Joe’s laugh booms in my ear. “She’s pretty good at snowboarding. She ever tell you that?”
I’m having fun. A lot of it.
The irony is fucking baffling. Here I was, stressing myself over not being able to compete again, but judging these amateurs and watching them do what Iloveis quite relaxing.
Studying all those people showing off their skills, whether they’re beginners or talented enough to go pro reminds me of my early days and how stress-free it used to be to compete in the tournament. It’s pure unbridled joy and exhilaration. No true judgment. No expectations.
Just for the sake of it all, we give points based on style, technique, and originality, but it’s evident that none of the contestants are here for a prize.
The ball of frustration that was sitting in the pit of my stomach instantly went away when the first competitor slid down the slope. Of course, I’d love to be up there too, but I’verealized that being a member of the jury is an honor. I’m done taking shit for granted.
I’ve given a piece of advice to every candidate. Seeing how much they appreciate my words and help makes an emotion I can’t put into words dance inside my chest.
The fifteenth contestant finishes his run, and I can’t help but stand and clap along with everyone else. So far, he was the most impressive, his combination of rotations and stunts rather good for someone who rides for his own pleasure. Dalton is only seventeen, but I think he could compete at a professional level if he wanted to.
Snowboard tucked under his arm, he tears his goggles off and saunters over to us to shake each of our hands. His eyes widen with awe as he looks up at me.
“Nice job out there,” I compliment him.
“Thanks,” Dalton replies shyly. “I actually watch a lot of your videos. Big fan of yours.”
I’ll never get used to being an inspiration to others. “I appreciate it. Keep up with the hard work and you might be able to join a team in a few years or so. Your technique needs a bit of practice, but overall I was really impressed.”
His eyes light up. “You really think so?” I nod, truthfully. “What do I need to improve?”
Tucking my gloved hands in the pockets of my coat, I rapidly glance at the time on Joe’s watch, indicating to me there’s still three minutes left before it’s Alara’s turn. The thought of seeing her up there makes me excited, and it’s been a while since I have felt like this. But, yet again, this girl has managed to stir and awaken sentiments I’ve kept buried deep inside me for many dark years.
“When you gap jump” – Dalton nods, listening attentively – “you dive downhill on the slope, but even if it’s a rookie mistake, you manage to rectify it pretty early. Also, your knees? Don’t beafraid to go higher when you jump. I trained my whole life on the trampolines at the high school’s gym – very helpful if you want to practice.” I pause. “How about you take my number and we can meet up on a weekend to train? If your parents are up for it, that is. I can’t ride, but I’ll watch and coach you.”
Dalton grins and nods eagerly. “I’d love that. That’s so cool of you, Diego. Thank you.”
“Happy to help.”
After exchanging numbers and making it clear that I won’t be around for much longer, I sit back down, aware of Joe’s gaze on me.
“Just say it, Joe.”
“I’m proud of you, kid.” His words wrap around my heart, intent on leaving their mark.
My throat closes in on itself, the suffocating sensation spreading downward to my chest. It’s hard to swallow past the thick lump, but I nod appreciatively, scared to use my voice.
Fuck. When was the last time someone said those words to me? It feels like a lifetime ago.
I think it’s not lost on Joe that I’m not against receiving some encouragement myself. I don’t openly communicate it, but the way he’s been showing up for me these past weeks means so much to me. Coach, on the other hand, has kept his distance, which I don’t mind. Somewhere deep inside me, I still resent him for pulling that shit on me. Call me petty, but I answer Coach’s calls only when I feel like it – which is never. I don’t need him to remind me that I screwed up. He’s already done that enough.
The commentator, who happens to be Thomas, who works at Rock Snow, announces the next contestant. My heart does a very strange thing at the mention of Alara’s name – it stutters, and I almost rub my palm over my breastbone to soothe the funny feeling.
She appears at the top of the pitch, dressed in pink. Of course she’s dressed in fucking pink. With her usual, hypnotic grace, she steps on her board and secures the bindings, makes sure her helmet is fastened, and adjusts her goggles. The sky has recently turned into a deep shade of indigo, and the light cast on the halfpipe circles her body like a halo.
I shift in my seat, sitting on the edge and bringing my forearms down on the table. My senses are heightened solely because it’s her, and, at that moment, nothing else around me matters.
Do your worst, Bradford.
An echo of applause bursts through my bubble, but I manage to tune out all the noises as soon as she begins her run. She descends and gathers the speed she needs to accelerate up the opposite wall. Her weight presses down toward the back of the board, and she jumps into a classic Melon grab. Beginner’s trick, but perfectly executed.
Following with an Indy as she grabs the frontside edge of the board with her back hand, she glides back smoothly on the snow. My brow arches when she dives in a Switch 540, rushes up the wall until she can flip into a Backside Rodeo – a backflip with a 180-degree rotation as she lands. Her landing is slightly off-balance, but she masters the mistake with her palms catching the fall and pushing herself back up.
I can’t help but hoot as Joe shouts loud praise. I can barely hear the commotion around me as my blood pumps loudly.
