Page 14 of The Season
I watch and I listen, giving him the entirety of my attention, a small smile forming on my windburned lips.
Passing exams, getting good grades—that has always come easy to me. If I can pass 300-level Political Science classes at the University of Hawai’i, I can learn everything Liam has to teach us.
One of the guys standing next to me shuffles his feet, lifting one hand to suppress a loud yawn. Akiva gives a bored sigh. My grin broadens, hope and determination blooming.
Akiva is clearly as dumb as a box of rocks. If he’s any indication of my competition at the exam in two weeks’ time, I stand a pretty solid chance of passing.
“What the heck is torsional flex?” Matty murmurs, when Liam turns his back to us to give us the first of the demos he wants us to mimic. A heel-side falling leaf, he called it. The first technique we’ll be teaching students, once they’ve mastered putting on their board and skating.
Matty holds big mittened hands out in front of him, his lips curving into a frown as he tries to copy what Coach Liam had been doing with his hands before. “Like what does this even mean? Is this what my feet are supposed to be doing?”
Plastic grinds and squeaks as Matty presumably flexes and points his feet in his boots, trying to copy what Coach Liam had shown us earlier. His frown deepens. “This doesn’t do anything.”
I look up at him, worrying my lower lip with my teeth. Standing slightly uphill from me, he looks even taller than before. Too tall for a snowboarder, probably. His icy-blue eyes are filled with panic—the sort of frantic fear of a student who knows they’re about to be left behind by the rest of the class.
Without thinking about it, I drop to my knees in front of him, my board skidding behind me, my toe-side edge anchoring me in place as I reach for his feet. “Here,” I say, gripping one boot in each hand. His feet are massive, like the rest of him, the toes slightly overhanging the chipped edges of his board.
I push on one foot, then the other, making Matty’s weight shift from heel, to toe, to heel again, his board flexing in the center with the movement. “See that,” I say, nodding to his board. “See how your board twists in the middle. That’s the torsional flex that Coach was talking about. So when you change your weight on the board, it flexes in the middle, and the edge releases or grips into the snow.”
I push on the toe of his left foot, watching the heel-side edge disengage just enough to have him sliding to the left. “See. Like that.”
I glance up in time to see his eyes light up with understanding, lips curving into a tentative smile as he continues traversing across the slope on his heel edge. “Huh. Wow.” He chuckles. “I get it now.” His smile widens, his shoulders slumping with relief. “Thanks, Lily.”
The look he gives me is so full of gratitude, it has something uncomfortable twisting in my chest. I look away, feeling my cheeks heat as I rise to my feet, focusing on brushing snow off my knees and regaining balance on my toe-side edge before turning onto my heel edge so I can do the demo myself.
It’s an easy technique—one I would have mastered years ago and forgotten. The sort of movement that has embedded itself so deep into my muscle memory, doing it consciously feels awkward. I force myself to concentrate, to accentuate each movement like Liam told us, so that our hypothetical “visual learner” students would be able to replicate it.
By the time I finally get to where Liam and the rest of the group are waiting, I’m the last one down the slope. Akiva rolls his eyes impatiently, while Liam gives me an unreadable look.
“Hike up to the top,” Liam tells the class. “We’ll do it again.”
There are a few grumbled protests, but no one argues. It’s not a massive hill, but hiking in the snow is exhausting. Especially at altitude, when I’m still adjusting from being at sea level. I sigh, bending to unclip my board so I can start the trek back up to the top.
“I saw what you did with Matty.” Liam’s voice is feather soft, barely audible against the crunching of footsteps in the snow around us.
I start, surprised to find he’s standing right behind me. I stand, my board clutched under my arm, and eye him warily. He didn’t say we couldn’t help each other out, and I’m not about to apologize for helping Matty.
“That’s what you’d do for a kinetic learner,” he continues, keeping pace beside me as I start the slow trudge uphill. “You’re going to come across a lot of them. Demos and explanations will only do so much—they need to feel the movement to learn it. Keep that up and you might not fail after all.”
I turn, blinking at him in confusion from behind my goggles. Is he… did he just compliment me?
He gives the faintest of smiles, almost like he’s reluctant to show anything other than a glower, then powers past me, leaving me trailing behind the group. A grin curves my lips, that hopeful glow kindling in my chest burning brighter, spreading warmth down my snow-chilled limbs.
I can do this. I can pass the exam. In two weeks, I’ll be a snowboard instructor.
Matty pauses his ascent ahead of me, stepping back to let Liam storm past, shuffling his feet in the snow as he waits for me to catch up.
“Uhh… want me to carry your board?” he asks, his windburned cheeks reddening.
I shake my head. “I got it,” I tell him, adjusting my board so that it’s tucked under my other arm.
It’s nice of him to offer, but having him carry my board isn’t going to win me any points with Coach—or the rest of the guys.
“What did Coach say?” Matty whispers, his shoulder brushing against my own as we walk together up the hill. “Was he mad about you helping me?”
“Nah. He was cool with it.” I shoot him a smile, then knock his shoulder playfully with my own. “I think it actually made me look good. So, thank you.”
Matty lets out a breathy chuckle. “Oh, okay. Good. Glad to help.”
