your morning on the slopes.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the slopes when you notice red parka guy.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
“How does my face look?” Angie asks, turning toward you. “My cheekbones hurt when I touch them.”
You inspect Angie’s face. There are definitely bruises forming along her cheekbones, where her goggles were pressed into her face.
“Honestly?” you ask.
She nods.
“Honestly, it looks like you’re going to have black-and-blue marks on your cheekbones.”
“Ugh,” Angie says. “Really?”
“Really,” you tell her, sipping your hot chocolate.
“I hate that out-of-control skier. Like, absolutely hate him.” Angie touches her cheekbones tentatively and winces.
“Me, too,” you tell her, and lean back next to her on the couch.
“He ruined our trip,” she says, sounding sad and pathetic.
“Not our whole trip,” you say. “Just maybe today.”
“And my face!” Angie moans. “He ruined today and my face! And if it still hurts to put goggles on tomorrow, he’ll have ruined tomorrow, too.”
“Oh, Ange,” you say, leaning your head on her shoulder. “If it still hurts tomorrow, we can go to the ski shop and get you some sport sunglasses instead. I won’t let him ruin this trip for you. Promise.”
“But he’ll still have ruined my face,” she mutters.
You and Angie sip your hot chocolate in silence for a while. You’re trying to think of something to say to make Angie feel better when she turns to you and says, “I think I should go back to the ski house. Maybe spend the day watching movies or reading or something. It’ll be too sad to sit here and not ski.”
“What about if we get the sunglasses today?” you suggest. “Then maybe skiing won’t be a problem at all.”
“But I’ll have a black-and-blue face!” Angie moans. “I think I just want to go back to our chalet.”
You sigh, ready to give up your day of skiing, too.
“Okay,” you tell her. “Let’s finish our hot chocolates, and then we can go.”
Angie looks at you. “You don’t have to come. You should stay and ski. Fall in love on the lifts. Seriously.”
You’re not sure if Angie is offering this because she feels as if she has to, or if she’s offering it because she really means it.
“It’s okay,” you tell her. “I can ski tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after that. We have a lot more days of vacation left.”
Angie shakes
her head. “You shouldn’t give up today, though. I mean it.”
You chew your bottom lip, trying to decide what to do. You don’t want to bail on your sister if she needs you, but if she really is going to go home to read a book and doesn’t mind if you keep skiing . . . well, you’d prefer to be on the slopes. Though also, you’re getting a little hungry. So many choices!
Click here if you decide to go home with her anyway.
- - - - -
Click here if you head back out to the slopes.
- - - - -
Click here if you say goodbye to Angie, but stay at the lodge and decide to have lunch.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to the lodge with Angie.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
“Thank you so much for the invite,” you say. “But I promised my sister I’d hang out with her tonight. I’ll call you about the lesson, though. I still might be interested in that.”
Ethan nods. “Sounds like a plan to me. I’ll look forward to hearing from you.”
You smile and take off skiing.
Click here to continue.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to skiing on your own.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
You look at Josh. He seems sweet. And you’d probably have fun hanging out with him. But also, you realize, you’d have fun hanging out by yourself.
“Thanks for the offer,” you say. “But I think there are some moguls with my name on them.”
“Can’t disappoint those moguls,” Josh answers.
You smile. If you were in a different place, maybe you’d like flirting with him, but sometimes dealing with boys—and with the emotional ups and downs that come with them—isn’t really all that fun.
“I’m going to look for that deer again,” Sam says. “Maybe I can catch him this time.”
“Good luck,” you tell him.
“Have fun,” he says. “Nice to meet you.”
Click here to continue.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to choosing not to kiss Sam.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
“You, too,” you say as you ski off. You’ve met some great guys today but just didn’t feel like kissing any of them. Maybe you’re not over Nate yet. Maybe it’ll take some time.
But you decide you’re kind of okay with that. And you decide, too, that you don’t regret being with Nate. Even if he was a grade-A jerk who cheated on you with an unfortunate-looking freshman, now you know what you’re not looking for in a boyfriend. So Nate did you a favor, really, because you’ll know what to look for when you’re ready to start dating again.
And Angie was wrong—you don’t need a kiss to tell you that your romantic future is wide open. You know in your heart that one day the right guy will be there to lift you off your feet. And when that day comes, you’ll be ready.
CONGRATULATIONS!
You’ve found your happy ending!
Click here to go back to choosing not to kiss Sam.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to skiing on the steep slope.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
“Okay,” you say to Angie. “If you really mean it, I’ll head back out there.”
“I absolutely do,” Angie says. “Plus, you need to find someone to kiss, and you won’t be able to do that if you go home with me.” She quirks her eyebrow at you, and you laugh.
