The Sugar Mountain Snow Ball (6 page)

“You
made
those?”

“Last January, when my mother had the flu. Since she was so sick, she didn't poke her head in my bedroom every five minutes, like she normally does. It gave me the chance to knit and crochet a few things. I have more; he can keep those.”

“It doesn't make any sense,” I said. “I don't get why your mother doesn't want you to do anything crafty. Mim would be thrilled if I
made my own hats and scarves and blankets and whatever, so we didn't have to spend money on them.”

Eleanor closed her sketchpad and slid it into her backpack.

“Because she wants me to be a rocket scientist or a neurosurgeon or—”

“Oops, you dropped something,” I said, picking up a little folded pink piece of paper.

She grabbed it without saying anything.

“What is it?”

After folding it even smaller, Eleanor stuffed it into her pocket and mumbled, “Nothing important. So, what was I talking about?”

She seemed so flustered, I wondered if it was a note from school. Was it possible she had gotten in trouble?

“Umm, I think you were saying how your mother wants you to be a rock scientist.”

“A rock-
et
scientist,” she said. “Or she'd settle for a CFO or CEO, or possibly the leader of the Free World.”

I was still baffled.

“Well, don't some of those people like to sew and knit?”

“Not where Amma comes from. Domestic arts are for women who have no education or careers. No bright futures.”

“But what about all your chores you have to do at home?”

“That's separate. That's part of being in a family.”

“Well, doing crafts and sketching pictures seems like a pretty strange thing to have to hide from your mother.”

Eleanor smiled one of her giant stretchy grins that make her whole face light up.

“Looks like I won't have to hide it for a while. My father is generally very supportive and nonjudgmental, but he's never been the boss—until now.”

“I almost forgot. How long is your mother going to be in New York?”

“Thaththa called from the airport. He said it depends on Nenda Soma's condition, as well as her level of care. Amma has gone to assess the situation, but Thaththa thinks she'll be away for at least two weeks.”

I could tell Eleanor was wicked excited, but she also didn't want to say anything too disrespectful about her mother. I, on the other hand, would fall apart if Mim went anywhere for two weeks. She might work a lot and forget to clean the house and be tired all the time, but she was still the best stepmother in the whole world. She let us do almost anything, like stay up late, and she always made sure the cupboards were filled with lots of treats.

“Eleanor! A brilliant idea flash! Since our television is broken and you have two weeks off, do you want to meet here every day? This place can be our very own ‘Dream Central' where we come up with plans to make our deepest dreams come true. Just like Madame M predicted. Plus, I can pretty much ignore the twins since they love the playground so much.”

Eleanor tilted her head and gazed all around. The sun had disappeared behind Sugar Mountain, creating purple and blue streaks across the sky.

“Dream Central?” she grinned. “I like it.”

8

A couple of weeks later, after I had rushed from school to pick up the twins, Mrs. Petite asked if I'd mind if the boys kept her company through dinner. Mr. Petite had his annual duck decoy potluck meeting, and she didn't want to eat alone.

If I'd mind?

Don't get me wrong, I love my little brothers, but it can be a pain watching them every day, particularly now since I had to get them organized for meetings with Eleanor down at Dream Central. For a split second, I considered keeping Mrs. Petite company, too—her whole house smelled of maple syrup pie, one of her specialties—but I was way too excited about my awesome find the night before.

For once, Mim hadn't gone directly to bed after supper, so we got a chance to chat. Right away, I asked if she knew anything about Pop's skiing days, and if they had skied together at Sugar Mountain.

“Oh my!” she cried, then burst out laughing. “I couldn't ski to save my life.”

“Do you know if my mother skied?”

Mim took my hand and smiled.

“Yes, she did—at least, back when they were in high school. Your father told me they used to meet down at the lodge at the end of his shift, and they'd have a big cup of hot chocolate by the stone fireplace before hitting the slopes together.”

“Really? Hot chocolate by the fireplace? That's so
romantic
. . .”

I sighed.

“Wait! Do you mean Pop used to work at Sugar Mountain? What'd he do?”

“He was what they called a patroller. They would check on things, make sure no one was doing anything fishy or too flashy.”

“Did Pop keep any of his old stuff?”

“Heavens, no. His equipment would be very outdated by now. Why are you so interested in your father's old skiing days?”

