Page 10 of The Mountain
I grimace, swiping my mouth with the back of my gloved hand as I trudge out from the copse of trees at the side of the run. “Food poisoning,” I lie.
The kid snickers, then forces his face into an almost comical mask of seriousness. “It’s okay,” he says. “I won’t tell anyone. I know what it’s like.”
I stare at him, horror warring with disbelief. Is this kid serious? Is that what teenagers do now? I’m pretty sure I wasn’t getting shit-faced when I was fifteen.
“Wow. You guys made it down that run fast.”
The fifteen-year-old’s dad pulls to a stop beside us, round face red with exertion, barrel chest heaving beneath his ski jacket. His exhaustion doesn’t stop him from beaming with pride at his offspring, lined eyes crinkling as if there is nothing more beautiful than the pimple-faced truant before him.
I swallow back the nausea that threatens to rise up again and plaster on a smile. “Yep, he’s really picking it up,” I tell him.
I don’t mention that I goaded the poor kid into blasting down the run, just so I could have a two-minute break in the trees to puke my guts out.
The dad claps his son on the shoulder, a meaty thud that has the kid wincing. “That’s great,” he says. “Let’s do another run.”
I force my smile to widen as I ramble out something in agreement. I’m barely aware of the words though, and when we head down the easy run toward the chairlift, I’m almost convinced that the snow is moving beneath me, rolling and undulating like water.
I grit my teeth, breathing icy air in short, huffing breaths in an effort to regain my equilibrium, clenching my fists in my gloves, as if the air around me is something solid I can hold on to.
By the time my two-hour lesson is over, I can barely walk. My legs feel like lead, my fingertips and toes numb and tingling, and the ground slides precariously beneath me, tilting like land after too much time spent at sea.
“Thanks for the lesson,” the dad pants, trudging beside me as we make our way back to theLessonssign. “Billy had a great time.”
I give him a brittle smile. “I’m glad to hear it.”
He nods, then reaches into his pocket, huffing and straining a bit before pulling out a crumpled five-dollar note. “Here yah go.” He shoves the bill toward me, a self-satisfied smile stretching across his face. “Just a little token of our appreciation.” He stares at me expectantly.
My steps falter, and I stare at the crumpled note in bewilderment for a long moment. “Oh. Uh. Thanks?” I say, blinking back the spots speckling the corners of my vision, then reaching out to take the note.
The dad gives a magnanimous nod before trotting off to rejoin his son, leaving me at the post to wait for my next lesson.
“You all right, Lily?”
I start at the sound of Tessa’s voice, then turn to offer her a bleary smile. “Oh. Hi.”
She lifts up her goggles, settling them on her helmet, her gaze roving over my face, then dropping to the crumpled five-dollar note in my hand. “What the fuck is that?” She wrinkles her nose, then throws a scowl at the retreating backs of my students. “Isthatthe tip he gave you? Five dollars?” She shakes her head, then lets out an irritated huff. “I’m sorry, but that’s just insulting. You know they pay hundreds of dollars for lessons, right? That’s like, what, a two-percent tip? Bloody typical.” She lifts one manicured finger, leather gloves clutched in her fist. “And that is why I don’t like teaching group lessons. They’re cheap motherfuckers who don’t know how to tip.”
I laugh despite myself, a hollow, tired sound that’s more a huff than anything else, then shake my head. “It’s fine,” I tell her, tucking the note into my pocket.
Sure, I’d felt a twinge of disappointment at the sight of it. I had been hoping for more. But then I’d instantly felt guilty and ungrateful, because they didn’t have to tip me at all. And I really do need the money.
“You look like shit, Lil,” Tessa narrows her eyes at me. “You’re not still hungover from Sunday night, are you? You weren’t even out that late.”
My gaze drops to the trampled snow beneath our feet, and I’m vaguely aware of the other instructors walking past us, of blurs of red and black moving to cluster together and wait for Chris—the head of ski school—to assign them their students. For a briefmoment, I’m tempted to lie to Tessa. To brush off her concern. To tell her I’m fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine.
I can’t even count how many times I’ve said those words today.
I’m not fine.
I lift my eyes to meet hers, and am hit by the look of true concern there. Of warmth. I swallow, my mouth dry and bitter tasting, and unconsciously step toward her. “I… there’s something I need to tell you,” I say, and this time when my stomach lurches, I’m not sure if it’s from nausea or nerves or both. “About what happened at the party…”
“I’m goingto fucking murder him.”
I wave dismissively. “It’s fine. He got pretty beat up, by the sounds of things. And he’s gone now.”
“Not gone enough,” Tessa grumbles under her breath, but her ire quickly turns to concern as she looks me over. “And what, you’re out here teaching after that happened? Lily, you were fucking drugged.”
