by A. G. Henley
I peeked up at him. “So—you’ll help me get better?”
A long sigh and a resigned expression told me more than his words could. I launched up and hugged him in his chair. “Thanks, Chief!”
He pushed away from me, hands up between us. “No hugging. No hugging,” he muttered. “The last thing I need is a sexual harassment case.”
I sat back down. “Do you have any advice for me now?”
“You bet I do. Check in with Owl and his team at shift change every day. They’ve got eyes on the situation, and they’re out there supporting you every night. Take ’em some coffee or something and get their thoughts.”
My head bobbed. Coffee and bonding, okay.
“Do the same with Ice and his team when you can. And then take a break when you’re done. The idea of time off is that you are actually off. You’re wound tight as tape, Green. You can’t make clear decisions like that.” He touched my arm. “I agreed to help you, and I will, but use your head. I can’t save your job again, got it? You got to stay out of trouble and get this right, for your sake and for Black Diamond’s.”
I nodded. But getting things right wasn’t a talent I seemed to have.
The next day, while Veena and the others trained, I went back to the Inn armed with coffee and some pastries from the Mogul Café for Kovitch and his team. Suspicion flitted over his features for a second, but it didn’t stop him from stuffing a raspberry Danish in his mouth. Not the pastry I’d thought he’d go for, but whatever. He gestured for me to go on when I told him I had something important to ask him.
“Give it to me straight,” I said. “What should I do different if I want to make it on the job?”
He blinked, chewed, swallowed, and over the rim of his coffee cup, mumbled, “Think before you do stuff.”
I nodded.
“Seriously. Sometimes you don’t think, Green. I don’t know if it’s your age or what, but stop and consider what you’re doing before you react. You wouldn’t have had a lot of the problems you’ve had if you’d taken a minute to assess the situation. Using our training to act is part of our job. But deciding when to act is an even bigger part.”
Later, while Veena studied in her room with Gage, I found Cooley at a small desk in the corner of the hot, stuffy, and not one bit glamorous maintenance room at VMA. Seeing him there, I understood what Brown meant about the team feeling chapped when I snatched a sweet CPO position right out of training. I asked him the same question I’d asked Kovitch.
“You’re not Nancy freaking Drew,” he said. “Leave the snooping to other people and focus on how best to protect your principal.” He nibbled on a moist croissant, pulling it into pieces. “That said . . . nah, never mind.”
I scooted closer. “No, what?”
“Don’t tell the chief I told you this, all right? But Darya leaves campus after training every day. Runs off with her hair still wet from the shower most of the time.”
“Where does she go?” Class and training consumed the students’ whole days most of the time.
“Damned if I know.”
“Have you followed her?”
“No manpower for that,” he said. “And remember, we don’t investigate. Law enforcement does.”
“Well, are they? Investigating?”
“The chief and Bart have pushed them to, but we don’t have anything solid on Darya yet. I know it’s frustrating as hell, Green, but we have to wait for these dirt bags to make their move.”
Frustrating as hell was right.
After we talked, I found a quiet spot in a classroom and tracked down a number. I hesitated before dialing, less sure of this move.
“Hey, Connor, it’s Nic.”
“Nic—hi.” He sounded a little sleepy, which was all kinds of hot.
“I was wondering—could I take you up on those snowboarding lessons?”
He didn’t hesitate to answer. “Definitely. When do you want to start?”
My stomach fluttered. “Tomorrow?”
“Meet me in the club house at two? We’ll get you geared up, Gogo.”
I clutched the phone. “Wait, you’ve seen Kill Bill, Part 2?”
“’Course. Sick movie.”
“Gogo’s my favorite character ever.”
He laughed. “I’m not surprised.”
Gogo was a 17-year-old Japanese schoolgirl bodyguard in the film. She was also a bloodthirsty assassin who might just as easily puncture your throat with her sharpened number two pencil. Still, she rocked. Connor earned bonus points for having seen it.
