Girl Wonder (21 page)

“But of course,” I sighed. “Everyone else in my world seems to know.”

He shook his head. “You're wrong there. Most of my friends—they don't know. Or if they know what they want to do, they want it for the wrong reasons, like for money or power. Or worse, because they think it will get them laid.”

“So what's your brilliant plan?” I asked, readjusting my scarf.

“You really want to know? It's definitely
not cool
.”

“Spill it.”

“I want to study the medicinal properties of fungus.”

“Not cool?”
I exclaimed. “What are you talking about? Mushrooms are sexy.”

“Be nice.” He pushed back his sunglasses. “I'm baring my soul here.”

“Go on. You're doing great.”

He eyed me skeptically, but continued anyway. “When I was young, everyone used to pick on me because I was so small. The same kind of shit that happens to James Henry. And I—well, I pretended that mushrooms were my friends.” He coughed. “Magical friends. Like wizards.”

“Magical friends?” I raised an eyebrow. “Wizards?”

He shot me a look.

“Right.” I made my face look very serious. “Wizards.”

He ignored this. “If you look at it one way, mushrooms really
are
magical. They have tons of medicinal properties. There's so much research to be done. Lifesaving research. There's this professor at the University of Washington who studies this kind of thing? He said he'd be my thesis adviser if I go there. He wrote this killer book on slime molds,” Milton added.

“Think I could get an autographed copy?”

“Slime molds are very misunderstood,” he said haughtily.

“I'm sorry.” I laughed. “You might not want to mention slime molds to lady love.” Milton frowned at this. I held up my hands. “I'm just trying to help you.”

Changing the subject, he said, “It's hard to believe it's the middle of spring. There's a storm coming.”

“How do you know?”

“Can't you smell it?” He sniffed the air.

High above us, skiers and snowboarders dropped into fingerlike chutes and disappeared into clouds of snow, whooping it up like children, some of them probably children for real. A lone skier crashed on a steep mogul run, tumbling twenty feet before he came to a stop, losing bits of clothing in the process.

“That's called a yard sale,” Milton said. “We'll work you up to that.” He nudged me gently with his shoulder, sending a jolt through my body.

It was time for a reality check. My voice all buddy-buddy, I said, “It's cool that you want to give me a lesson today. And I'm all for you baring your soul. But one of these days you're going to have to make your move with what's-her-name. What
is
her name, by the way?”

“Uh,” he said, acting uncomfortable. “How about we talk about your love life?”

“Because I don't have one,” I said, trying to joke but not succeeding. “I'm living vicariously through you, don't you know?”

Milton cleared his throat. “Do you ever talk to Neal?”

“Funny you should ask,” I said. “I saw him the other day.”

He shook his head. “You should stay away from that guy.”

“I'm over him. Don't worry.”

A sign instructed us to gather loose objects, raise the safety bar, and lift the tips of our skis or snowboards. The off-ramp loomed like a death sentence. It was all happening so quickly. “Hold on to me,” Milton said, pulling me to my feet.

“Wait! I'm not ready!”

“Too late.” He chuckled sadistically. “Enjoy the ride!”

Within seconds, I lost my balance and slid to the bottom of the ramp on my belly.

“Nice form,” Milton said, coming to a stop beside me and spraying a wave of snow on my boots. “Are you hurt?”

“I think I bruised a boob,” I mumbled.

“I'm not laughing,” he said, laughing. He held out a hand and helped me up. He didn't let go right away. His voice suddenly serious, he asked, “What you said about Neal a moment ago? You're done with him?”

I opened my mouth to say yes, but instead I sneezed, spraying snot everywhere.

Milton wiped his face on his jacket. “No really. I love it when girls spit on me.”

“You want to know what Neal said to me once?” I asked.

“Do I?”

“Probably not. But I'm going to tell you anyway. When I told him my suspicions about my dad, he told me he'd read somewhere that affairs help keep marriages fresh.”

“That's what he said to cheer you up?” Milton's mouth dropped. “That's crap. I'm so sorry. What an ass. The only people who say things like that are people who want to make themselves feel better about having affairs.”

