The Sugar Mountain Snow Ball (12 page)

“Did you book it?”

“Huh?”

“You know, make a reservation for the lesson?”

“No. No one told me to.”

He shoved his hair out of his eyes and opened a notebook.

“Lucky for you it's a slow day.”

Then he punched a bunch of numbers into the cash register and said, “That's $141.50 total.”

“
That much?
But I thought—”

“Tax and service fee,” he said.

That meant I would be more than $28 short to buy the dress! But I had to trust that everything would work out. After all, Madame Magnifique's magic had gotten me this far.

My wallet was stuffed with cash, which I counted out carefully down to the two quarters. Mim had offered to open a savings
account with me and put my profits in there, but she didn't know that I had plans to use up most of it right away.

The guy took my money and handed over a packet of papers.

“I forgot,” he said. “A parent or guardian over the age of twenty-one has to sign this first.”

I stared at the pages of tiny words stapled together.

“Sign what?”

He flipped to the last page.

“Permission form. We need a ‘John Hancock' from an adult right there, dude, last line. Name and date.”

“But no one told me that on the phone either!”

“It's no big deal. Just find your mom upstairs, have her sign it, and come back and get your receipt.”

Aaarrggh!
I thought to myself. What else could go wrong? I didn't know what to do. But for some reason, today felt like the day I
had to
learn how to ski.

Before I knew it, I found myself rushing back up the stairs and forging my stepmother's name along with the date on the last page, as if someone else were holding the pen. Another little fib.

“Now, here's your tag for your jacket, and don't lose that receipt,” said the guy at the register, after I returned the permission packet with the fake signature. “Go to the Red Zone and get fitted for boots and a helmet. Go to the Green Zone to get poles and skis. Then go to the Blue Zone to wait and be assigned an instructor.
Next!
”

Someone pushed against me, so I moved forward down the line. I peered ahead and saw a red square hanging from a chain: The Red Zone.

I followed a man ahead of me whose son kept whining, like he didn't want anything to do with skiing.

“You'll be fine,” said the dad. “You can use the bathroom later.”

“Size?” said a man behind the counter.

Another guy grabbed the receipt out of my hand before I even noticed him.

“What?” I asked.

“Boot size?”

I glanced down at my feet.

“I don't know.”

He leaned over the wooden counter to take a look.

“About a size six shoe?”

“Well, it depends on what I'm wearing. If it's sneakers, I wear a six and a half, but if it's flats—”

He shoved a pair of stiff, plastic, lime-colored boots in my face. I dropped them on the floor, they were so heavy. The piece of paper was stuck in a buckle.

“Don't lose your receipt,” he said. “
Next!
”

The man with the cranky boy stood under a green box so I rushed to catch up to them: The Green Zone.

“What level?” said a man with long, tangled, blond hair and a pierced eyebrow. I always wanted to ask people with face piercings if it still hurt after they've had it a while, because it looks so uncomfortable.

“Huh?” I said.

“What level for you?”

“Isn't this the basement?” I asked.

That made him laugh and lean forward on his elbows.

“Have you ever skied before?”

I felt a little embarrassed, but knew I had to be honest about this.

“No, but my father used to ski here all the time.”

“Cool,” he said.

I liked him. He was the first friendly person I had met so far.

“Listen: I'm gonna give you these skis because they're excellent for your first time out, okay?”

“Okay!” I said, finally relaxing a little and getting excited.

“And here are your poles and your receipt. Now don't lose that receipt.”

“I won't!”

I wished I knew his name, because he had been the only nice helper and he was pretty cute and I wanted to ask him a few other questions and maybe see if he'd give me the private lesson, or at least recommend the best teacher.

But then he hollered
Next!
like the other guys had, and that's when I realized I had no idea how to carry all this junk over to the Blue Zone and find my instructor. In fact, I didn't even
see
the Blue Zone, just a door leading outside. And the man and his whiny kid had disappeared too.

