You sit at the airport gate, your feet resting on your luggage, trying your hardest to ignore your sister Angie. She’s on the phone with her boyfriend, Cole, whispering about how much she already misses him, even though they saw each other yesterday at school. Thinking about boys makes you feel a little nauseated. It also makes you want to call Nate Harrison, your very-recently-ex-boyfriend. Or at least text him. But you know that would just be an exercise in disaster. After all, the reason he’s your ex-boyfriend is that you found out he spent his whole lunch period kissing a mousey-looking freshman in the school library, between the biology and self-help sections. The whole thing was mortifying. But what’s even more mortifying is the fact that you miss him. And listening to Angie chatter to Cole is not helping the situation.
Just about when you think their gushiness might make you throw up on your sheepskin boots, Angie says, “Love you, too,” and clicks off her phone.
“Sorry,” she says, looking kind of chagrined.
You sigh. “It’s okay,” you tell her. “I’m glad at least one of us has good taste in boys.”
Angie looks at you critically. She reaches out her hand, then tips your chin to the left so it catches the sun streaming through the window.
“I have a plan,” she says, releasing your chin. “You need to kiss someone you meet on the ski mountain. You need to fall in love on the lifts.”
The very last thing you want to do right now is kiss someone. In fact, you were planning on spending your days skiing with Angie and your nights reading the least-romantic books you could find—murder mysteries, you figured, with lots of death and destruction. You wanted to stay as far away from love and kisses as possible.
“I don’t think so,” you tell your sister.
She pushes up the sleeves of her sweater—the soft gray one you’ve been hoping she’ll get tired of and give to you at some point this winter—and crosses her legs in the plastic airport chair. “It takes a boy to get over a boy,” she tells you. “And you have to get over Nate. He’s a jerk. He doesn’t deserve you.”
You know this is true. You know he’s a jerk. And you really would like to get over him. “I don’t know,” you say.
“I’m your big sister,” Angie says, which is technically true, but only by fourteen months, which isn’t that much bigger. “You should listen to me. I know about things like this. I’m an expert in getting over breakups.”
You think back over the last few years and realize that perhaps Angie’s right. She’s been pretty good at getting past relationship implosions and finding new guys to date.
“Okay,” you tell her. “I’ll give it a try. How does this work?”
Angie turns in her chair, a huge grin on her face. “It’s easy. You just find a boy, flirt, and kiss him. I mean, you might fall in love on the lifts, but all you need is a kiss. A kiss to remind you that there are other boys who are out there. Other boys who like you. Deal?” she asks, putting her hand out so you can shake it.
You reach your hand out and shake.
And just as you do, your flight starts boarding—destination: Galaxy Ski Resort, where your family has rented a chalet for at least one week each winter ever since you were five. Your parents come over from their chairs on the other side of the waiting area, and you board the plane as a group, rolling your suitcases behind you. But instead of thinking about how to stop your bag from twisting on its wheels and banging into your ankles, you’re thinking about kisses, and boys, and who you’ll meet when you get to the ski mountain.
Click here to continue.
The next morning, you and Angie are dressed and ready to hit the slopes. The chalet your parents rented is close enough to the chairlift that you can ski there directly from the front door. Pretty cool, actually. They’re still sleeping inside, but you and Angie wanted to get an early start. With only six days of skiing, you didn’t want to miss out on any of it.
As you wait for Angie to buckle her boots and click them into her ski bindings, your mind drifts back to the kissing plan.
“Do you really think kissing someone new will help me get over Nate?” you ask.
Angie stands up and pushes off with her ski poles. “Absolutely,” she answers as she heads toward the chairlift.
You follow, reveling in the way it feels to stretch your muscles and glide over the snow. Even though it’s cold out, it’s still sunny, and you can feel the rays kissing the tip of your nose and the tiny spots of skin that are visible beneath your goggles and above your turquoise neck warmer.
You’re enjoying the sun so much that you almost plow headfirst into Angie, who has stopped in the middle of the trail.
“What is it?” you ask her.
“I think I found your first kiss candidate,” she says quietly, and then points her head to the left.
There’s a guy standing off to the side of the lift line wearing a bright red ski parka and black snow pants. His thick mop of brown hair is rendered invisible when he clips on his silver helmet. Maybe he feels you staring at him, because before he slips his goggles over his eyes, he smiles in your direction, and you think you see him wink.
