Golden Girl (7 page)

It was then that I noticed her fingers digging into her sundae bowl so hard, I was half afraid she'd poke through the Styrofoam. It was like she wanted to talk to me, but something was holding her back.

I decided to try another tactic. “So I hear congratulations are in order,” I said, giving her a hesitant smile. “You made the snowboard cross team? And new sponsors, right? That's so awesome.”

Her face turned bright red, and she stared down at her sundae, as if she wished she could crawl inside of it and hide. “Thanks,” she muttered. “Though I'll probably drop back down to alternate now that you're back.”

“I wouldn't be too sure of that,” I replied, surprised she hadn't heard about my little performance on the slopes that afternoon. Surely Olivia hadn't missed an opportunity to relate to her entire crew the wild and crazy Lexi disaster tale. Maybe Becca was just being nice. “Besides, you're amazing. You know, even if I hadn't fallen, I bet you would have won that race anyway. You were on fire that—”

Becca dropped her sundae. It hit the floor, whipped cream and hot chocolate splattering everywhere, soaking my pants. “S-sorry,” she stammered, dropping to her knees to wipe up the mess. I could see tears welling up in her brown eyes as she grabbed scoopfuls of ice cream off the floor with her bare hands, haphazardly dropping them back into her bowl.

I stared at her in shock, realization hitting me with the force of a ten-ton truck. Was that it? Was that why things were so weird between us? Did she feel guilty that her career had taken off because mine had crashed and burned?

“Hey!” I cried, grabbing a handful of napkins and scrambling down to the floor beside her. I handed half the stack to her and kept half for myself. “It wasn't your fault,” I reminded her, wiping down the cement. “It's just how the cross is sometimes. People fall.” I wondered, not for the first time, if I should tell her the truth. That if anyone should feel guilty, it should be Olivia, not her.

But no. I couldn't do that to her. She might opt to do something all noble—like give up her spot on the team, deciding she didn't deserve it. It was much better to stay quiet and allow her to enjoy her new opportunity. After all, she certainly worked hard enough for it. And who knew? Like I'd said, maybe she would have won anyway, even if Olivia hadn't gone and sabotaged me. I had to go with that, for her sake.

I realized it was time for a subject change. “You know, it seems a waste to throw out all this good ice cream,” I remarked casually. “You don't suppose the five-second rule applies in this case?” I grabbed a spoon off the table and dug into the now grime-caked sundae. Holding it up to my mouth, I grinned. “Come on,” I teased. “Dare me.”

Becca stared at me for a moment, as if in disbelief. Then she started to laugh. “Ew, Lexi!” she cried. “Gross! Don't you even think—”

“Oh, I'm sorry! Did you want it all for yourself?” I swooped the spoon toward her face. “Here comes the airplane, baby Becca . . . in for a landing!”

She squealed, swatting the spoon away. The ice cream went flying—

—landing on a pair of expensive-looking patent-leather boots.

Uh-oh. My eyes traveled up, from boots to black tights to plaid skirt to white fur coat. . . .

“Becca Montgomery!” Olivia cried, a disgusted look on her face as she stared down at me and my friend. She'd evidently hit the bathroom and reapplied her smeared makeup. Only a slight redness to her eyes hinted at what had gone down between her and her dad.

I watched as Olivia snapped her fingers, and one of the Boarder Barbies, a sixth grader by my guess, dropped to her knees, wiping the offending ice cream from Olivia's boots. I was half-amazed Olivia didn't make her lick it off instead. “What on earth are you doing on the floor?” she added, returning her attention to Becca.

“Oh,” Becca cried. Her smile faded as she scrambled to her feet. “I dropped my sundae, and Lexi was helping me wipe up the mess.” Ugh. She sounded so apologetic. As if she'd done something wrong. What happened to my kick-butt, girl-power bestie?

Olivia snorted. “Well, that's good for
Lexi
,” she replied. “Practicing for her future venture in custodial arts, now that her little snowboarding career has come screeching to a halt.” She grabbed Becca by the sleeve. “But you, Montgomery, have more important things to do. Ava's in the bathroom with a wardrobe malfunction, and you're the only one who knows how to sew.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupted, rising to my feet, anger flaring. I was so close to getting my old friend back—I just knew it. “Becca and I were in the middle of talking. Ava will have to wait.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Well, I suppose we better let Becca decide that, don't you think?” She released her arm. “Well, Becca, my dear?”

