Page 46 of Ski You Later
Aurora runs past me down the hall, holding a bundle of clothes in her arms, but abruptly drops them to the floor. Turning fast as a viper, she jumps over the couch, smacking my leg down, and ripping my hand from my mouth.
“No! Stop stressing about nothing! I’m too busy to help right now,” she yells in my face. Pointing her finger at me with menace, and then rushing to finish what she was doing.
I let out the breath I was holding and watch as my crazy best friend runs into her room. She’s right, though; this whole deal won’t work if I go home and stress out about everything. Tossing my phone onto thecouch beside me, I use a rare pocket of free time to work on my latest drawings.
In no time, pencils are scattered in the folds of the couch as my sketch pad sits snugly on my lap. Candles are lit periodically throughout the space, and calming jazz music plays, as I snuggle into my blanket.
I decided to use pencils today, revelling in getting my fingers covered in the lead as I press the side of the tip onto the page. A fake fireplace sits on my TV, and the crackling of the wood sets a calming atmosphere. A frustrated scream from Aurora’s room ruins my mood for a minute, but peace returns shortly after.
In my periphery, I notice she’s frantically running in and out of the house, but I can’t hear if she is talking to me.
The paper in front of me has a rough sketch of Roman’s face plastered across it. I squint as I focus on capturing the strong set of his jaw, accenting it with a dusting of stubble.
I think about the few times I’ve seen him un-shaven and decide I prefer it the other way. When his face proudly displays his smattering of freckles, it always manages to make my stomach flip.
The face that stares back at me has a small smirk playing on the corner of his mouth, and I did my best tocapture the twinkle of mischief in his eyes. I start to shade the column of his neck just as I feel a presence behind me.
“Who’s that?” Aurora questions bluntly.
“Roman,” I respond without looking up.
There’s a stretch of silence behind me as if she’s confused by my words. “That’s Roman?” Aurora questions again.
“Yes. Why?” I look at her now, confused at the face she’s making.
“It just looks wrong.”
“What? I thought I nailed his proportions in this one!” I say defensively.
“No, you did. It’s just that he looks happy.” It comes out as more of a question, and I can’t help but frown at her.
“Stop being mean,”
“I’m not! The guy literally never smiles. So, it looks wrong.”
Now that she says it, I can’t remember a single time lately that we’ve hung out, and he hasn’t been smiling. Whether because he was teasing me or just because we were hanging out. Lately, Roman has always had a smile on his face.
“Oh, well, he’s been smiling a lot lately,” I counter defensively and turn back to my drawing.
I can practically hear the wicked smile forming on my best friend’s face, and I promptly ignore her as she continues to get ready.
I scoff at Aurora’s insinuation and toss my sketch pad beside me. Crossing my legs and tucking them further under the blanket, my mind wanders to our last couple of interactions. The way he teases me but never in a degrading way, and always makes me feel more confident after our verbal sparring. If it were anyone else on our team, I would never even dream of yelling at their face, let alone being pleased with myself after.
As I reach for my drawing again, a weight sinks on the couch beside me, and Aurora throws her arms over her face.
“I can’t do it. I’m not ready. I’m not going,” she says definitively.
“You aren’t done packing yet? What have you been doing for the past couple hours?” I close my sketch pad and face her, so that she knows she has my full attention.
“I can’t race this weekend. I’m not ready, Rho.” Grabbing my sweater sleeve, she sends her pleadingpuppy eyes directly at me before she puts her head on my sleeve. My delicate little heart swells and I reach to pull my best friend into a well needed hug. But, before I can even get one arm around her, she shoots up and starts to pace in front of the couch.
“We haven’t had enough training, you know! It has been such a warm winter, with only five weeks of gate training this season! That isn’t nearly enough!” My eyes move back and forth as if I’m watching a tennis match, her steps erratic and her voice rising as each new point pops into her head.
I try to counter some of her arguments, since they are ridiculous, but it seems that she has just hit her stride.
“I should’ve lifted heavier this summer. Lifted heavier weights, bulked, and then brought that strength into my skiing. I wasted so much time!” She stops her pacing and hangs her head in shame.
“Rora, that’s ridiculous.”