His lesson the next day consisted of getting my snowboard boots on and tightened, learning to strap in the snowboard bindings, and sliding down a little incline just below the bunny slope, mainly on my butt. The upside was the rush when I finally stayed on my feet for about ten seconds—and spending time with my handsome instructor.
“You’re a ripper,” Connor said with a smile at the end. “You want to go again tomorrow while Veena’s training? I’ll teach you how to stop and turn on the bunny slope.”
“That would be great. Thanks for taking the time to teach me.” I held out my glove to bump his hand, but he held it instead.
“Any time.” He looked like he meant it.
As I walked back toward the clubhouse, hoping he was watching, I pulled my helmet off to free my hair, and slung my board under my arm, like I’d seen Veena and Ali do.
I liked Connor—a lot—but that wasn’t why I was doing this. Brown told me to take some time to blow off steam, and I thought learning to ride was a fun way to do that. And maybe knowing how to ride a little would help Veena in some way. Having Connor as my instructor was a perk.
Flirting on the ski slope didn’t exactly count as an office romance. Right?
Twelve
Veena’s schedule for the next week ran like this: class, meals, the hill, study, sleep. Her focus was intense. Most days, when she was on the slopes, I was, too. Me versus the bunny hill. Connor was a patient teacher, and each day I stayed on my feet a bit longer before crashing in a heap.
I brought Kovitch a raspberry Danish from the dining hall most nights and got Cooley a coffee whenever I could spare a minute away from Veena in the mornings. Studying took a back seat, and my teachers noticed. I got daily emails to visit them during their office hours for extra help.
After a week, I called Xene who told me I sounded better, more confident.
I felt more confident. Almost like, the stronger I got on my board, and the more I bonded with Kovitch and Cooley, the better I felt. That is, until lunch two days before the competition at Copper Mountain, when Veena passed me her phone, her face drawn. A grainy video showed a baby bear being shot in some snowy woods and falling still.
Tell your father to send us what we’ve asked for or you will die. This is your last chance.
She showed it to me, but she refused to talk about it. I thought I understood. If she let the terror in, her concentration would be shot. And she’d worked too hard for that.
My fingers itched with the desire to grab Darya’s phone and run away with it, but if she sent the texts, she wouldn’t be stupid enough to leave them lying around in her messaging app for anyone to see. Plus, she probably used one of those burner phones like Brown said.
The night before the competition, Veena and I were in our room packing. After shoving clothes in a bag, I popped a couple of Advils. I’d worked on turns in my lesson with Connor today—shifting from toe side to heel side and back again. I’d made it almost all the way down the bunny hill without bailing, but on the next run I caught the front edge getting off the chairlift, fell forward, and the seat nailed me in the helmet. Humiliation had radiated through the pain. Connor told me it happened sometimes, that I was doing great, but I was pretty sure he was lying.
I glanced at Veena. She was quieter than usual. “What’s up?”
“I’m nervous.” Her voice was tight. “I still haven’t stomped the landing on the double V and without it, I’m not sure I can win
. Maybe the Grand Prix this weekend but not the Olympics.”
I squashed a pillow in my arms. “How does this work? I mean, how exactly do you win one of these competitions?”
Veena threw an armload of clothes at her bag on the ground and curled up on her bed facing me.
“First of all, judging on the halfpipe is a little like judging on gymnastics, diving, or ice skating: six judges evaluate our runs for height, variety, execution, and what new tricks we bring to the pipe. We get two runs in the qualifying round and three in the finals, and we can score a maximum of one hundred points per run. The highest and lowest judges’ scores are dropped each run, and the other four are averaged. Getting a perfect score is pretty hard, though, because lots of things can be deducted. Drops and stops eat points, of course, plus not getting big air or not giving the tricks much steez.” Steez, I’d learned, was a snowboarder mash up of style and ease, and it was definitely a compliment when given.