I stole a glance at my friend.
Please pick me, please pick me, please pick me
. I swear at that moment I would have given up Olympic gold forever just to have my best friend tell Olivia to get lost. That she had her true friend back now and didn't need those brainless Boarder Barbies.

Becca looked at me, then at Olivia, her face a war of emotions. I gnawed on my lower lip, beginning to get nervous. What was going on with her? How could she even consider choosing Olivia over me?

“Becca, what's wrong?” I found myself asking, my eyes welling up with tears. I knew I shouldn't be acting this vulnerable in front of Olivia—it would only give her more ammunition. But I couldn't help it. “What's going on with you? Did I do something? Whatever it was, tell me and I'll make it up to you!” My mind raced for reasons that she could be mad at me, but I kept coming up blank.

Becca squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them, her face now a mask of resignation. “Sorry, Lexi,” she mumbled. “I need to help Ava.” And with that, she shuffled off in the direction of the bathroom, leaving me alone with Olivia, who was now beaming wider than the Cheshire cat.

It was the last straw. My body took over, ignoring my mind's plea to take the higher road. Instead I grabbed Becca's discarded bowl and shoved it into Olivia's face. She screamed as the grimy whipped cream and chocolate syrup dripped down her cheeks. As she tried to wipe it away, she only managed to get chocolate on her pristine white coat and gain the attention of the other students. Now everyone was staring at
her
in the way I'd first imagined them staring at me.

“You are so dead,” she snarled in her most venomous of tones. “I will get you, Lexi Miller, if it's the last thing I do.”

“Please. What could you possibly do to me,” I shot back, “that you haven't already done?”

And with that, I turned and fled the party.

I
f life were a movie, the cameras would be following me as I abandoned the rec center, stepping out onto the snow-dusted grounds on my way back to the dorm. Maybe I'd be stomping angrily; maybe I'd be shedding a few dramatic tears. Either way, the sound track would be gloomy and dark and hopeless. In the credits it'd be listed as “Requiem for a Friend” or something equally as depressing.

Then, out of nowhere, the cameras would cut away, revealing Becca bursting out of the building, chasing me down, and grabbing me by the shoulders to whirl me around, her face full of apology and regret. As the music soared, we'd cry and laugh and hug as she'd beg me to forgive her. Then we'd sling arms around each other's shoulders and walk off into the snowflakes, a silver-screen-worthy rebeginning of a beautiful friendship.

But my life was not a movie. Becca remained inside with her new friends. And as I walked through the snow-carpeted campus shuffling my boots to make trails in the powder, I remained utterly alone. The wind had started to pick up, and I pulled my parka closer around me, the cold mingling with my despair.

What was going on with Becca? Why was she acting so weird? And how did Olivia fit into all this? Why was Becca hanging around her, obeying her like a pathetic little puppy dog? The Becca I knew would never, ever, in a million years bow down to a Boarder Barbie.

For a moment, as we were crouched down on the floor with the spilled ice cream, I thought I'd caught a glimpse of the old Becca. The Becca who would share chocolate milk with a rumored cootie-stricken outcast. The Becca who would never betray her best friend. Was she still there, somewhere, hiding underneath all the pink ribbons? And if so, how could I draw her out again?

Discouraged, I trudged across campus in the low evening light. The sun was dropping fast, and in a half hour or so it'd be totally dark. As I scanned the empty grounds, my eyes fell upon the half-pipe, a little ways up the hill. I smiled, remembering all the nights Becca and I had snuck out of the dorm, after lights-out, to ride it in the dark. It was the ultimate dare, and we'd never once gotten caught.

On impulse, I changed course, heading over to the ski lockers to grab my board, then starting the short trek up the hill to the top of the pipe. Maybe now was the perfect time to practice—with no one around to see me if I fell. Maybe my only problem earlier had been the pressure of judgmental eyes. Maybe this time I'd be fine and not freak out.

