Page 1 of Spoil
Chapter one
Penelope
Five years ago
As I step off the bus, I pull my jacket around me tighter. It’s colder up in the mountains. I let the crowd filter around me as I look up at massive wood-framed buildings. It’s a small city in the middle of tall mountain peeks, and it takes my breath away.
I never thought I’d ever go skiing. Skiing is for rich people with time and money to burn. I work at a daycare, earning just over minimum wage. But when Cara and I were watching Dumb and Dumber last month and I mentioned how much I would love to ski, but doubted I’d ever be able to afford to, she made a note and gifted me rentals and a full day, private, one-on-one ski lesson.
I cried.
And hugged her. And then cried some more.
Growing up with a single blue-collar dad, we never had extra for vacations or hobbies or sports. We always had food on our table, but some months it was tuna in mac and cheese or grilled cheese and canned tomato soup.
I didn’t mind. We had each other, and that was enough.
I just learned early on that there were social and economic classes, and I’d always belong to the bottom.
I check my watch and hurry towards the town’s center. Following the signs, I find the ski rental place and approach a host stand.
“I have a rental for skis?” I ask, unsure of the proper protocol in these instances.
“Name?” the young, blonde man behind the counter asks with what sounds like a European accent.
“Penelope Sills?”
A few clicks of the keyboard later, and the printer comes alive with a loud whir. He hands me a form, shows me what to fill out and where, and directs me to a line.
A mid-twenties boy ushers me to sit on a bench where two other people are getting fitted for boots.
“What size shoe do you wear?”
“A size six?” I hate the tremor in my voice, but I can’t control the nervous, anxious energy in my stomach. I feel so far out of my league, I might as well be on another planet. Can they see my inexperience? Can they tell that only last month even being here felt like a pipedream? Can they tell I’m wearing borrowed clothes?
Cara had to lend me her ski bibs and jacket and gloves. The blue scarf, however, is mine. Another gift from Cara, but one she knitted herself, so it holds special meaning for me.
Ski boots on snug, and two skis and two poles later and I awkwardly make my way up the set of stairs that leads to where the lessons convene, according to the outdoor signposts. I struggle with my equipment, unsure of how to hold so many things, and walk upstairs awkwardly in my too-stiff boots.
The fronts of my shins ache, and I wonder how in the world I’ll be able to do this for an entire day. Maybe this was a dumb idea. Maybe I can just watch the skiers from the lodge and tell Cara Iskied. But I’m a shit liar, and she would know right away. I can do this. For her.
I’m simultaneously sweaty and cold by the time I reach the top of the stairs. Dozens of people in matching red jackets are buzzing around, drilling holes in the freshly groomed snow and erecting temporary fencing. There’s a flag designating the meeting area for kids aged 4-7 and then another for kids aged 7-14.
A tall, older woman notices me and approaches. I smile, kind of breathlessly, and hope she can’t see the sweat on my upper lip. I casually swipe at it with the back of my mitten before she looks up from her clipboard.
“Here for an adult lesson?”
“Yes.”
“Name?”
“Penelope Sills.”
“Ah, yes. We have you with Daniel.” She smiles, and it’s warm and comforting. That’s a good sign. Although I doubt she’d admit it out loud if he were a monster. I shake my head. What kind of monster am I expecting? The boogie man? He’s a ski instructor, for Christ’s sake.
“He should be here any minute.”
I nod and wait, awkwardly hunched in my boots to relieve my aching shins, arms wrapped around skis and poles that still won’t behave.
