I Owe You One (11 page)
We listened for the announcer. It was hard to make out because half the words were missing as we got and then lost the signal.
“â¦here atâ¦next skierâ¦'ian teamâ¦'chel Moore.”
“That's her!” Mrs. Minton yelled.
“Hold on for a few more minutes, Frank. Rachel's up next. Over.”
“Aaargh. Over.”
We could barely see the image of a yellow suit with red tiger stripes just behind the start gate.
Zach moved the base of the rabbit ears ever so slightly back and forth, trying to get any improvement in the picture.
I moved the antennae up and down by centimeters. When I thought it was pretty good, I let go and stepped back. The image turned to snow. When I touched the antenna again, the picture cleared.
Rachel was now in the start gate, poles over the bar, rocking back and forth. Then I heard
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeeeep
.
“Now on course, Rachel Moore of Canada.”
“Freeze!” Mrs. Minton yelled.
Zach was stepping away from the TV, both hands up like he was surrendering to it. I had one hand up touching the top of one antennae and one arm out to the side like I was directing a jumbo jet. We held our breath and prayed the picture would hold for the minute or so it would take Rachel to reach the bottom of the hill.
I dared to turn my head and look at Mrs. Minton.
She was sitting up in her bed, her eyes riveted on the screen. Her hands were in fists as if she were holding her own ski poles. As Rachel skidded around the corners, Mrs. Minton's body leaned with her. Her eyes were bright, and the fan blew her white curls off her shoulders.
The years seemed to melt off her face, and for a brief moment I saw the person who was captured in the old brown photo.
The announcer's voice broke my thoughts.
“And she is just flying! Look at her attack that mountain.”
I watched Rachel sail over the last bump with incredible speed, her arms flailing out to the side a bit as she fought to maintain her crouch.
“Pull it together, Rachel. Get control,” Mrs. Minton whispered.
And then Rachel was under the banner, and although it seemed like it would be impossible to stop at such a speed, she skidded to a halt in a shower of snow.
The camera cut to the scoreboard. Rachel's time appeared, and the names shifted to show her position.
“Second!” Mrs. Minton yelled. “She's in second! Oh my goodness, what a run!” Mrs. Minton's hand went to her mouth, and her eyes glistened.
“How many are left to race?” Zach asked.
“Quite a few, I'm afraid,” she said. “But being in second, even for a while, is quite an accomplishment for a rookie.”
I switched on the walkie-talkie. “You can get down for a while, Frank. Rachel's run is over. Over.”
“That was the longest âsoon' I have ever known. Over.”
“Could you give us a signal every few minutes, Frank? We want to see how Rachel does. She's sitting in second right now. Over.”
“Aargh. Over.”
Mrs. Minton dabbed her eyes again and leaned back with a sigh.
I let go of the antennae and went to her side. “Is there anything I can get you?”
She shook her head. “How can I ever thank you, Wesley? It meant the world to me to be able to watch Rachel ski.”
I felt my face grow red. “Well, let's just say we're even.”
The tv crackled, and the picture flickered back. Zach and I ran back to our posts.
“Great run by Marte Tielbaum of Switzerland but not fast enough to catch the leaders. We are still Austria, Canada, France for first, second and third.”
The announcers' faces came on the screen.
“Yes, Bob, but let's remember that the strongest skiers are yet to come.”
“You're right, Ted, but I have to say, the course is getting slower as the day goes on.”
“It looks that way, but can our top three hang on?”
“We'll find out. Here's Austria's golden child. Lotte Meier has won eight of her last ten international races.”
“She looked good this morning in training. Let's see how she handles this course.”
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeeep
.
We watched the screen intently, hoping Frank's arms wouldn't give out until we saw this run.
“She's got such control,” Mrs. Minton said “Look how she stays in her tuck.” She shook her head in admiration.
“Looks like Lotte is gaining speed on the bottom of this course,”
the announcer said.
“Yes, Bob. She's an expert at staying low and squeezing every hundredth of a second out of her skis.”
Lotte whizzed under the banner and skidded to a stop. Every eye went to the scoreboard.