I had to try.

I reached the top of the pipe and looked down. I knew if my life were still that movie, I'd be strapping on my board and dropping in, without a care in the world. The sound track would soar along with me as I popped up over the first side, launching into a perfect backside 180 tail grab. By the time I'd reached the bottom, I would have successfully not only faced my fears, but completely conquered them. The film would then cut to me at the Olympic games, a gold medal being draped around my neck.

But my life was definitely not a movie, and instead the real-life fear came rushing back like a hurricane wind, practically knocking me over with its force. As I stared down into the pipe, it was as if I could almost see my body sprawled out there, broken and bleeding. My pulse picked up, and my stomach swam. And even though I knew these were all just symptoms of another oncoming panic attack—that they had absolutely no hold on reality—I couldn't manage to let go of either my fear or the horrific images it had chosen to evoke.

And, try as I might, I couldn't bring myself to drop in.

I collapsed onto the snow, no longer able to hold back the tears that had threatened to consume me all day. It was too much. Coming back here to the scene of the crime, dealing with Olivia's sneers, Becca's betrayal, Cam's new girlfriend, my dad's false hope, and worst of all my complete inability to ride down the mountain without falling apart both mentally and physically.

Why had I even come back? There was no reason for me being here. Not when it was crystal clear that my dream had gone down the drain. And without it? I was no one. I had nothing. No hobbies, no sports, no interests, no career goals—my whole life had been consumed by snowboarding up until this point, and if that was really over for good, I had no idea what I was going to do with myself for the next seventy or eighty years.

I was crying so hard I didn't hear anyone approach, until a voice cut through the darkness.

“Are you okay?”

Startled, I looked up with blurry, tear-soaked eyes. A dark, boy-shaped silhouette came into view over the side of the pipe. As he got closer, I saw that he was around my own age. Tall, skinny, with shaggy brown bangs hanging down into his face and a snowboard clutched in his gloved hands. He dropped to his knees in front of me, brushing away his hair and peering at me with concerned blue eyes. He looked weirdly familiar, though for the life of me, I couldn't place him.

“Did you hurt yourself?” he asked, his hands wrapping around my ankles and squeezing lightly. His touch was soft, gentle, and I found myself taking a much-needed breath.

“Thanks, but I'm fine,” I assured him, hoping the darkness would hide my tears. I swiped my sleeve across my cheeks just in case.

He gave me a skeptical look, as if he didn't quite believe me, but pulled his hands away. I guess that wasn't surprising, considering most people who are “fine” aren't found sitting alone, crying their eyes out at the top of a half-pipe. The Boarder Barbies would have a field day if they could see me now.

At least this guy didn't appear to be a Mountain Academy student, as far as I could tell by his ripped jacket and beaten-up board. Most of the kids here were rich as anything or at least sponsored by ski and snowboard companies that provided them with top-of-the-line gear every season. No one at Mountain Academy was stuck wearing duct-taped boots.

“Just a bad night?” he asked, looking me over carefully.

“You could say that.”

I waited for him to ask me what happened, wondering what I'd tell him when he did. It was bad enough he caught me crying up here to begin with. What kind of explanation could I give him without sounding like a total loser?

But, to my surprise, he didn't ask. He simply held out his hand. “I'm Logan.” He introduced himself. “Logan Conrad.”

I stared at him, now realizing exactly why he looked so familiar. “You're Mrs. Conrad's son,” I exclaimed, my embarrassment forgotten. The cafeteria lady always kept photos of her two sons taped to the side of her station.

His eyes dropped to the snow. “Yeah,” he replied. “I guess you go to Mountain Academy then, huh?” His voice held a note of disappointment, and I wondered what kind of past run-ins he'd had with my fellow students. Sad to say, staff kids weren't always treated like first-class citizens at my school.

I gave him a sheepish shrug, kind of wishing I didn't have to admit it. “Yeah,” I said at last. “At least for now . . . I'm Lexi by the way.”

Logan drew in a slow breath. “Well, Lexi, you won't tell anyone at your school I was up here, will you?” His eyes darted around the pipe, as if he half expected ski patrol to pop out from behind a tree and bust him.