“Should we wait for them to get down?” Michael asks me.
“I’m done waiting.” I don't even try to keep the irritation out of my voice.
“We’ll catch up,” Michael says to the radio.
“Good luck with that,” Matthew replies.
As we step onto the skis, I compare the skis I bought used four years ago to the demos that Michael is putting on. It’s going to be hard to keep up with him.
“Beautiful day,” Michael remarks on the lift. The sun is shining, and the sky is the deep blue that only shows up at this altitude.
“Perfect.” The view lightens my irritation. “But where are the feathery snowflakes you promised?”
“Give it time.” Michael lays his arm on the back of the chair, almost over my shoulders. “I just put in my request. Besides, we don’t really need them for a few hours, anyway.”
Saying Michael was a good skier would have been a colossal understatement. It takes less than half a run for me to realize that I could never keep up with him. As hard as I push myself, Michael is always waiting for me. My only advantage is that I know the mountain. I trytaking him on the hardest run I know. Two turns in, I catch an edge that sends me headfirst down the mountain.
Before I’m even sure what happened, Michael is beside me, holding my skis. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.” I’m covered in snow and bruises, but my pride is what's most damaged.
“You caught an edge,” Matthew helps me up and sets my skis in the snow next to me.
“Really?” I’m trying to get into a position on the side of the hill so I can get my skis back on.
“Let me help you.” Michael reaches to steady me.
“I’ve got it.” I ignore him and slam my feet into the bindings.
“Do you mind if I give you a few pointers?” Michael asks.
“Not at all.” He doesn’t catch the dripping sarcasm in my voice. He launches into a demonstration of how I should bend my knee in, keep my upper body still and shift my weight. All the stuff I learned at age six from a ski instructor.
“When you’re going down a steep hill like this, you really need to plant your pole and pop yourself up, like when you’re doing moguls.”
“Let me guess,” I say flatly. “You were a ski instructor.”
“Just for a couple of seasons.” He pretends to sound modest about it. I don’t buy it. “I mostly taught little kids and a few privates.”
“Great. Thanks for the lesson.” I start off without looking back.
“Anytime,” he follows me cheerfully. “Should we see if we can find everyone else?”
Our next run ends at one of the beginner hills. Half-way down that hill we meet up with my brother Tyler and his date, Alex, sitting on the side of the hill. The classic scenario—good-looking girl doesn’t tell gullible guy that she doesn’t know how to board. Either that or Alex had been honest, and Tyler thought teaching her how to snowboardwas a good way to get her to like him. It isn’t working. She looks close to tears.
“You guys need help?” I ask.
“I'm trying to help Alex get the hang of this.” Tyler is trying to sound patient, but I catch the frustration in his voice.
It hits me that I can help Tyler and get rid of Michael at the same time. “You guys are in luck. Michael used to be a ski instructor. I’m sure he would be happy to give Alex some pointers.”
“Sure,” Michael says easily. “I’d love to help.” Michael and Tyler pull Alex to her feet.
I see my escape. “I’ll go take a run or two by myself. It’ll give me a chance to work on my technique.”
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to ski alone?” Michael asks.
“Alone?” I look around the crowded ski hill. “I’ll be fine. After all, it’s not like I’m heli-skiing in Alaska.” I'm referencing the experience Michael had thrown out when we were all swapping ski stories on the way up.
