On a Slippery Slope (6 page)

“Of course I do! How could you possibly know where all your stuff is? You just moved here! It's not unpacked yet, silly!”

With that, she grabs my arm and pulls me down the hallway, insisting we'll find everything in the basement.

“Holy … wow!” she shouts as we reach the bottom of the stairs. “Good luck finding anything in all of that!”

“Yup, more stuff came yesterday. It's a mess,” I say, looking around at the massive collection of unpacked boxes overflowing from the storage room.

“No wonder you're stressed.” She shakes her head sympathetically. “It will take weeks to find your stuff in there!”

The words —
it will take weeks —
roll around in my brain. Suddenly, my options are opening up. Weeks! That's at least fourteen days. A lot can happen in fourteen days! I can learn! Is it really the best idea to come clean now? I'd be a laughingstock. Gabby might hate me, probably everyone would, and my ultimate fear would come true — I'd be friendless.

“Well, let'
s get at it.
” Gabby grabs one of the utility knives off of the shelf and slides it across the top of a box.

“Gabby! What are you doing?”

“What does it look like? I'm opening boxes! We need to get at this
right away
otherwise we'll never find your stuff!” Gabby slices open another box marked
SPORTS
. “Hannah! Why are you just standing there?” she says. “Grab a knife and start looking!”

Gabby is on her twentieth box when I suddenly remember an amazing little tidbit of information I heard this morning.

“Oh my gosh, Gabby!” I exclaim, trying hard to hide my glee. “We can't go skiing this weekend.”

I'm counting on my dad's
super-duper
expert knowledge of all things
weather-related
, and hoping that this weekend's storm, which he says is already being called
The Snowstorm of the Century
, will arrive on schedule, late Friday night, and continue on throughout the
entire weekend
.

“Don't worry,” Gabby says, ripping off a lid to a blue plastic storage tote. “Your ski gear is around here somewhere and I'm not stopping until we find it!” She digs through the stuff in the container, looks up, and smiles. “Have faith!”

“It's not that,” I say, gravely. “There'
s a big storm coming.
”

“A big storm?”

She laughs. “It can't be that bad.”

“Oh yes it is,” I correct her. They're calling it
The Snowstorm of the Century
! It's all my dad could talk about before he left for work this morning.”

“That's awful.” Gabby looks heartbroken, not for herself, but for me. “You must be so disappointed!”

“It's okay, really,” I reassure her, secretly wanting to jump for joy.

T
urns out, it doesn't take weeks to get through all of the boxes; it only takes a couple of hours.

“Well, Hannah,” Gabby says, wiping her hand across her forehead, “we've looked through every box and your gear is just not here.”

I shrug, not knowing what to say.

“Hmmm …” she says, narrowing her eyes, “and why do you think that is?”

“Umm …” I bite my lip and shrug again.

“Do you think it got lost in the move?” she says, closing a lid back down on a box. “It happens all the time! It's terrible how careless movers can be with people's stuff!”

“
Terrible.
” I echo, with a heart heavy with guilt.

“Well, you know your parents can file a claim, right? The movers will have to find your skis or buy you new stuff. We should go tell your mom right away!”

“She's pretty busy making supper,” I argue.

“Really?” Gabby says, frowning. “This is kind of serious, Hannah. I mean your gear is missing!” She looks down at her watch. “Oh, man! I was supposed to be home, like, ten minutes ago.”

“Yikes! I don't want you to get into trouble,” I say, walking her to the front door. Gabby pushes her feet into her boots and pulls her coat out of the closet. “I'm sorry I have to go, but don't worry about your gear. Like I said, the movers will have to pay for new stuff. Just go talk to your mom.”

“Hmm …” I say, looking down at my feet guiltily.

“Hmm?” Gabby questions. “What does
hmm
mean?”

“I dunno.” I shrug.

She opens her mouth to say something, but then seems to change her mind (which is good). She puts her hand on the doorknob and starts turning it, when suddenly she stops, looks back at me
stone-faced
, and says, “Okay, here's the plan, Hannah. Right after school tomorrow, I'm taking you to Boardz.”

“What's Boardz?” I ask, afraid to know the answer.

“It's a sports store that has everything. Tomorrow, we're gonna find you all new gear!”