“Understood,” you say with a smile. “But call me if you need me, and I’ll ski right back home.”
“Will do,” Angie tells you, relaxing against the couch. “I’m going to stay here for a few more minutes and call Cole, then I’ll head back. Now get out of here!”
“I’m gone,” you say.
Click here to continue.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back sitting with Angie in the lodge
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
You look at the cover of Harry 7, and then look out the window at the mountains and all the people skiing and snowboarding down them.
Even though you have a T-shirt at home that says DUMBLEDORE IS MY HOMEBOY and have used every sorting hat on the Internet to find out whether or not you’d end up in Gryffindor if you’d been invited to attend Hogwarts, you decide that you can talk about Harry Potter anytime, but you can’t ski just anywhere. Since you’re on a ski mountain—your very favorite ski mountain, at that—you decide to let the Harry Potter guy enjoy his book alone, and you head out of the lodge to the slopes.
Click here to continue.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to eating in the lodge when you spot Harry Potter guy
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the lodge after you say no to eating with the twins.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A million thank-yous to all of the Penguins who had a hand in the creation, marketing and sales of this book, especially the fantastic editorial team of Eileen Kreit, Jen Bonnell, and Dana Bergman, who make me so happy to be a Puffin author. Thanks, too, to the Philomites—Michael Green, Liza Kaplan, Brian Geffen, and Talia Benamy—whose support made the writing of this book possible. And thank you to all of my non-Penguin friends and family who listened to me talk far too often about the mechanics of kissing while wearing helmets and goggles and who traveled with and/or hosted me on research ski trips this past winter. When I follow my heart, it leads me to all of you. No question about it.
TEXT COPYRIGHT © 2014 BY JILL SANTOPOLO
You lean your head against the train window and watch the ocean as it whizzes by. You’ve listened to the summer playlist you created on your iPod twice through already, and there’s still another half hour until your stop. Your cousin Tasha pokes you in the shoulder.
“Twizzler?” she asks, loud enough that you can hear her over your music. You pop an earbud out of your ear and take the candy she’s offering.
“Thanks,” you say, before you chomp down.
Tasha grabs one herself. “So,” she says, “I never asked. Did you get everything you wanted for your birthday?”
You chew as you think about your sweet sixteen, which was six—no, seven—days ago. “The party was great,” you say. “And this beach trip, just you and me, is the most awesome gift ever. But I guess there was one thing I’d been hoping for.”
You sigh and take another bite of Twizzler, but Tasha won’t let you off that easy.
“Which was . . . ?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.
You pull your hair over your eyes so you don’t have to look at her when you say it. “I was hoping Tyler Grant was going to kiss me.”
You tuck your hair back behind your ear and look at Tasha. Even though you both live in the same city, you go to different schools, and she’s two years older, so she doesn’t know all of your friends.
“Is that the hot ginger?” she asks. “The one who was dancing with you at the end of your party?”
You shake your head. “No. Tyler’s the tall one with the hipster glasses. The one who didn’t really dance much at all.”
Tasha runs her Twizzler back and forth across her lips as she thinks. “Oh! The one in the green shirt! I remember him.” She gives you an appraising look. “You can
do way better than that.”
“I don’t know,” you reply, finishing the last of your candy. “He’s really cool. And funny—like in a sarcastic way.”
Tasha puts her hand on your arm. “Trust me, cuz. You can do better.” Then her face lights up. “I have an idea! Since this is your birthday present beach weekend, you should make it your mission to get a birthday kiss from the cutest boy you can find.”
“I’m not sure,” you say, mostly because you’re afraid you might fail at this mission, and then it would be doubly disappointing.
“How about . . . you don’t have to kiss him. You can if you want, but your mission will be to flirt with the cutest boy you can find.”
You smile. That sounds doable.
“Deal,” you say, holding your hand out to Tasha.
“Deal,” she says back, shaking it.
Then you both start laughing, and Tasha says, “I still bet you can find someone to kiss, though.”
You make what you hope is a coy face, and then pop your earbud back into your ear. Secretly, you wish Tasha is right and you can find someone to kiss this weekend. But only time will tell.
Twenty minutes later, Tasha shakes your shoulder, jolting you out of a very real dream in which you were kissing Tyler Grant, and shoves your duffel bag at you. “Next stop is us! We’ve got to get our stuff together!”
You blink a few times, and then throw your magazines, empty smoothie cup, iPod, and sweatshirt into a tote and stand with a bag on each arm. The train slows to a stop as the conductor calls out the station name, and you follow Tasha and about a billion other people out of the train toward the beach.
The minute you get onto the train platform, Tasha is scanning the parking lot for Jade, her best friend and soon-to-be college roommate. Tasha and Jade have spent every summer together since Tasha’s parents bought a beach house the year she turned eight.
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