Winter Fire Read online

  I followed Bren to the terrain park, and as we cleared some trees the view sprawled out before me. I sucked in a breath. Beyond the outer buildings of the resort were tiny houses and tendril streams, clumps of forest and long, winding roads. Patchwork farmland slept under blankets of snow, broken through here and there by matchstick silos, and a miniature water tower which crouched like an unlikely winter insect. Layers of hills in blues and grays backdropped the whole scene, ghostly and reaching back into forever.

  I couldn’t have imagined this from my timid post at the base of the mountain, but it was somehow what I had expected - to feel like I had escaped.

  “Jenna.”

  I turned to the only view that could’ve pulled me from this one. Bren sat back in the snow and waved me toward him. I hobbled over and plopped down next to him. The others were already at the top of the run, buckling in.

  “Ready for some jumps?” He was joking, but the park looked cruelly dangerous from this perspective and I wrapped my arms around myself.

  “As long as I’m not the one doing them,” I said.

  He laughed, the sun shooting copper streaks through his hair. I felt warmth radiating off him and it calmed the nerves in my stomach. Frieda slid over and sat down on the other side of me.

  “Look,” she said, pointing to the edge of one of the jumps, and then gesturing across the run to the other side. “See how wide those spaces are along the sides? You’ll have no problem getting down those.”

  They did look pretty wide, but I had learned that things were different on a moving board.

  “She’ll be okay,” Bren said.

  “You want to go first?” Frieda asked.

  I let out a breathy laugh and shook my head. “No way. I’m actually just going to sit here and watch for a while, if I’m not in the way.”

  “You’re not in the way,” she said, smiling her sweet smile.

  Bren scooted closer to me, bending his legs so that his board didn’t hit mine. The dark symbols danced over the wood.

  “You got new stuff,” he said, nodding at my board. “Did Jeff fix you up?”

  “This morning.” I looked out over the world again.

  “Nice,” he said. He reached out and dragged my hand to his knee, and I forgot about everything else.

  “It’s all you, bro.” Dag shouted from a few yards away as Frey hopped his board into position. We turned to look at them. Frey pointed his board down the mountain, dropped his sunglasses, and gave us all a troublemaking grin. Then, facing forward, he let the steep take him.

  He leaned back, somehow picking up speed despite being knocked left and right by the uneven terrain. His body slack, he seemed to have no interest in controlling his situation. He was like a dead man floating on the ocean as the center jump appeared in his line, his arms lifting from his sides the only sign of momentum. Clearing the height of the ramp, he coasted high into the air, the sun turning his dreadlocks into spun gold, gripped the front edge of his board, and whirled with the random carelessness of a roulette wheel. His movements seemed slow, but I lost count of the number of rotations he made. He landed backward, lifting the tail of his board and pressing the nose into the snow to drag a white spray in his wake. When he came to a stop, he spread his arms and grinned up at Dag. A lazy challenge.

  “Oh, it’s like that, huh?” Dag shouted, penguin-walking his board to the side furthest from us. Frey raised his palms higher and made a sweeping motion with one hand, inviting an answer.

  Dag’s lips curved in a grin that took over half his face, his brows dropping in a sharp V, his eyes narrow and tilted upward. It was an evil effect that only intensified as he popped into the air and landed, moving fast. Hunkered low, he twisted his body so that one arm pointed ahead and the other behind, and cut left, aiming at the ramp on the far side. He flung himself off the crest and into the air so quickly that I almost missed it, then reached behind him, grabbed his board and flipped in the air. He steered himself like a wild car careening out of control, plummeting until he landed, finally, on the rail below the jump. He rode the length of it, the nose of his board a full few inches off the metal, then tapped down with the board’s tail before shooting off the end, turning backward, and landing solidly a few feet further down. A fountain of snow showered Frey’s legs as he skidded to a stop next to him.

  “Wow,” I said, staring down at them.

  Bren smiled at me, then leaned forward to look at Frieda. “You gonna take that from them?” He said.