“It's really hard to be around my dad right now,” I mumbled. “Especially after everything that happened to me this year. I feel so bad for my mom.”

“Your mom seems pretty tough,” Milton said. “Like you.”

I made a fist and mock-threatened him. “You better believe I'm tough!”

Five minutes later I was staring down a cliff, feeling anything but tough.

“It's
not
a cliff,” Milton said. “This is the bunny slope. You can do this, Char Char.” If it hadn't been for the fact of my terror, his frustration would have been amusing. “Look, once you make a couple of turns, you'll be fine.” He demonstrated, cutting graceful swerves partway down the cliff. Then he waved at me to follow.

A shudder ran through me, and I had to sit down. Tears leaked out of my eyes, leaving trails of warmth on my frozen cheeks.

At the same time that I was crying, I was acutely aware of my surroundings, the color of the sky, the clean smell of the snow, the rhythmic kick of Milton's boots as he climbed back toward me.

I wiped my eyes on my sleeve. “I'm not a total head case. I'm not.”

He crouched beside me and patted my shoulder awkwardly. “Yeah, you are. Since the day we met. But for crying? Nah. Everybody gets scared. Don't go spreading this around, but I'm pretty sure I wet my pants the first time my dad brought me up here.”

I half sniffled, half laughed. “I think we're safe in that department.”

He reached for my hand. “Get up.” All business, he pounded his fists together. “I'm going to get you off this mountain. But you have to trust me, okay?”

Trust.
That word. I forced myself to nod.

He pointed diagonally across the run. “We're going to traverse that way. You stay right behind me. If you feel like you're getting out of control, go ahead and fall into the slope. Whatever you do, DON'T LOOK DOWN!”

I zeroed in on the back of Milton's jacket as I followed him across the hill. There was a patch on one of his shoulders. I wondered about the rip it was hiding, at the story behind the damage. Imagining the possibilities, I bounced across the run, ignoring the indignant cries of the snowboarders and skiers who had to dodge me.

“Nice job,” Milton said, when I joined him on the far side. “All we have to do is go back the other way. Think you can handle that?”

I sniffed for an answer, my dignity completely vanquished.

After zigzagging across the slope several times, I peeked down in spite of Milton's warning. The exposure didn't bother me so much this time. In the final third of the run, I grew brave and tried a few turns. Though I fell often, the landing was marshmallow soft.

Finally, my muscles quaking, my pulse racing, I glided across level ground.

Milton slapped my hand when I fell to a stop beside him. “You did it.”

“What are we waiting for?” I asked. “Let's do that again.”

Milton laughed. “Okay, Girl Wonder. Whatever you say.”

“What did you just call me?”

“Girl Wonder? Is that a problem?”

I grinned. “No problem at all. It's just perfect.”

The lifts were closing. I'd snowboarded for three straight hours. Now we were walking—okay, I was limping—back to the rental shop to return my gear.

Milton was carrying my snowboard, which I probably should have felt guilty about, since it wasn't very feminist to let a guy carry your things. But seeing as how my entire body was buzzing with muscle fatigue, I was just grateful. And flying high. Too high. The fall was going to hurt.

Milton likes someone
, I reminded myself.
Not you.

After we dropped off my snowboarding gear, we walked back toward the day lodge to meet up with James Henry and my dad. The temperature was plummeting. Our breaths steamed the air.

“It's about to turn ugly up here,” Milton remarked. “I don't like the look of the sky.”

“I had fun today,” I said, not paying attention to the weather. “You're a really good teacher.”

“I think you could use another lesson,” he said, stopping at a bench to loosen his boots. “Maybe next weekend? If Baker is still open?”

“Wait a minute—another lesson? Are you saying that I suck?”

He straightened up and gave me a long, hard look. Then he shoved my hat over my eyes. “You're really impossible.”

I pulled my hat off and ran my fingers through my hair, trying to unknot the mess of tangles. For some reason, I felt like I needed to give him something. “So I've rethought things,” I said haltingly. “I guess…I guess I'd be willing to try morels sometime.”

“For real?” he asked. His eyes were as clear as water and fixed right on me.

“No eggs,” I added. “I draw the line at eggs.”

“I think we can probably handle that.”