Right then, a tall woman with long red hair—wearing bright orange overalls, the same color as one of those traffic cones—waved her hand and hollered, “Who reserved the Snow Bunny Special?”

I glanced behind me and when I didn't hear anyone else speak up, I figured she had to be talking about me.

“I did,” I said timidly, but she didn't seem to hear me, so I shouted, “
I did!
”

She whipped her head and long red hair in my direction, then looked me up and down without smiling.

“Follow me,” she ordered, and vanished out the side door before I had even picked up one pole.

I don't know how I did it, but I dragged all that equipment outside into the super-sunny-snowy-blue-sky ski world. It was like walking onto a movie set, but a sci-fi movie, set on the moon or something, the way the snow glowed too brightly with everyone shuffling around in moon suits and moon boots.

Hundreds of alien Outers were flying down the steep white hill in front of me, scraping the snow sideways to stop short at the bottom, then sliding by on the flat ground, lining up at the lifts, laughing and gliding perfectly. I was in their world now!

The tall traffic-cone-orange woman towered over me, wearing pointy silver sunglasses and black gloves, which made her look like a moon superhero.

“I'm Page,” she said and smirked.

“Like, in a book?” I asked, trying to be super friendly.

“I guess. Who are you?”

“Ruby,” I said, dropping all my heavy gear at once in a heap on the ground, “like the color of a rose.”

“Where's your helmet, Ruby?” she asked, still not cracking a smile.

“Nobody gave me one.”

“I'll be right back,” she barked. “In the meantime, get those boots on.”

Lying sideways in the snow, the lime-colored ski boots looked more like one of those puzzles that have knots and ropes and hooks and buckles than something you would wear. I noticed a wooden bench next to the door, so I shoved everything toward it and sat down.

Page reappeared with a scratched-up helmet, set it in my lap, knelt in front of me, ripped off my snow boots, and shoved the heavy ski boots onto my feet.

“OW!” I said. It came out louder than I meant it to.

“You'll get used to it,” Page mumbled, as she snapped all the buckles into place.

I didn't know how I would walk in those tight things, let alone ski.

“Where's your receipt?” she asked as she stood up. “I have to sign off on it so you can get your lift ticket after your lesson and ski the rest of the day.”

“And the cup of hot chocolate by the stone fireplace too,” I said as I handed over the mashed piece of paper. But she didn't seem to hear that part.

“We'll go over the basics at the bottom here on flat ground, then we'll take the rope tow up the bunny hill and practice your snowplow. Got it?”

I scanned the amazing moon world of fabulousness, home of my deepest dreams, then took a deep breath and yelled, “Got it, Page!”

19

“What is it?” cried Eleanor, throwing open her front door.

“OH, ELEANOR!” I blubbered. “EVERYTHING IS RUINED!!”

I collapsed facedown in her hallway—my red snow boots sticking out the door—and howled louder than a coyote.

“Ruby, what are you talking about? What's happened?! The back of your jacket is torn!”

But beyond that, I couldn't hear what Eleanor was saying as I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed.

She bent down in front of me and pulled at my arms.

“Roll over and talk to me!” she insisted. “I need to close the door, Ruby.”

I inched my body forward, but couldn't stop my sobbing, which was turning into gasping, choking noises. My face was so hot and damp, it stung.

“Ahh!
Were you skiing at Sugar Mountain?
” Eleanor demanded as she tugged on the ski pass attached to one of my jacket pockets.

I wailed louder.

In another room, the phone rang.

“Oh,
aiyo!
” said Eleanor. “I'll be right back—don't go
anywhere
.”

Eventually, between crying spasms, my tears slowed and I suddenly felt extremely tired. If I hadn't been lying in the middle of someone else's hallway, I think I would have fallen into a deep sleep right then and there.

Instead, I forced myself to stand, take off my boots, and find Eleanor, whose quiet voice was coming from the kitchen.

Every part of my body ached.