  She peered at us from the corner of her eye, grinned her feline grin, and shrugged one shoulder. Pressing one hand into the snow, she rose from the ground, stretched her arms above her tiled head, and closed her eyes, warming her face in the sun. When she straightened and opened her eyes again, her gaze was intense and focused ahead, but the grin still played on her lips.

  She took off, coasting down toward the ramp on our side, her legs undulating as they absorbed the shock of the bumps and divots in the snow. Her arms stayed low to her sides, wavering like reeds underwater, her wrists bent so that her hands pointed outward. She seemed to negotiate the ramp, wriggling back and forth a little to achieve a perfect line. When she seemed satisfied, she flattened her back, bent her knees and sprung, wheeling high into the air, her braids whipping around her face, her body arching into a bow as she caught the tail of her board. When she touched down, she quickly wriggled again, negotiating as she had before, and hit the half-buried car at full speed. Launching herself off the roof, she set her gaze on Frey and Dag, turned her body mid-flight to shift her path, and pounced, landing with just enough time to serpentine around Frey and halt next to Dag, her shoulder grazing his. Both Frey and Dag flinched.

  “Whoo!” I shouted.

  She threw a fist in the air and wiggled her hips.

  “This is amazing,” I said, not sure if I was referring to them, or the view, or what. They were already calling to Bren from the bottom of the run, Frey and Dag making weird barking noises with their hands cupped around their mouths.

  “You’d better go.” I told him.

  He smiled. “I’ll follow you down the side.”

  “Yeah, because I love the idea of being that helpless girl who holds a guy back,” I said. “Just give me some time to get used to it up here.”

  “Come on, bro,” Dag shouted. In these last few minutes, Dag had been more animated than I’d ever seen him, and their noise just kept getting louder.

  “I’ll go with them next time,” Bren said.

  I shook my head. “You’ll go with me next time. Come on, I want to see this.”

  “This is why I don’t have a girlfriend.” Frey shouted up. Girlfriend. I felt the heat in my cheeks and stared down at my knees, but I allowed myself a second of bliss at hearing the word.

  In my peripheral vision, I watched Bren look out over the mountains.

  “Huh.” He said. “Never had one of those.”

  “What?” I toggled the zipper on the side of my pants.

  “A girlfriend.”

  “Neither have I,” I said. He laughed and I grinned at him.

  Frey mocked something in a high voice, but I couldn’t make it out.

  “Don’t you want to shut them up?” I said.

  “Impossible.” But he let go of my hand – a chill settling into my body as he did – put on his helmet, and slid his mirrored sunglasses onto his face. Then he rose and put his hands on his hips, rocking back and forth on his board.

  “Okay,” he yelled, dragging the word into an exasperated warning as he shook his head, “it’s on.”

  “Yeah it is,” Frey shouted. Downhill, the three quieted and shifted around on their boards. It was so quiet I could hear their edges scratch the snow.

  Bren leaned back, his arms loose by his sides, and I felt tension like a low rumble of thunder building into something earsplitting and terrible. He twisted, made a fist with his left hand, his forearm shielding his torso, and cast his full attention down the hill. Rocking for another mome
nt, he stared hard, weaving the next few moments into the run. It was as though he had sown a handful of future over the present, and was waiting for it to take root.

  His takeoff didn’t so much begin as merge into something unseen, his approach to the first jump flat and perfectly straight, his arm thrust out behind him to hold off the world. He bent his knees as he hit the ascent and vaulted, his board creeping up to meet his hand, body pivoting, head still as he spotted the center of the run. His legs took the landing like springs, and barely noticing the impact, he made two sharp angles to align himself with the main jump. Again, he straightened his approach to a perfect line and hit the second ramp. This time, he pumped his legs and pushed down with his arms as he hit the crest, bullying the ground out of his way, and when he bounded into the air I felt a fear that nearly stopped my heart. He rose, rose, like his bond with gravity had snapped, until there was nothing but him and the blue day and no earth in my view. He grabbed the back of his board like he was simply using it to keep himself from drifting off like a helium balloon. Logic told me he was whirling – some corkscrew spiral I could only vaguely perceive, but my eyes insisted he was frozen, still, everything in the world revolving around him. Time had slowed. There was only the bite of the cold on my skin, the warmth still throbbing in the hand he had held, the awe rising in my chest, and Bren, a spinning sun against the sky, dimming his pale twin above, his hair a dark corona flaring around him.

