Page 71 of Well Played

“Don’t send the next skier!” I tried to yell, still catching my breath as I pulled up in front of them. But it was too late. She had left the starting line and all I could do was watch in horror as the young skier from France hit the uneven surface, lost her balance, and plowed into the B netting. It was horrendous to watch. Emmy’s crumpled form lying lifeless tangled in the net, her skis ejected and sliding down the slope. The paramedics raced upthe hill in their snowcat and I fought to get the attention of the officials.

“There is stone, grit on the course near that flag,” I huffed.

He nodded, listening to me explain.

“We will check it out.”

Jeff had pulled up in front of me and opened his mouth to berate me, but I put a gloved hand up.

“Don’t. Someone threw rocks on the course. I’m more worried about Emmanuelle right now.”

Jeff’s face changed instantly. “Are you serious?”

“Deadly. Small white rocks. Look at my skis,” I clicked off my right ski and showed him the bases of my freshly waxed skis, now sporting several deep gouges down to the core.

“Fuck.” Jeff looked like a volcano about to erupt as he ran his fingers down the deep cuts.

“Agreed. Did Natasja wobble?”

“Not that I saw.”

“What I thought. She threatened me in the marshaling area.”

“That is a serious allegation, Sophie.”

“I know, but it is true. I can prove it. One of the officials saw.”

“Leave it with me.”

Suddenly, I felt lighter. Jeff hated me, but he hated cheating more. Pushing through the crowd, he was on a mission to find the Technical Delegate. The racing stopped as they transported Emmanuelle to the medical center and investigated my claims. As the snow cat passed containing Emmy wrapped in a space blanket, her eyes closed, I caught sight of Natasja’s face, black as thunder. I glared back. Not only had she tried to injure me, but she had also hurt a young girl, barely nineteen, and a newcomer to the circuit. Being Australian, we skied whatever type of snow we could get—bullet proof ice, elephant snot and death cookies, as we called the small icy pellets that appeared after a weather change in Australian ski resorts. But for a European or NorthAmerican skier, used to powder and well-groomed piste, that would have thrown any skier off their game. I checked the scoreboard. Natasja was in first, and despite my wobble, I was only slightly behind, in second place. Had I crashed, they would have groomed the course as they transported me to the med center, and no one would have known. It was genius, except she had hurt the wrong girl.

Officials cleared us to return to the skiers’ area at the top of the hill as they investigated, groomed the course, and released the final skiers of the first run. This could take a while as they reviewed video footage. I was told to wait in the main area, and knew I was being watched, although not in a nasty way. Jeff’s booming voice was audible off in the distance, so at least it was under control.

Owen came flying through the doors, still in his race suit, and scanned the room for me. I stood and waved, and he scooped me into his arms, not caring who saw.

“Are you alright? What happened?”

“I’m fine. Emmanuelle isn’t. Last I heard, she has suspected fractured vertebrae and at least one broken leg.”

“Was there something wrong with the course?”

I nodded, gesturing for him to join me in the corner. The official watching me looked cautiously at us moving away but gave us privacy.

Within minutes I had filled him in on my two run-ins with Natasja, and her threat to destroy me.

“You think she dropped something as she raced?”

“I don’t see how she could. She posted a great time. But it was clear she had no problems, and I certainly did. Emmanuelle too.”

“Well, let’s just wait. It could be a genuine accident, but doesn’t sound like it.”

“Look at my ski bases.” I gestured to my skis resting along the wall. Owen and I had tuned our skis together the night before, so he knew the condition they were in. Like all of us, I did my course inspection in different skis, keeping my race tuned skis for my two timed runs only.

Owen stood and turned the skis over, running his fingers along the deep gouges in the bases. “Ah, no. Not an accident. These can’t be repaired, the damage is so deep.”

“Miss Russell, can you come with me, please.”

It was an instruction, not a request. Owen stood, ready to accompany me, but was promptly dismissed by the official.

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