Uncle Harvey's Wife Rocks!

S
o
it's Wednesday. That's the good news. The bad news is that I'm a lying, cheating, fraud of a friend who is in need of ski gear, ski lessons, and basically a magic wand that will make this whole mess go away.

I'm standing here at the mall, about to go into Boardz, a store that Gabby says is the only place to get ski gear in Maple Ridge because they have all the coolest stuff and all the best brands. The owner also happens to be Ivy's uncle, which shouldn't really mean a thing, except sometimes she works here. I am sooo hoping that today isn't one of her days!

Gabby and I had a plan to meet here after school, but at the end of the day she started moaning in pain, saying her tooth had been bugging her since lunch when she chomped down on a Jolly Rancher. Who chomps on a Jolly Rancher, unless they want to break their teeth? Anyway, she had to go to the dentist, so I decided to walk to the mall by myself. I'm thinking it's best I'm alone, anyway, because this way I can do some “research.” You know, figure out what gear I need to “replace.”

Since my school is in the centre of town, it's close to everything, including the mall, which is awesome. Boardz is on the upper level at the top of the escalator. It's 3:45 and school ended a while ago, so if Ivy is working today, then she's probably already in the store. I peek inside; the coast is clear. Yippee! It must be her day off.

Gabby was right about Boardz being a cool store. It looks like a big fancy ski lodge. There's really cool music playing, snowboards are hanging from the ceiling everywhere, and what's really neat is that the whole place smells like a pine forest! There are racks and racks of awesome jackets and ski pants and huge displays of hats and scarves and boots and bindings. Along one wall there is a long row of skis with as many designs and colours as there are sizes. The snowboards are against another wall. At the end of the store there is a massive
floor-to
-ceiling stone fireplace with a huge, cushy couch in front, which I assume is where you sit if you want to try on boots. I wander over to the snowboards, since these are what Gabby has been going on and on about probably because she thinks I am “a pro” and can't wait for me to show her
all of my
“
tricks.
”

I have no idea what I am looking for. Are there girl boards and guy boards? Should I be looking for a particular size, or a style? They all look the same, like a big bunch of giant skateboards without wheels. I am lost!

“Hey, can I help you find something?” a guy asks me. He's about six feet tall, in a cool slouchy, black beanie. He's wearing a light green Burton hoodie over faded jeans, and is really cute and probably in high school.

“So, are you looking for a new board?”

“Yes, I'm … um … I'm just doing a little research, you know, before making any decisions.” I smile.

“So, what kind of boarding will you be doing?”

“
Um
…” I had no idea there was different kinds of snowboarding!

“I need a board with camber!” I blurt out, remembering Gabby saying something about it yesterday when she was showing me her brother's old snowboard, the one she'll be using during her first snowboard lesson … that
I
am supposed to give her!

“What type of camber are you looking for?” Cute High School Guy asks. “Traditional, reverse, or mixed?”

“
Um
…” I shrug, making a mental note to look up
types of camber
on Google as soon as I get home.

“So are you thinking freestyle or more
all-mountain
?”

“Probably
all-mountain
, but I like freestyle, too …” I add quickly, despite the fact that I am dying inside because I have no idea what he is talking about, not to mention I'm going to have to eventually buy one of these things and learn how to use it! What have I gotten myself into?

“Will you be hitting the
half-pipe
?”

“The
half-pipe
?” I ask, wondering what that is.

“Okay …” He scratches the back of his head. “So, no boxes and rails either, then?”

“Boxes and rails?” I say, smiling.

“So, I assume tricks are also out?” He raises his eyebrows, grinning.

“No, tricks are in for sure!” I shoot back. “I love tricks! Especially on the boxes and rails!”

It
'
s like I have no control over what is coming out of my mouth. Who am I? And why did I just say that? I probably sound like a crazy person! I am a crazy person!

“So, if I understand you correctly,” Cute High School Guy continues, “you want something that gives you a bit of everything, like a hybrid board.”

“That's exactly what I want!”

Wow, now we
'
re getting somewhere — a board that does everything! I
'
ll be a pro in no time! I
'
m going to look so cool on the hill, all freestylin
'
and doing my tricks on that
half-pipe
thingy! I wonder if they have full pipes, too?

