I drag myself along the snowy path to the gondola station, the snowboard hugged firmly in my arms. I keep some steps between me and Landon, just in case those skis knock backwards over his shoulder and crack me on the head.
We wade up the path and bypass the early queue for the gondolas down to the village. There’s only a handful of students waiting at the second station—the chairlifts that go higher up the mountain than the academy itself.
A chairlift jolts to a stop on the thick wires just as we stop at the end of the queue.
I watch the switchover, people getting off, people getting on, and listen to the murmur of conversations buried under the spanning stretch of the mountains.
It’s only ten minutes that pass by, with Landon and I stuck in a silence that I’m not quite sure is awkward or not, before we’re first in line.
And when the chairlift groans to a gradual stop, hanging from the black wires, my heart jolts.
Mildred takes up most of the seat herself with her stocky frame, and her sister, Melody, is a wispy thing lodged in beside her.
My insides stamp at the sight of them.
For a beat, I wonder how Mildred made it onto the slopes before us. But then, we did take an hour to get ready. It’s not like we rushed or anything.
Now, I wish I took my time, or wriggled out of this whole thing entirely.
Melody clammers out first, her frosty lashes fluttering with the surprise. Her gaze flickers between me and Landon, over and over, before she scrambles out of the way, and Mildred pushes out of the chairlift.
Her boots smack down on the concrete platform, the dullness of her eyes alighting into embers, and she takes a purposeful step towards us.
“What the fuck, Landon?” Mildred almost whispers the words, no inflection for the question, nothing more than disgusted shockwaves rolling through her. “What the fuck…”
There is hurt in those eyes.
The betrayal is in the desperate pleading way she looks at him and in her wispy voice, the parroting of her own disbelief.
If Mildred was anything less than a beast, I might almost feel sorry for her in this moment.
“How was it out there?” he asks, all casual-like, not as though Mildred Fucking Green blocks our path to the chairlift, probably on the verge of knocking me out, and not for the first time. “Winds were favourable?”
Unease tenses my face.
Disbelief slackens Mildred’s.
Melody edges onto the path back to the academy, her gaze flinging between the three of us.
She’s smart to create some distance.
The urge is itching at me, too.
But with a glance over my shoulder, I realise I’m blocked in. A few students are queued up behind us, impatience in their huffing breaths and lolling heads, and they are crammed too close to my back for me to easily inch out of Mildred’s range.
Mildred’s question comes firmer this time, an accusation, “What are you doing with her?”
The snowboard should creak in her grip, it’s so tight. But it’s her face, that ugly purple complexion I’ve seen so many times when I’ve risked too much and backtalked, that has me itching to slide behind Landon’s frame, to hide behind him.
His thoughts mirror mine.
Landon steps aside, moves right in front of me, and the relief that unribbons through me sags my shoulders.
“I’m hitting the slopes,” he says, as though it’s the most obvious, simple thing ever.
Mildred breathes the response, guttural. “Withher?”
“With my friend?” He cocks his head to the side. Black curls slip over his brow. “Yes.”