“And she's done it, Ted! The golden girl has stepped up and taken first place from her teammate. You have to give her credit, that was an amazing run.”
“Just two more skiers, Bob. Let's see if they can knock her out of first place.”
Zach, Mrs. Minton and I couldn't move. Rachel was third and still in line for a spot on the podium.
I knew Frank must have been in agony, but how could we not watch the next two runs?
The next skier was from Germany, a veteran of World Championship races. When she left the start gate, we held our breath.
Partway down, on a sharp corner, her ski slipped sideways, catching in the icy ruts. That small mistake cost her time. She finished fifth.
One skier to go. I looked at the walkie-talkie. Hang on, Frank, I thought. Just a couple more minutes.
Beep. Beep. Beeeeeep
.
The last skier was on course. Her interval times were just off the leader's, and we knew it would be close. As she skied under the banner, everything seemed to morph into slow motion. The camera cut to the scoreboard, and we waited.
A flash of numbers, and the names shifted to show her placing. The last skier had come fourth.
“Oh my goodness!” Mrs. Minton said. “Rachel's got the bronze!”
I lifted my walkie-talkie to let Frank know he could get down just as he walked through the door.
“You found the break?” I asked him.
“It was either that or have permanent tendinitis in my shoulder,” he said. “So how'd she do?”
“Third, Frank. She hung on to third.” Mrs. Minton's voice quivered. “How can I ever thank you, Frank? And you too, Wesley and Zachariah.”
She held out her hand to me. What could I do but walk over to her and take it?
She looked at me very earnestly. “Your father would be so proud of you, Wesley. So proud.”
I felt the sting of tears and swallowed hard.
The announcer came on again to let us know the medal ceremony was about to start.
It was an amazing moment when Rachel walked up to the podium wearing her team jacket. An official put the medal around her neck and handed her a bouquet of flowers. Rachel waved to the crowd and then looked straight into the camera. She held up her right hand with her third and fourth fingers bent.
“Oh! The sign!” Mrs. Minton said, her lip trembling with emotion. “That's for me.”
“What does it mean?” I asked.
“It's sign language for âI love you,'” she said and burst into tears.
A few of weeks after the race, I ran into Mrs. Minton again. She was in Lee's, using a walker to get around.
“Hi, Mrs. Minton,” I said, thrilled to see her up and about. “How's the hip?”
“It's coming along, Wesley.”
I tried not to let her see me wince at her using my full name in public.
“Oh, I have something for you.” She reached into her large shoulder bag and pulled out a ballcap. “Rachel sent this.”
It was navy blue with
Pontillo, Chile
embroidered on the front. Under the name was a World Championship pin.
“Wow! This is great,” I said. “Thanks.”
Mrs. Minton smiled that smile of hers. “Oh, and Wesley⦔
“Yes, Mrs. M.?”
“Try to hang on to this one. Okay?”
I owe the inspiration for this story to my dad, Fred Rose, whose stories of wild adventures (and misadventures) growing up on Bell Island, Newfoundland, are proof enough of the trouble boys get into.
Heartfelt thanks to all the Kidcritters who helped critique early versions of this story, particularly Hélène Boudreau, Marina Cohen and Marsha Skrypuch.
Special thanks to Richard Bellamy for his valuable information on blasting with dynamite, and to Liam Winters for his great title suggestion.
I would like to thank everyone at Orca, especially my editor, Sarah Harvey, for their hard work, expertise and enthusiasm for this book.
To Craig, Alex, Chelsey, Nathan and Haley: you are part of every book, and your love and support make this all possible.
Natalie Hyde was born in Fredericton, New Brunswick, and grew up in Galt (now Cambridge), Ontario, where she still lives. She spent most of her childhood collecting crickets, toads and tent caterpillars. The rest of the time she practiced being a genie. When that didn't work out, she studied languages at the University of Waterloo. Natalie lives with her husband and four children in a house with too many stairs, which they share with a little leopard gecko and a cat that desperately wants to eat him.
I Owe You One
is Natalie's first book with Orca. To learn more about Natalie, please visit
nataliehyde.com
.
