Page 26 of Seduction on the Slopes

I find my parents’ van in the back of what’s basically a parking lot, not really a campground at all. Same van they’ve had my whole life, and it doesn’t look much worse for wear from the last time I saw it. Hard to tell if there’s an extra dent here or there on something that old.

When I get close, the side door pops open, and my mom sticks her head out, her long hair curling and grey as she beckons to me. “Come in, come in. It’s cold out there.”

It is, but I’d almost rather stay out here because out here I can breathe. Yeah, the air is so frigid it stiffens the hair in my nostrils, but it’s clean, crisp. Inside it’s much warmer but there’s also the cloying, claustrophobic smells of weed, incense, and whatever weird-ass mung bean tea my mom’s decided has magical powers this week.

The other thing is that it’s small. Really small. The place seems to get smaller every time I see my parents, even though I’m pretty sure I stopped growing like three years ago. How did the six of us ever fit in here? Speaking of . . . “Where’s Junie?”

Easy to tell my younger sister’s not here, because I can see the whole place from my seat on the bench just inside the door. The cushion’s so old a spring is poking me in the ass on one side and seems to sag on the other.

My dad’s sitting cross-legged on the mattress in the back that has tapestries tied back to open the space up the rest of the van. He also happens to have a giant glass bong in front of him, and holy shit would I love to take a toke off that, but I won’t because not only would Miles murder me with his bare hands, but I’d have to see that disappointed look on his face while he did it.

He even offers it to me, which, what the fuck? Does he not realize why I’m here and that I could get disqualified from the games for smoking? “No, thanks, Dad. Where’s Junie?”

My parents look at each other, their heads tilted like mirror images and they seem to communicate without words. Finally my mother’s mouth twitches. “Arcata? Or was it Mount Shasta last?”

“Northern California though, definitely,” my dad concurs. “Last time we heard from Juniper anyway.”

That’s cool. My baby sister’s nineteen and they don’t know where she is. I don’t know why I thought it would be different. I should find out. Make sure she’s okay. Last I knew Rain was in Eugene, and there’s a picture of what looks like her with a hipster-looking guy and a tow-headed baby in her arms tucked in the corkboard that’s attached to the back of the passenger’s seat.

If Miles were here, I can imagine him counting the numerous safety violations in this vehicle, and probably passing out, because the thing is a deathtrap. It would be funny, but also crazy uncomfortable for everyone involved, except maybe my parents who would likely be too stoned to notice exactly how horrified Miles would be.

“Your brother called a few weeks ago. He just took a job with the Google in Mountain View. Sounds like he’s doing well, but we didn’t talk for long.” Yeah, Cedar left before I did and somehow made good for himself. Probably tried to get off the phone before my parents could hit him up for cash. I’m sure they’ll ask me if I have anything to spare before I leave. Which I do. Fifty dollars I’ve kept tucked in the back of my wallet just in case they showed up.

We talk for a while about where they’ve been, where they’re going, and they ask me some about the SIGs, but they don’t even seem to know enough about the games to ask good questions. Sometimes I feel like they live on an alternate plane of reality.

“So . . .” When I’ve got both of their attention, I take a quick breath before I can ask them a question I probably already know the answer to, but in case things have changed, I ask it with hope anyway. “You guys going to be around for a few days? I could get you tickets to my events.”

Again they look at each other, and their silent communication riles me. Turning back, my mom gives me an apologetic smile. “We wish we could, sweetie. But the campgrounds around here are charging a fortune. The manager’s already stopped by to ask for money twice today.”

Which means they didn’t have enough to pay and are probably planning to ditch out in the middle of the night. I try not to let my disappointment show that they can’t get their shit together even long enough to stay for the biggest thing that’s ever going to happen for me.

“Actually,” my dad pipes up. “We were wondering if you might be able to help us out a little, now that you’re a famous skier and all. You must be rolling in the dough, right?”

That’s not how this works. That’s not how any of this works. My wealth is wrapped up in my equipment, and if I don’t do really freaking well in the races they don’t give a shit about, I won’t have anything else to show for it. But I pull my wallet out of my back pocket and extract the bills, don’t fail to notice that my dad looks disappointed when he takes the two twenties and a ten between his stained fingers.

Chapter Fourteen

Miles

Crash is back well before curfew. So much before that I kind of expect him to just be back to grab a hat or some other thing he forgot, because the guy is incapable of leaving someplace in one piece, but he doesn’t. He closes the door, locks it and then stands there, looking shell-shocked. What’s up with that?

If I thought he wanted to talk to me, I’d ask, but I can’t imagine he doesn’t know I’m here and he’s not acknowledging me. That’s fine. He can have his space—as much of it as a person can get around here, anyway.

He’d left in kind of a distracted hurry earlier and I thought it’d had to do with the phone call he got right after he finished fucking my brains out, but who knows with that guy. Also, my head was still kind of scrambled, and I feel like we’ve come to an understanding. He’s not going to do anything to jeopardize his career now, so I trust him not to do anything stupid. Well, epically stupid anyway.

I wasn’t exactly happy that he missed the team dinner my parents hosted, but I’m not going to make a big deal out of that. Yes, I’d wanted him to come, be there, introduce him to my folks, but it wasn’t an official obligation. He didn’t have to come, so I’m not going to give him shit about not showing up. I would tell him it made me feel bad if we were dating or something, but we’re not, so I don’t particularly feel as though I’m allowed to have an opinion one way or another.

But would it have killed him to text so I didn’t spend half the time with my eye on the door?

Whatever.

I must read the same page a dozen times while he stands there, and finally I can’t take it anymore. “Hey, you okay?”

The way he looks at me, maybe he is surprised I’m here. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

“Because you’ve been standing there for like an hour.”

“I have?”

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