When they reached the top, the gondola attendant guided the car to the unloading platform and slid the door open. The two skiers stepped out with their skis, Casey and Ronnie with their boards. 

The four said their goodbyes and when Casey was alone with Ronnie, he said, “That was nice. Thank you.” 

“You OK now?” 

“I am. I’m sorry, you know…” 

“Forget it.”  

“I wouldn’t mind more of it, though. The nice part.” With their hands on each other, lips together like that. Him wanting to get back some status now, some self-respect. 

Ronnie smiled. “First things first.” 

It wasn’t like he hadn’t been there before, the vertigo, but it didn’t get any easier, dealing with the blowback.     

Ronnie led him down the steps off the platform, pointing to a snow-covered clearing that overlooked a gentle slope. “Let’s start over there.” Her trying to move this along, get past the heights thing. She dropped her board onto the snow, stuck a boot into one of the bindings, and used her free foot to push off and glide. 

“This is called skating,” she called back. “Same like on pavement. Follow me and try to do what I do.” 

Casey got a boot into one of his own bindings and pushed off. He stumbled, damnit, straightened before Ronnie could see him and followed unsteadily behind her. 

She crossed the slope and then dragged her free foot to stop herself when she got to the other side. Casey did the same and pulled up beside her. 

“OK,” Ronnie said, “you’ve got board experience, so it’s mainly getting a feel for the snow. Watch me and use your own instincts.” 

She secured her free boot and, before Casey could think too much about it, started down the slope, picking up speed. He watched her make a series of smooth turns, weaving in and out of the moguls, coming to a stop a couple of hundred yards below. She looked back up and waved. 

Casey started tentatively down toward her. His turns weren’t as smooth as hers, no way, and his technique showed some wobble. But he managed to stay upright. 

Until he got to where she was. 

He tried to carve a stop like she did, but caught an edge and went sprawling. 

He lay in the snow growling at himself, not liking this being the rookie, pushed up and stood, brushing himself off. 

Ronnie slid over. “Any stop you can get up from is a good one.” 

“This is frustrating.” 

“Yeah, well, you’ve been at it for two minutes now.” 

She hopped in the air and pointed her board downhill, on the move again. “Stay on my tail.” 

Casey copied her hop-start and kept right behind her, already looking smoother, following her turns. 

Further on down, they stopped again, Casey managing to stay upright. They were standing in a spot where two trails intersected, the new one less gentle. 

“By the time we reach the bottom,” Ronnie said, “you’ll have it knocked.” 

“I’ll remember you said that.” 

They were about to push off again when a sliding sound made them look up. 

Above where they stood, on the intersecting trail, two snowboarders came bombing toward them, two guys racing each other down a serpentine course marked by slalom gates. As they shot past, one racer gave the other a hard bump, almost sent him flying off the course. 

“Nice guy,” said Casey. 

“It’s part of the deal.” 

“What deal?” 

Ronnie nodded back up the course, toward a skier coming down between the gates. “You do it his way or you get cut.” 

“Cut how?” said Casey. 

“He’s coach of the school team. That’s Quiller Senior, your favorite guy’s father.” 

The man skied past them and pulled off to the side, stopping fifty feet or so below. He turned and looked back up the slalom course and waved in that direction. 

Two more boarders came racing down. 

When they flashed past Quiller, he yelled at them. “Don’t let him do that. Hold your line.” He shook his head, jabbed his poles in the snow and skied after them. 

Casey watched him go. “That’s who canned my father?” 

“It is,” said Ronnie. She nodded at the course. “Want to try it? We can take it slow, no bumping.” 

Casey squinted at the gates below. “After you.” 

Ronnie leaned forward and started down the course. Casey did the same, stayed right behind her. They wove through the slalom gates, nice and easy, Casey making the occasional lurch. 

As they approached a steeper section, two more boarders came booming down. The one in mirrored goggles swerved sharply, clipped Casey, and sent him tumbling down the steep pitch. 