  He streaked to earth like a meteor and stomped down in a low crouch. Then, rising on his board, he arched his back and slid behind the others, heading toward the lift.

  He didn’t glance back.

  I let out a long breath I was unaware I was holding onto and watched its white stream float up and away. I had seen competitive snowboarding before - the X-Games, the Olympics - but I had never seen anything this…unreasonable. By the time they all made it back up, I still hadn’t recovered. The second runs commenced, but Bren slid over to me instead, and sat down where Frieda had been.

  I stared at him with open shock and he grinned.

  “That was… awesome,” I said. It sounded lame.

  “You sound surprised,” he said. “Don’t you remember what I told you last night?”

  I remembered his arms around me, his wintergreen smell, his fingers tangled in my hair.

  “Jenna?”

  I looked up at him. He was still grinning.

  “I remember,” I said.

  “What, you didn’t believe me?” He asked, taking my hand. He flattened his other hand against his chest and arranged on his face the most arrogant look I had ever seen. “I told you I was awesome.”

  “And I believe I noted your huge ego.” I knocked into him with my shoulder and he pretended to fall over.

  “Seriously,” I said only half-seriously, nodding down the run, “For a minute there I thought you might actually die.”

  He was still leaning back on his elbows, the sun glinting off his glasses. “Nah. Don’t you trust me?”

  I was quiet for a while, a careful smile on my lips. “I guess,” I said.

  “Good.” He pushed himself up. “Because now it’s your turn.”

  I glanced toward the others. Frey was already at the bottom of the hill again, Dag and Frieda in mid-run. When I turned back to Bren, he motioned toward a flat swatch of snow below us.

  “Let’s get those turns down,” he said.

  Pure dread. How could I wobble down this hill, desperately clinging to the only flat space available, and fall, often and unattractively, while these paranormal creatures flung themselves off of every available ledge beside me, competing for the most deadly speed and altitude? I knew I didn’t belong here, but I didn’t want it written across my forehead in red Sharpie.

  “Jenna?”

  I looked at him, wide-eyed. He had lost the smile.

  “I know you’re scared,” he said. Then he cocked his head to the side. “But that’s one of the things I like about you. It’s what makes you brave.”

  I shook my head.

  “Because you aren’t letting it stop you,” he said.

  And I didn’t want it to be a lie.

  He took off his sunglasses, put them in his pocket and stood up, hopping so that his board pointed down the hill.

  “Come on.” He put his hands out, flicking his fingers to indicate that I should stand up. I teetered to my feet, leaning on my back edge. He took my hands.

  “Turn so you’re facing me,” he said. I did, hopping like he had done, and immediately started to slide. Before I could panic, he pulled me back.

  “Now, two things.” He said, his eyes firmly on mine. “One. Think about what you want the board to do. See it in your head just before you want it to happen. Your mind causes your body to act, so you have to be in control of it.” I thought about the way he had paused before he started his run, focusing on the invisible. I nodded, making no promises. “Two.” He continued. “Don’t look down. Look at me. Right into my eyes.” That was something I felt I could commit to. But as I fixed my gaze on his, lost in that intense, honey glow, I doubted that this would help me concentrate. When I glanced away, he ducked his head to force eye contact and grinned.

  “What, I’m that ugly?” We both knew that was utterly absurd, so I was suddenly annoyed that he was confident enough to say it with such sarcasm.

  “Horrible,” I said, my tone a mixture of irritation and anxiety.

