“I’ll get my coat,” I say.
Nine and a half minutes later, Austin and I are sitting as far apart from each other as possible inside the same ten-seater van Tara used to bring me up from the airport. He got on first, so sitting three rows back was my choice. Childish? Sure. But I’m still feeling a little raw from my chat with Adi, and anyway, the second the van door closes, Austin slumps to one side, squishing his team jacket under his head like a pillow. I let my chin drop and nap as best I can too.
Unfortunately, we don’t go very far. Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling up to the main lodge at the base of the mountain. The driver rolls down his window and tells a man wearing a reflective vest something in Italian, and we’re waved through.
“They’re using the main lodge as the media centre for all the events at Livigno,” Tara says. She pops her seatbelt off the second the van rolls to a stop. “Come on. We’re late.”
“Late for what?” I ask from the back of the van, because I still have no clue what we’re doing. Austin shakes his head as he exits, but he doesn’t say anything.
We follow after Tara as she takes us through the media centre. Ski lodges around the world all have a certain vibe. High ceilings. Carpet that’s been trod on by decades of wet slushy ski boots, but is necessary to keep the people wearing those boots from slipping and killing themselves before they ever get on the hill. Tall windows that give you a view of the mountain. The faint smell of sweat from clothes that never fully dry between runs. Today, all of the usual tables and chairs where people would gather to eat or sip a hot chocolate to warm up on a cold day have been taken away, and tiny media stages have been set up side by side. Camera crews crouch, ready to record, as well-dressed journalists stand in front of green screens or sit behind desks, speaking in a crush of languages I don’t know. I spot a few reporters I recognize from different events and start to drift to the left when I spot the set that’s been erected for theCanada Sports Broadcast Network, because clearly that’s where we’re headed, right? But as I’m about to greet Pete Waterstone, Canada’s favourite sports broadcaster, who is currently reading notes to himself behind a desk, Tara clicks her fingers and points to a door at the far end of an aisle between all the small sound stages. I duck my head, dropping my gaze like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn’t, and follow after her again.
She leads us outside, toward a separate area that looks like the kind of play space they use for little kids learning to ski. Lots of equipment in primary colours. Arches to ski under. The two official mascots for the games in tall cut-outs fixed into the snow. Flags flutter in a soft breeze. And two people in CSBC-branded gear wave at us as we arrive.
“Hey guys!” the woman says. She looks like she’s maybe a little older than me. Asian, with dark hair braided in pigtails.
“We’re so glad you’re here,” the man behind her says. He’s Black and maybe a couple years older too. He’s got a tall, lean build like someone who goes to the gym for fun, rather than because it’s his job.
We shake hands and introduce ourselves while Tara says, “This is Ray and Chantale from the CSBC content team.”
Something shivers up my spine. Content team? That doesn’t sound good. What happened to a quick interview with Pete about the honour of representing my country?
But Ray and Chantale clap their hands and look way too excited considering it’s nearly minus fifteen degrees outside and we’re not moving enough to stay warm.
“We’re so excited you agreed to do this with us,” Chantale says with a huge smile.
“Sure,” Austin says. “It sounded like fun.” But when he glances my way, his expression is nervous, not like he’s pleased to be here.
“Uh, I’m sorry,” I say, because admitting now I have no idea what’s happening won’t get me killed. Tara doesn’t like to have witnesses. “What exactly did we agree to do?”
Chantale and Ray’s grins get even wider and they laugh like my question is hilarious.
“It’s part of CSBC’s new digital media programming. We’re going to play some games,” Chantale says. “Come on! It’ll be great!”
She waves her arm and she and Ray hurry off to the preschool play area, which maybe isn’t set up for kids after all. Austin follows, but I stay where I am for a second. Games? What kind of games? And why me and Austin? Where’s Kage? Matthieu? Surely Tara should have brought someone from the women’s team along?
But she’s not worried about any of that. Instead she puts her hands on my shoulders and turns me until I’m facing the table where Austin and the two super smiley twins are waiting for me. Then she gives me a shove.
“Play nice,” she says, and the two words are not a request. They’re a warning. I may not be having an intimate sit down with Pete Waterstone, but I’m still representing my country, and Tara will make sure I get buried in an avalanche if I screw this up.
Play nice. Sure. I can do that.
Right?
CHAPTER
FOURTEEN
We get fittedout with microphones as Ray gives us the rundown for what’s going to happen.
“So there’s a few challenges,” he says. “The first is a food challenge, the second is about how well you know each other, and if there’s time, the third is a little race around our course here. Sound good?”
I nod. Austin claps his hands together, the sound muffled around his gloves. Along with the red-yellow-blue decor, the production crew has set up a few propane heaters, and once Austin and I are seated in front of a table, they wheel them just close enough that I can almost feel their warmth on one side of my face.
When the cameras start rolling, Chantale and Ray launch into a perky introduction before turning to me and Austin.
“Today we’re here with Canadian ski cross athletes Austin Grimm and Cedric Berard. Welcome,” Chantale says.
We nod and smile and say the right things about thank you for having us and how nice it is to be here, even though my toes are getting cold in my boots.