“This is a nice board,” Cute High School Guy says, holding up a
super-beautiful
teal and
navy-blue
snowboard with a silver design scrolling across the front. “It's the perfect size, and bonus … it's on sale!”

“Great!” I reply, excitedly. “How much?”

“Well that depends … do you need boots, and bindings, too?

“Yup. I need everything.”

“What about a helmet?”

“Yup.”

“Anything else?”

“Well …”

“You must have a jacket and pants?”

“Nope.”

“Base layers?”

“Base layers?”

He grins. “Yeah, like long underwear.”

“Negative,” I reply, shrugging.

“Wow … you do need everything. Well lucky for you, we're still trying to get rid of last year's stock. Almost everything is on sale!”

“Awesome!” I answer, hoping it's an unbelievably fantastic sale.

“So, to get you into
everything
you'll need, you're probably looking at around a grand and a half, taxes in.”

“A grand and a half … like, as in — one thousand five hundred dollars?” I say, sucking in my breath.

“Give or take.” He grins. “What a steal, huh!” He picks up a pair of coordinating boots. “These will look sick with your new board. What size are you?”

“
Um
…” I squish up my nose.

“What? You don't like the boots? 'Cause I can find you something else.”

“Oh no, I like them. It's just that … um … are your skis on sale, too?”

“What?” He stares at me, eyebrows raised. “You ski, too?”

“I just remembered.”

“You
just
remembered?”

I nod.

“
Um
… well that's weird.” He laughs.

“Hey, Uncle Harvey,” a familiar (awful) voice calls out from across the store. “Did that new shipment of ski boots come in yet?”

It's Ivy! What am I going to do?

“Nathan put them in a display,” Uncle Harvey calls back, pointing in my direction.

Cute High School Guy looks up and yells, “Ivy, they'
re over here.
”

I whip myself around as fast as lightning so Ivy can't see me, and then duck for cover behind a rack of men's ski pants. Ivy starts walking in my direction. Her eyes are on Nathan, who is looking around, probably wondering where I went.

I yank a fluffy pink hat off of a mannequin and pull it down on my head. Maybe she won't recognize me. Just to make sure, I grab a pair of sunglasses from the same mannequin, shove them on my face, and then slowly creep around the back of a rack of ski pants.

“Ivy!” I hear Uncle Harvey yell. “Go and see if that young lady over there needs some help.”

Oh gawd! Does he mean me?
I duck for cover again and sort of shimmy myself around a circular rack of ski jackets. Ivy is quickly weaving herself through all of the displays, trying to find me. She looks over at her uncle and shrugs; he motions for her to keep looking. Can he see me? I scooch along a shelf of long underwear, and then past a big display of ski poles and boots. I see her getting closer so I grab a big green scarf off a shelf and hold it in front of my face. Ivy looks back at her uncle and shrugs again. With her back turned, I toss the sunglasses on a shelf, wrap the scarf around the neck of a mannequin, and dart out of the store. Finally, I am out of there!

BEEP
…
BEEP
…
BEEP
…
BEEP
…
BEEP
…
BEEP
…

Wait, what's going on? Is that me?
OMG
… it's the hat!
I FORGOT THE HAT
! Ivy is running toward the entrance. What am I going to do? She's going to tell the entire school that I am a shoplifter! I'm done for! Suddenly, without warning, a rather large lady, carrying a thousand bags in one hand and a huge bouquet of flowers in the other, takes a step into the aisle where Ivy is running. Ivy, not able to stop herself, crashes into the woman with full force, sending her bags and flowers flying. She screams, Ivy screams, and petals are floating everywhere.

“
Har-veeeey
!” the lady screeches. “What is going on here!”

Uncle Harvey rushes over. “Oh, my love, are you okay?” I'm guessing she is Mrs. Harvey. Ivy is apologizing profusely as she picks petals out of the lady's hair. All the while, the alarm is still beep … beep … beeping —
LOUDLY
.

Suddenly, it dawns on me that no one is paying attention to me at all, so I whip the hat off my head and chuck it back into the store where it conveniently lands on a mannequin's outstretched hand. The beeping stops and I hold my breath.