There was an awkward pause after this. Milton kicked at the snow. “So—you've probably figured it out by now, huh?”

“Figured what out?”

He eyed my scarf longingly, like he might want to strangle me with it. “Your brother said I might have to spell it out for you.”

“My brother?” I yelped. “You've been talking to him? About me?” James Henry was
so
dead.

“Yeah. The things he said—” Milton shook his head. “He's pretty insightful.”

“Oh really?” I was fuming now. “And what does Mr. Pretty Insightful have to say?”

“Charlotte—” Milton placed his hands on my shoulders.

He was laughing, though. Laughing at me. But also—there was something else. Something that made my heart throb. A couple of snowflakes landed on his eyelashes. I swallowed. I could barely breathe.

“Don't you get it?” he asked. He wasn't laughing anymore.

I swallowed. “I don't think—”

And then I was incapable of thought, because he grabbed me, or I grabbed him, and our mouths converged, and he tasted of licorice, snow, and the wind, and he kissed me urgently but oh so softly, in a way that warmed me up and sent shivers down my spine, and I was spinning and flying and melting all at once, and I was so happy that I hardly cared when my brother cleared his throat and asked if I was going to be ready to leave anytime soon or did Milton and I need to get a room?

W
e were about half an hour from home, nearing the city of Everett. It was kind of raining, kind of snowing. The air smelled like the ocean.

Suddenly James Henry inhaled sharply. “Stop. Stop the car.”

“What?” Dad asked. “Are you sick? Try not to get the seats—”

“I'm not going to puke!” my brother shouted. “Just—pull over, would you?”

Dad moved the Audi onto the shoulder of I-5. James Henry hopped out and ran around to the back to check the trunk. A moment later he banged his fist on the roof. “My snowboard. I left it back at the mountain.”

Dad and I got out of the Audi. Cars rumbled past, splashing water on our shins.

“What should we do?” James Henry asked, his eyes large and wet.

Dad clucked his tongue. “Hope no one had any plans for later.”

“I'm sorry,” my brother said. “I was distracted by…”

“We don't need to know the whys,” I said quickly. Dad certainly didn't need to know about Milton. “Let's just go back and find it.”

Wordlessly, we climbed back in the car. Dad turned around at the next exit and we headed back toward Mount Baker.

The weather deteriorated more and more the closer we got to the mountain. We passed dozens of frozen fields rapidly disappearing under a blanket of white. The thick fat snowflakes reminded me of Communion wafers. The half-standing stalks of corn looked like a thousand frozen pistons. Cows packed together near the fence lines, huddling close for warmth. They cast us doleful stares, as if blaming us for their misery.

I was glad I wasn't driving.

My phone buzzed with a text message from Milton.

Dinner 2morrow? Morels?

Was I ready to lay my heart on the line again? Did I dare?

My phoned buzzed again.

Don't overthink this. Just say yes.

I took a deep breath. I punched in a reply. I hit send. It was out of my hands now.

“Any college news?” Dad asked out of the blue. “Seems like you should be hearing from some places about now.”

Stalling for time, I cleared my throat and coughed. Well. It wasn't like there was going to be a good time to let him down. “I've figured out where I want to go,” I said. “You know that school down in Olympia? Evergreen?”

“The hippie place?” Dad's voice rose hysterically.

“You should be thrilled. It's…affordable. And close.”

“What, exactly, will this so-called bargain prepare you to do with your life? Wait tables? Work retail? Make espresso?”

“Kids do that stuff when they're trying to figure things out,” my brother offered.

Dad ignored him.

We were paralleling the course of the Nooksack River. The river, coffee brown and running high, burbled like a witch's cauldron.

“Dad.” I bit my lip. “Wake up. As you yourself love to tell me—I'm not Ivy League material. I've finally made my peace with this fact, and you should do the same. Just because I'm not going to a big-name school doesn't mean I'm going to get a crappy education. It doesn't mean I'm destined to be a big fat failure.”

“Or even a skinny little failure,” James Henry chimed in.

Dad swerved to avoid a branch. “I think this is maybe a conversation for another time. I need to concentrate on the road.”