“So you are like those drama queens, the ice skaters,” I teased.
Veena barely cracked a smile. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “We don’t have to say, beforehand, what tricks we’ll do for each run. I can throw in the double V if I’m feeling good. But it’s not ready yet; Nate said so today.”
“All the work you’ve been doing will pay off.”
She shook her head. “Everyone else has been working hard, too. To win, I need the double V.”
“It’ll be there when you need it.”
She turned her head my way. “Think so?”
“I do.” I’d practiced each skill I’d learned at Juno repeatedly for months, teaching my body what to do. Later, when I was tested, the skills were there.
“You’ll win,” I said. “Know how I know?”
“How?”
“Lakshmi told me, last night while you showered. She said you’d beat down the competition and win gold in Laax.”
Veena’s smile was tired. “Yeah? She only told me I was slacking with my puja.”
“Well, maybe you should pack her just in case. You know Bart’s driving us to Copper tomorrow morning, right?”
She made a face. “I wish we could ride in the van with everyone else—”
I shook my head. “Can’t do it. Dad was not budging on that.” I threw an extra pair of wool socks in my bag.
Someone hammered on the door, making me jump. They yelled what sounded like pep rally.
Veena groaned.
“What?” I asked.
“Muth forces us to get together the night before competitions. He calls them motivational sessions. We call them pep rallies.” From the deadpan way she said it, they were anything but.
We joined other griping students in the hall on the way to the dining hall. Students slouched around the tables in the big room, their body language saying they’d rather be anywhere other than here. Veena and I found Ali and Gage. Jake winked at me from a few tables away. He didn’t seem mad that I almost jerked his arm off at the bar. Maybe he’d been too messed up to remember.
Dr. Muth and Newman were up front. They both wore crisp khakis, collared shirts, and of course Newman had on a scarf, bright red this time. He sat at attention with a laptop, hanging on Muth’s every word. They looked kind of ridiculous up there surrounded by the sweats and slippers group they were “motivating.”
Muth cleared his throat and held up his hands, fluorescent lights flashing off his glasses. “Students, please, come to order.”
Veena rolled her eyes. “What are we, in court?”
“More like jail,” Gage said.
“Many of you will compete in the Grand Prix event tomorrow. You’ve trained thoroughly for this day and have every reason to be proud. Let’s give a round of applause for those who will represent VMA at Copper Mountain.”
The snowboarders couldn’t resist a few shouts, hoots, and fist pumps. Veena and Ali grinned. Muth went on with some announcements and schedule changes for the week.
“When do you compete?” I asked Gage in a whisper.
“We have our own pro series, the World Tour. We go to different events. Better ones.” He waggled his thick eyebrows.
“Are you going to the Olympics like VV and Ali?”
“Matter of fact I am.” He fished something out of his pocket, taking his time. “Gum?” He held out a crumpled minty-smelling stick.
“Thanks.” I popped it in my mouth. It tasted better than the wrapping looked. “What event?”
“Giant slalom.”
“What’s that?”
He grabbed a stray pencil off the table and drew on the surface, making a few dark marks down and about an inch apart with a long, wavy line around them. “The giant slalom looks like this.” His finger traced the line. “You ski fast between sets of poles with a lot of vertical drop and jumps along the way. The goal is to be fastest down without bailing.”
“Looks like a long S.” I ran my finger down the line he drew.
“Feels like it, too. S for shiiit when you don’t make a turn.”
I snorted, and Veena elbowed me, hard. When I looked up, every eye in the room was on me, including Muth’s. “Miss Rossi? Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“No, sir.” I cursed inside.
“I’d think someone who’s having trouble passing most of her classes might pay a bit more attention?”
The room stilled. A few people snickered, but most of the students looked shocked. Veena’s face hardened to granite.
“That’s not cool,” Gage muttered.
Muth went on. “Mr. Newman and I wish all of our student athletes the best of luck. Show your fans why VMA is the special place it is.”