The boarder didn’t stop. He glanced over his shoulder and sped on, leaving Casey spinning and sliding. He shot by Ronnie who looked around for Casey, saw him up there skidding on his stomach. 

Casey slid off the trail into deep snow, his momentum keeping him plowing through it, the snow buildup blinding him and stopping him just short of a sheer ravine. He shook his head, brushing snow from his eyes. Finally got a look at where he was, saw the plunging ravine. Jesus. 

He pushed himself back from the edge, didn’t hear the skier who pulled up behind him. 

“You OK?” No response. “Hey…” 

Casey looked around – and saw his father. “Where’d you come from?” 

Nat sidestepped over to him and squatted down. “I came back and took the gondola right after you. I saw you get clipped.” 

“You see who it was?” 

“I can guess who it was.” 

Casey turned over and got his board out from under him. “I thought you were going home.” 

“Yeah, well, I felt bad leaving everything to Ronnie. And besides, I wanted to see how you did.” 

Ronnie, meantime, had climbed back up, calling to Casey. “You OK?” 

“I’m good.” 

Ronnie looked at Nat. “I thought you were going home.” 

Nat looked at Casey. “You hear an echo?” 

He gave Casey a hand and pulled him out of the snow, back onto his feet. The two of them and Ronnie went back to the trail. Nat waited for Casey to get back into his bindings. “Looked like you were going pretty good till your tumble.” 

“Freakin blindsided.” 

“Keep the faith,” Nat said. He pushed off and started down the slope, followed by Ronnie, then Casey.  

A couple of hundred yards down the slope, Carson Quiller Senior, dictator on skis, was addressing the Copper Crest High School Snowboard Team. Half a dozen young men in team parkas were lined up along the side of the trail. Carson Junior was at one end, his mirrored goggles pushed up on his forehead, listening to his father.   

“For anyone who needs reminding,” Quiller Senior said, “Freestyle Boardercross means anything goes. You see the chance, you dump your opponent. Because if you don’t, he’s gonna dump you. Anyone have a problem with that?” 

The young men before him shook their heads and muttered No. But that wasn’t enough for Quiller, who yelled: 

“I said, ‘Does anyone have a problem with that?’” 

 “No, sir!” the team yelled back. 

“Good. Now let’s get back to work.” 

Quiller was about to turn around and start downhill when someone called from the slope above. 

“Coach Quiller?” 

Quiller looked up there and saw Nat Janz skiing toward him, grinning as he came to a stylish stop. 

“How you doing?” Nat said. 

Quiller looked anything but pleased. “What do you want?” 

“I’ve got a candidate for your team here.” 

“What?” 

Nat looked up the slope to where Casey was standing with Ronnie. “My son there. He’ll be starting classes in a couple weeks.” 

Quiller snorted dismissively. “We’ve already got our team.” Started to turn away. 

Nat said, “I’m willing to bet he can beat anybody on it.” He looked over at the lined-up snowboard team, at the smug young Quiller Junior. “Like your boy there.” 

Quiller Junior scoffed and shook his head. Quiller Senior turned back to Nat. “You’re nuts, as usual.” 

Nat dropped his voice so that just the father could hear. “Thousand bucks says my boy beats yours.” 

Quiller Senior narrowed his eyes. 

“But on one condition,” Nat said. 

“Naturally. Here it comes.” 

“My boy gets to pick the course. Someplace neutral, so nobody gets home court advantage.” 

Quiller studied Nat. He looked up the slope toward Casey, sun on those blond dreadlocks. They’d come off first thing if he ever did make the team. “Where’s your boy been doing his boarding?” 

“Back East. He’s in transition.” 

“What the hell’s that mean?” 

“It means he’ll be ready.” 

Quiller continued the narrow-eyed look. “When will this event take place?” 

“Two weeks,” Nat said. “Start of semester.” 

Quiller looked over at his son. Looked up again toward Casey. Then he turned and started to ski off. “You better have the thousand bucks.” 

He took off down the slope, the snowboard team taking off after him. Quiller Junior glanced back with his smirk.