“You asked. There's nothing else to say. But you'd better get used to the idea of Evergreen. Because that's where I'm going.” Slowly, I exhaled. I was shaking. But I was okay. I'd said what I'd needed to say.

“Have you even gotten in?” Dad asked coldly.

“Not yet. But I have a good feeling about it. And if I don't get in now, I'll go to a community college and then transfer. People do that. They do it all the time.”

James Henry shifted around to stare at me.

What?
I mouthed.

He grinned and gave me the thumbs-up.

It was dark by the time we got back to Mount Baker. Dad waited at the car while James Henry and I went to retrieve his snowboard. The resort—a day area—had cleared out completely. The snow was falling so hard that it had completely erased all evidence of the day's activity. The silence was both nice and a little creepy. We found the snowboard leaning against the lodge right where my brother had left it. Blanketed with snow, it made for a lone, ghostly form.

“That's where I saw you and Milton,” James Henry pointed out. “It's going to be a long time before I get that visual out of my mind.”

I tossed a snowball at him. “I'm not sure whether I should kill you or thank you.”

“Oh, you don't want to kill me,” he said. “I'm pretty useful.”

“I guess I owe you one.”

“Dude wouldn't shut up about you,” he said, shaking his head. “I had to do something.”

The weather was growing stranger by the second. The snow had morphed into this pelting ice that stung your face when it hit. It hissed upon impacting the ground.

Dad looked grim as we approached the Audi. He showed us how the entire exterior of the car was being covered with an icy glaze. “Bad news. We're having an honest to goodness ice storm. We need to get out of here pronto.”

The mood was tense as we wound our way down the hairpin turns. In spite of Dad's turtlelike pace, the Audi fishtailed several times. The sky was dark and wet. It was hard to see much of anything.

From out of nowhere, a large branch appeared on the road. Dad hit the brakes. The wheels locked up. We went into a skid. The car was out of control. We were all just passengers now.

Time slowed.

I noticed that it was snowing again. I noticed that the needles of the evergreens were like tiny pinnacles of ice. I noticed the striations in the tree in front of us. Then everything went black as the air bags exploded.

“Everyone okay?” Dad shouted.

“Okay,” James Henry said, his voice very small.

“Okay,” I said, feeling very far away from my voice.

Steam rose from the hood of the Audi. There was a strange burning smell. My teeth chattered, partly from cold, mostly from shock. A short ways off, the river rushed over rocks and logs, a steady constant sound that slowed my racing pulse.

We got out of the Audi to look at the damage.

The ground was a sheet of ice. The entire front of the car was crunched around a giant hemlock. I traced my fingers over the scarred indentations of the tree. They came away sticky with sap.

“My car…” Dad kept saying.

“Is it still drivable?” I asked.

“I don't know. I don't know if the engine's okay. ”

As he walked around to look at the other side, he slipped on the ice, hitting the ground with a sickening crunch. Then he let out a blood-curdling scream.

“Dad!” James Henry shouted.

Utterly removed from my body, too paralyzed to move, I just listened to the click clicking of the freezing rain, a sound that reminded me of falling dominoes.

“Charlotte!”

“Right.” My heart going a mile a minute, I sprang into action. I gingerly scrambled over to my dad and knelt down beside him. His face was contorted with pain; he looked more animal than human.

“It's…my…hip,” he gasped. “Call for—”

His eyes rolled back and his face went blank.

Simultaneously, James Henry and I grabbed for our cell phones. Neither had any reception. “This is my fault,” my brother whispered. “I'm the reason we came back.”

“Quiet,” I hissed. “I need to think.”

For all the urgency of the situation, I somehow managed to notice the beauty of the night. The world was so peaceful draped in white. The air smelled super clean.

Focus
, I thought.

I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to remember what little I knew about first aid. We'd done a unit on it once in Tallahassee—in the seventh grade.

I looked at Dad. His chest was rising up and down. He was breathing. That was something. I grabbed his wrist to feel for a pulse. It took me a minute to find it. When I finally did, I thought it seemed too fast and wobbly.

Stay calm. You have to stay calm.

“Okay,” I said, trying to catch my breath. “Nobody's coming to get us and the temperature is dropping. He's not going to last long out here. Let's get him into the backseat.”