  He laughed. “You’re just nervous. Let’s get moving before you hit me or something.” And before I could open my mouth in protest, we were sliding down the hill.

  “Don’t.” Bren said as I glanced down at our boards. “Look at me.”

  I pulled my gaze up and caught his eyes. Pressing my front edge into the snow, I felt him rock onto his back edge to match my movements. When he nodded for me to make my first turn, I tightened my grip on his hands and froze. We were still moving, and I was sure we would hit the trees behind us, but the seconds just seemed to draw out, the ground stretching to accommodate my hesitation.

  “See your turn,” Bren said, his eyes locked onto mine. “Front edge, to neutral, to back.” I saw it as he said it. My board wavered in the snow, then went flat. When I eased onto my back edge, Bren leaned forward.

  “Good,” he said. “Again.”

  This time it took me even longer to find my nerve, and again I felt sure we would crash into one of the jumps, or at least ruin somebody’s run, but the time and the snow just kept unraveling. By the bottom, I had made three or four fluent turns in a row and had gained enough momentum to ride to the lift without stopping. I was breathless when we dropped down onto the chair.

  “Good job,” Bren said, offering with a raised brow to lower the bar. I shook my head and he dropped his arm onto my shoulders. These tiny things - hearing the word girlfriend, holding his hand, feeling the weight of his arm around me - were glimpses into what it would be like to belong with him. With them. There was no one else in the park, and I felt like they had invited me into their private world. I thought of the fire in the woods.

  “What are you thinking?” Bren asked as we watched Frieda spiral against the trees below.

  I didn’t want to mention the fire - a subject that made me feel far from him - so I asked him a question instead.

  “Why haven’t you ever had a girlfriend?” I asked. “Is there something wrong with you?” I added this last part to lighten the mood, make it casual.

  “Please,” he said, pointing at himself and then flipping his palms up, an expression of disbelief at the very question. I ignored it, gave him one of Frieda’s sweet smiles, and raised my brows.

  When he realized I was waiting for an answer, he dropped his hands. “Actually,” he said, “there’s something wrong with most girls.”

  “I see.” I said. I didn’t see.

  “Honestly…” He leaned back, appeared to hesitate, then shrugged. “Okay listen, you may think I’m a jerk for saying this, but I don’t take teenaged girls all that serio
usly.”

  I thought about that. Maybe he was a jerk, and maybe I should have been insulted, but I didn’t take many teenaged girls seriously either.

  “So, what, you date soccer moms?”

  He laughed his deep, hearty laugh, which made me smile, then shook his head. “I just mean that sometimes girls aren’t all that nice. In fact, they can be pretty mean. And you know what? They don’t like themselves very much.” His said this with a kind of sickened dismay, as if he had just realized that not all animals were Disney characters; that some animals actually ripped each other apart with their teeth.

  I thought of Brianna. Of countless other girls I’d known. “No,” I said, “I guess some of them don’t.”

  When I looked down this time, Dag and Frieda were waiting for Frey. He was heading for the center jump. As he approached, a strange thing happened to my vision. The jump seemed to waver, grow higher from the ground, the space between Frey and the ramp stretching so that he appeared to ride toward it in an endless stream of acceleration.

  “Jenna.”

  The jump wavered and grew taller still, Frey dissolving into a blur.

  “Jenna.”

  A hand shook my shoulder. The arc of the jump now curled to nearly vertical. Frey zipped over it and soared like a missile into the air. I jerked back against Bren in shock, but Frey was still at eye level.

  Then I blinked and he was gone.

  “Jenna.”

  I had heard of things like this. People hallucinating in situations where they were afraid. I thought maybe I was having some kind of panic attack.

  “Hey.” This time Bren shook my shoulder hard, leaned over and peered into my face. “Are you alright?”

  I stared back at him.

  “Yeah. Sorry,” I said, my voice unsteady. “I guess I’m not used to this.”

  “Don’t worry,” he said, sitting back. “If anyone crashes, we’ll clean it up.”