“The same way you showed us that you’re the arsehole we all think you are?” Ali said in an undertone as people bolted from the room.
I rolled my neck and unclenched my fists. I wasn’t really a student at this school, and I wasn’t trying that hard to get good grades, but no one else knew that. Muth was a bully. I wanted to respond, but he’d like nothing better than for me to disrespect him in front of the student body so he could boot me.
“Sorry, Nic. He calls people out sometimes, but that was cruel.” Veena glared at him. “He’s such a flaming knobhead.”
I stared. “Veena, you didn’t curse in carrots.”
“He deserved the real thing.” With a dark look toward Muth, she stood. “Let’s go.”
We waded into the stream of students flowing down the hall, where Newman called to Veena. “May I speak with you a moment?”
I followed them to a nearby classroom, staying by the door. He glanced at me but didn’t ask me to leave. Which was good, because I wouldn’t.
He handed her a piece of paper. “I wanted to be sure you had your schedule for Copper. Your agent asked me to remind you about the media session tomorrow afternoon.”
She studied it. “I didn’t know the session would be so long. I need time in the pipe.”
“I understand. But you know this is important to your sponsors. The media have found their face of the Laax Winter Olympic Games.” His smile was kind. “You.”
“I committed to it, so I’ll be there.” She sounded resigned.
“You’ll arrive by car?” Newman directed this at me. I nodded. Brown had already spoken to Muth about the schedule. “Please be sure she isn’t late. Busy day tomorrow.”
“We’ll get her there on time.” The day and night teams would follow us. Wherever Veena went, we all went, her massively expensive security entourage.
“Excellent. Good luck, Veena.”
She thanked him, and he looked pleased as he walked back toward his office. Across the lobby, under Bode the elk and beside the flickering fireplace, Darya lounged in a deep leather chair, her eyes on us. I ignored her. As Veena and I walked toward the stairs, I felt the energy drain out of her.
“Worried about the media thing?” I asked.
“Not really. Just wish I had more time to prepare for my runs.” She took a lon
g pull from her water bottle. “At least I get to see my parents tomorrow. They’re in Denver tonight. I’m going to call them, okay?”
I walked her to our room, did all my checks, and texted Kovitch to cover so I could check in with his team outside.
I passed back through the lobby on my way out. But Darya was gone.
In the morning, Vail was covered in white.
“A foot overnight and more to come,” Gage said at breakfast. The room pulsed with excitement, but Veena had been quiet since we woke up. “Weather people underestimated, of course. You need to get moving. Newman said they might close the interstate. The vans are leaving early, too.”
We scarfed our food and hurried outside. Bart had already loaded Veena’s and my bags and all her snowboard gear into the black BMW.
As I held the car door open for her, her eyes were on the other teens flinging bags into the open back doors of three vans across the parking lot with Vail Mountain Academy emblazoned on the sides. Ali’s sunflower yellow ski jacket was visible through the swirling snow.
I smiled sympathetically. “You’ll be crammed in there with them again when this is all over.”
“When will that be?”
I didn’t have an answer. Until law enforcement tracked the extortionists down, she had to try to live her life. With each day that went by, I realized the stress that put on her, because I felt it myself. Was today the day the bad guys would quit threatening and act? Tomorrow? Would they wait until the Games? Maybe they never would. We didn’t know, and that was the crushing part.
We left town, traveling east on the highway. The view last time I came through here was gorgeous, peaks and valleys frosted with snow and framed by blue as far as I could see. Not today. Snowflakes hit the windshield faster than the wipers could clear them away. The car shifted sideways as the wind shoved it around. Near the top of Vail Pass, a jackknifed truck blocked the right lane and shoulder, a police car and tow truck behind it.
Bart drove with confidence through the piling snowdrifts but being on the road in this weather was obviously dangerous. Reasonable people would be curled in a blanket with a mug of hot chocolate right now.