I found her leaning against the sink, talking softly on the phone in Sinhala. She turned around slowly to look at me and gasped out loud, as if I'd frightened her, then said a few more quick foreign words into the phone and hung up.

“Who was that?” I managed to ask between sniffles.

“Amma,” Eleanor replied quietly. “Nenda Soma is much better now. So my mother is flying home tomorrow night.”

More bad news! I mean, even though it should be a good thing that Nenda Soma was better and that Eleanor's mom was returning after being away for so long, I knew it really meant that all the fun we had been having would come to a screeching halt.

I just couldn't take it on top of my already
hideous
day, and I burst into tears all over again.

Eleanor took my hand, led me into their family room, and pushed me down into their soft comfortable chair where I curled up into a tight ball. She set a box of tissues on the coffee table.

“Where's your thaththa?” I managed to ask between sobs, grabbing a wad of tissues to wipe my whole face.

“He's still at the gas station.”

She touched a spot on my cheek and it hurt.

“
Ow!
”

“Oh, Ruby,” Eleanor whispered, and took a deep breath. “Tell me what happened. Please?”

I forced myself to look up and absorb the Bandaranaikes' sweet house with all their beautiful decorations from their island country, and I tried to think about how nice it would be to visit that island country with its delicious food and colorful birds and tropical jungles. And I did this until my heartbeat finally calmed down and I managed to stop crying.

“I knew I needed to”—
hic—
“take my lesson soon”—
hic—
“and since it was a sunny day and Mim got”—
hic
—“home early to watch the boys”—
hic—
“I rushed over to Sugar Mountain before I could change my mind”—
hic—
“even though I didn't have enough”—
hic—
“money for the gown in the catalog”—
hic—
“yet.”

“Wait,” said Eleanor. “I'll make some tea. Take off your jacket, Ruby, and I'll be right back.”

When Eleanor stood up, something fell from the back pocket of her pants. Another piece of paper folded into a tiny square. I gazed blankly at it as if my brain had completely shut down.

Soon after, the whistle on the kettle blew and Eleanor returned with a tray of tea stuff, which she set on the coffee table. She saw me staring at the tiny paper on the floor and quickly picked it up.

I took another tissue and blew my nose hard.

“Why are you dropping so many notes lately, Eleanor?”

At first she wouldn't look at me, like she felt ashamed of something.

“They're nothing, really,” she replied. “Tell me your story first, and then I'll explain.”

“You're like a mother, you know,” I said, and even smiled a little, “making tea and taking care of me.”

Eleanor smiled back and patted my knee, then sat on the floor near my feet.

“So did you take a lesson?” she asked.

“Sort of. I rented the ski gear, which I'm telling you, there's a lot of, and it's hard to walk in those moon boots, lugging everything, and the helmet feels like a boulder on your head. Anyway, I followed Page, the super
unfriendly
instructor, to the beginner area, where they have this picture of a bunny on a sign, which stands for the bunny hill, which is the easiest hill where they teach people, but believe me, it's not that easy. Skiing is a
lot
harder than it looks!”

Eleanor leaned back against the wall and sipped her tea. I could tell she was listening carefully because that's the kind of friend Eleanor is.

“So, rude Page shoved my boots into my skis and showed me how to hold the poles and then talked about ‘french fries' and ‘pizza,' which is the way you learn to ski down the hill. She said she would call out ‘french fries' when she wanted my skis straight ahead, like two french fries, and when she yelled ‘pizza,' that meant I had to snowplow so the tips of my skis were touching together, to look like a wedge of pizza.

“Then we practiced on the flat ground until I got it, and finally we went up the rope tow, which also looks a lot easier than it really is. You can't grab it like I did the first time, because it will yank you
down to the ground until you fall on your face and the rope stops and everyone is stuck waiting for you to get up.”

“Oh no,” said Eleanor. “Is that how you cut your cheek?”

“What's wrong with my cheek?”

Eleanor scrunched up her nose.

“Umm, nothing; just a little scrape. Go on with your story.”