James Henry looked at me sharply. “Then what? We don't even know if the car is drivable. And—”

“And what?”

“You can't really drive,” he whispered. “You haven't even tried in months.”

“That's not true,” I said. “Milton let me drive his car. I still know the basics. I'm just not smooth. But we'll be going downhill. That will help.”

“What do you know about driving on ice?”

“Nothing,” I snapped. “But do you have a better idea?”

He shook his head.

Together we dragged our dad to the backseat. He slid easily over the ice. Getting him into the car proved a more difficult feat. I crawled inside and grabbed him under the arms. James Henry supported him around the hips. It was a good thing, probably, that Dad was passed out. Lifting a two-hundred-pound man was no easy job. I pulled and pulled while James Henry lifted. Somehow, miraculously, we got him in.

As I slid into the driver's seat, I said a quick prayer.
Please.
Then, with a deep breath, I turned the key in the ignition. The car started. Thank God. But when I put it into reverse, the wheels squealed loudly—spinning in place.

We were stuck.

“Let's see if we can dig out the wheels,” I said. “We can use your snowboard like a shovel.”

We got out. We dug.

I tried to reverse the car again.

It budged a couple of inches. Then, same thing. The tires spun in place. I stared out at the darkness, shivering. “I don't know what to do.”

James Henry's eyes grew wide with fear. Neither of us said anything.

Was this the end of the road for our dad? With the temperature dropping by the second, and our clothes wet from the day, the night could prove deadly for us all.

James Henry snapped his fingers. “Traction. We need traction.”

“Huh?”

“Help me,” he said, jumping out of the car.

He searched around a moment then started tearing off branches from trees and bushes. These he piled behind the tires. “The wheels can grip on to this stuff,” he said. “Much better than they can to the snow.”

Together we worked to create a mini ramp.

One more time, I got behind the wheel and started the car. James Henry waited outside to direct me.

Please
, I prayed again.
Please.

The car rolled backward. James Henry waved me on. Somehow I reversed onto the road without lurching. “Nice job,” my brother said, hopping back into the car. I found the sweet spot and shifted into first gear. We were on our way.

The road was even more treacherous than I'd imagined—as twisted as a coiled snake and every bit as deadly. Though I didn't look, I felt the airiness of each drop-off we slid past. The trees—weighted down by snow—leaned over the road, creating a weird tunnel-like effect. Icy clumps plummeted from their branches and hit the hood. The fragments skittered off as slippery as mercury beads.

I was scared. As scared as I'd ever been of public speaking. As scared as I'd been on my acid trip. This time, though, the dangers were real. And I couldn't hide in a closet. I prayed another car would appear. But this was a dead-end road and nobody had any business with the ski resort this time of night.

In spite of the defrost being on high, the car kept fogging up. Hunched over the wheel, my knuckles white, I navigated through one shrinking circle of clear glass. James Henry tried to help out by wiping the windshield down with his sleeve.

Dad drifted in and out of consciousness. He was moaning a lot. I shook my head. This was crazy—me doing this when I barely knew how to drive. It was all so very surreal. Acid had nothing on a real-life crisis. No doubt I would have found the situation comical…if it hadn't been so deadly serious.

The wipers began to ice up. They scraped over the glass with a strange shuddering sound and failed to remove any moisture. But even if I wanted to, I couldn't stop the Audi now. The hill was just too steep and slick. My eyes burned from staring at the snow-blanketed windshield. I would kill us all before the night was through.

“I have an idea,” James Henry said suddenly.

He dug around in the backseat and retrieved the ice scraper. Next, he unfastened his seat belt, rolled down his window, and climbed up on the ledge of the door.

“What are you doing?” I shouted. “I don't need you dead!”

“Just keep the car from crashing, okay? If you start to slide, remember that you're supposed to turn the wheel in the direction of the skid.”

“How would you know that?”

“It just came to me. Remember—I read your driver's handbook.”

I gave him a quick glance. With one hand holding the roof for balance, he leaned out over the windshield to scrape the ice. He looked like some crazy snow elf. But for the moment, his method seemed to be working.