“Whoa,” Angie whispers into her purple turtle fur neck warmer. “He totally just winked at you.”
“Are you sure?” you whisper back.
“Positive.” Angie bumps your shoulder with hers. “Go, ski with him. He looks like he’s by himself. I’ll make myself some new friends this morning. And if you need me, call my cell.” She taps the front of her jacket with her glove, right where her phone is zipped into the inner lining.
You’re tempted—he’s really very cute, and you did promise yourself you’d give Angie’s getting-over-Nate method a try—but you’re not sure. After all, you really like skiing with Angie. And maybe there are other guys who might be better candidates.
Click here if you decide to continue skiing with Angie.
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Click here if you decide to ski up to the boy in the red jacket.
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Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over
You look at the guy in the red jacket again, and then back at your sister. You shrug.
“I don’t think I’m ready yet,” you tell her. “Plus, I want to do at least one run with you. It’s our first of the season!”
Angie shakes her head, but says, “Okay. There will be other guys,” before taking off for the lift line with you following.
You slide your skis in next to hers and then shuffle forward each time another twosome gets on a chair. You think about how amazing it’s going to feel to zoom down the trails, shoulders square with the bottom of the mountain, twisting your hips so they dip right and left as you fly. Angie skis even faster than you do, so she always figures out which trails you’re going to take and goes first. You actually prefer that. All you have to do is follow her purple jacket. She leads you around ice patches and down the best path through moguls.
“Ready?” she asks, as the people in front of you load onto their chair.
“Ready,” you tell her, and the two of you push off, mirroring each other as you stop at the red line that’s visible through the snow and then turn in opposite directions to grab the pole of the chairlift. You slide the overhead bar down over you both, then look at the mountain below you.
“What about him?” Angie points to a guy in yellow who’s zipping through a section of moguls.
“Angie!” you say. “You can’t even tell how old he is! He could be forty and married. Seriously.”
Angie laughs. “Okay, fine. But I still think you should be on the lookout for kissable boys.”
“I know,” you say. “I will.”
You look down again at yellow mogul guy. He’s fallen, sprawled across the side of the mountain. From the way he gets back up, you figure he’s probably not forty. But still.
The chairlift is about to reach the top of the mountain, so you slide the bar back up. You and Angie both get off, and she makes a beeline for the huge trail map that’s stuck into the side of the mountain.
As you start to follow, you see an out-of-control skier wobble his way off the chairlift, picking up speed as he goes. He’s heading straight for the group of people in front of the map—straight for Angie.
“Watch out!” you shout, as you push yourself faster toward the map.
Angie turns, but it’s too late. The guy crashes into the mass of people, and they go down in a pile of pinwheeling arms and ski helmets. You ski over and stop next to the group.
Everyone seems to be getting up, and you let out a breath of relief as you sidestep over to Angie to give her a hand.
“You okay?” you ask.
She grabs your hand, and you help pull her up to a standing position.
“I think so,” she says, wincing. “Thank goodness I had this helmet on.”
Angie wobbles a little as she sidesteps up the little indentation in the mountain she’s found herself in.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” you ask.
“Actually,” Angie says, “let’s go down a green. And maybe I’ll sit in the lodge for a little. I think I’m just a little shaken up, not really hurt, but it might not be bad to take a break.”
You’re shocked. Greens are the easiest trails there are. Angie always opts for blacks. Or even double blacks, which freak you out sometimes because of their steepness. She really must be shaken up to want to ski down a green.
You take a trail named Corvus to the base lodge, pop your boots out of your bindings, and head inside. When Angie takes off her goggles, it looks as if there might be a bruise forming where they made contact with her cheeks when she fell. But other than that, she seems okay.
“Want me to get you someone from Ski Patrol?” you ask. “Or water or something?”
“Nah,” Angie answers. “I’m fine. Seriously. No need to worry about me, I can take care of myself. Go ski. Have some fun. Find someone to kiss. I’ll give you a call if I leave the lodge. For now, I’m just going to relax.”
“Are you sure?” You’re a little concerned about your sister, but not too concerned. She seems fine. And she’s telling you to go ski. Plus, she has her cell. And can find Ski Patrol if she needs to.
“So sure,” she says. “One hundred percent. You should go.”
Click here if you stay at the lodge with Angie.
- - - - -
Click here if you decide she’s okay and that you should go ahead and ski without her.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to your morning on the slopes.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over
“Are you really, completely one hundred percent sure?” you ask Angie, keeping your eye on red parka guy.
“More than that,” Angie tells you. “Like, three hundred percent sure.”
You briefly wonder how Angie’s doing in math, but you keep that thought to yourself. Then you give your sister a huge hug and take off after the red parka.
Click here to continue.
- - - - -
Don’t like your options?
Click here to go back to your morning on the slopes.
- - - - -
Click here to go back to the beginning and start over
You shake your head. “Not going,” you tell her. “I’m not skiing again until I know you’re completely okay.”
Angie looks as if she’s going to argue but then changes her mind. “Okay,” she says. “Let’s sit over by the fire.”
You and Angie clomp across the lodge in your ski boots, walking heel-toe, which makes it a little easier. Angie lowers herself onto the couch in front of the black potbellied-stove-type thing that has a fire inside it.
“How about I get us hot chocolate?” you ask.
She nods. “Extra whip on mine, please.”
“Deal,” you say, heading over toward the concession stand.
Since it’s still early in the morning, it’s pretty empty in the lodge. Most people just started skiing and aren’t ready for a break yet. In fact, if it were a regular day, you and Angie wouldn’t have made it to the lodge for another few hours at least. Right now, you’re the only one ordering at the counter. And actually, you don’t see anyone around to order from.
“Hello?” you call out. “Anyone here?”
A male voice yells. “Sorry! Be there in a sec!”
You wonder who this voice belongs to, and if it’s someone worth flirting with, since you did promise your sister you’d be on the lookout for guys to kiss, after all.
In more than a second—fifteen seconds, to be precise, according to the sport watch you wear when you ski—a guy comes out of the small kitchen and walks over to where you’re standing. He’s got spiky blond hair and a goggle tan. And he’s wearing a Burton sweatshirt with a Galaxy Mountain pin on it that says ORION.
“Sorry about that. May I help you?” he asks.
“Cool name,” you say, gesturing toward his pin.
He smiles and you see dimples appear in each of his cheeks. “My parents like constellations,” he says. “My sister’s Cassiopeia.”
“Funny that you got a job here,” you tell him. “You know, since it’s called Galaxy Mountain and all the trails are named after constellations.”
Orion blushes. “Not really so funny,” he says. “My parents did that.”
You’re not exactly sure what he means. “They named the trails?” you ask.
He nods. “Yeah, they named the trails—they own the place, so they got to choose. They figured it was perfect—eighty-eight trails, eighty-eight constellations. That’s why it’s called Galaxy Mountain. Orion’s one of the double blacks. Cassiopeia’s the bunny hill. Cass liked that when she was little, but now she’s not quite as thrilled.”
You laugh. You also can’t quite believe that this guy’s parents own the whole mountain. “So how come you’re in here instead of out there skiing down the trail that’s named after you?” you ask.
“I board,” he says, pointing to his sweatshirt. “But I’m in here instead of out there because my dad wants Cass and me to learn the business. Starting the winter I was fourteen, he’s rotated me through different jobs so I know what it’s like to work all of them. Right now I’m doing a two-week concession stint. So anyway, is there something I can get for you?”
This Orion guy has intrigued you. You’ve never met someone whose parents own a ski mountain and who is clearly being groomed to take it over when he’s older. There are so many questions you want to ask him, but instead you say, “My sister and I would each love a hot chocolate. Hers with extra whip. Mine with a marshmallow.”
“No problem,” he says. “I’ll be right back.”
You watch him disappear into the kitchen and wonder if he was so chatty because he was flirty, or just because he was bored. You look around—the lodge is still pretty empty. You look over at Angie, who has unbuckled her boots and is resting her socked feet on a coffee table in front of the couch.
A few minutes later, Orion comes back with two hot chocolates. “That’s five dollars,” he tells you, resting them on the counter. “And I gave you an extra marshmallow, no charge. Don’t tell my dad.”
You laugh as he smiles at you. You unzip the little pocket on the inside of your ski jacket and hand him a five. “Thanks,” you say.
You step forward to grab the hot chocolate and wobble in your ski boots. Carrying the drinks across the lodge is going to be treacherous. You wouldn’t mind some help, but you don’t want to ask. Then again, it doesn’t seem as if Orion has all that much to do right now . . .
Click here if you ask Orion to help you bring the hot chocolates over to Angie in the hope that he’ll stay and chat for a while.
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