I hadn't been prepared for that question, and wasn't sure I wanted to tell Mim about my dreams, or about Madame M, and how I thought the Outer girls were all amazing. Normally, I told my stepmom pretty much everything, and she always answered any question I had . . . but this time I felt like I needed to keep things to myself for a while.

“Some kids at school joined the ski club, so I was just wondering.”

“Well, we do have a pile of his old
Fresh Powder
magazines in our bedroom closet, if you know anyone who'd like those.”

So, today, after leaving the boys with Mrs. Petite for the rest of the afternoon (and grabbing a licking icicle from her front porch), I was anxious to read the very first
Fresh Powder
in my father's
collection, which I had fished out of the closet and tucked in my backpack the night before.

I was hurrying down Bon Hiver Lane, thinking about everything I had to tell Eleanor, when up ahead I saw that mysterious boy leaning against the inside of the tall black fence. He wore the same baggy green jacket down to his knees and a black hat that forced his messy dark curls over his glasses. A pair of binoculars hung from his neck, just like last time.

“Hey!” I said. “It's nice to finally meet you in person instead of talking through that box.”

He stood up straight and fumbled with the binoculars like he was trying to think of something to spy on.

“Why are you hurrying?” he asked.

“Because you'd never believe the lucky day I'm having! Do you ever have days like that, when you can feel it in your bones?”

The boy crinkled his nose and tilted his head.

“Are you referring to a specific skeletal fracture?”

“Huh?” I replied.

This kid was starting to sound like Eleanor.

“What I mean is that
deep-down
feeling you get when something special is about to happen, and you're not sure where that special something is going to lead you, but everything keeps falling into place, so you're ready to jump on board and take the ride!”

He just stood there, his hands now shoved in his pockets, like he didn't know how to have a conversation. I noticed he was shivering a little. He probably wasn't used to the cold.

“So, are you ever going to tell me your name?” I asked.

I smiled extra wide as if his answer were the most important thing in the world, but he didn't smile back. He either had to be the shyest kid I'd ever met, or the rudest.

“In case you forgot, mine's Ruby LaRue. And if you want, you can come down to the playground with me and my friend, Eleanor. My little brothers are usually with me, too, so that's why we go to the playground, so they can play, but Eleanor and I mostly talk and make big plans and she sketches a lot, and today I brought a magazine.”

He paused, then finally replied, “I don't have permission to leave the property.”

It was strange hearing him say that behind the tall pointy fence, with that enormous mansion in the background. Somehow it looked more like a prison.

“Why not? Can't you just ask your parents if you want to go somewhere?”

He sneezed into the air, then pulled a tissue from his pocket and blew his nose. It took forever, like he was moving in slow motion. Then he turned around without answering and trudged through the snow, back toward his humongous home.

Even though I sorta felt sorry for him, I also felt a little annoyed with those strange silences of his, because, according to Mim, there are very few excuses in the world for being flat-out rude.

“Can't you even tell me your name?” I called out. “You know, it's not polite to not answer someone.”

Still nothing. Just a slow march back to jail.

“Well, whoever you are, you can meet us anytime. Down at the playground on Winterberry Common, in the village. Also known as Dream Central. Where I'm gonna find my destiny. And Eleanor's gonna find hers too!”

But by the time I had said those last words he had opened a side door and disappeared . . . almost like his giant house had swallowed him up.

9

No matter how fast I hurried, Eleanor was always at the common first. The picnic table would be cleared of snow and she would be hard at work by the time I slid in next to her on the bench, drawing in her sketchbook or doing something crafty.

But today, I was surprised to see that she was nowhere in sight. It was strange not having the boys there either, and since no one ever played at the playground during the winter months, I was the only one in the park.

Snow had fallen overnight, as it did many nights in the mountains, so with the sleeve of my jacket, I brushed off our picnic table and sat down to wait.

At first it felt awkward and a little lonely sitting there all by myself, watching the cars and people hurry around the village, but then I began to let my mind drift, and I started to notice things. Like wind whistling through icy branches and frosty smells in the air. A lot of people complained about the winter, the cold and the dark, but I had decided it was my favorite time of year. I loved
the way the snow made everything feel fresh and magical, like living inside a beautiful crystal snow globe.

That reminded me of Madame M, which reminded me of my prediction, which reminded me of skiing!

I pulled Pop's old
Fresh Powder
magazine from my backpack and turned to the table of contents. The main article with the biggest photo listed the best mountains out west. I didn't care about that, since who knows if I'll ever get the chance to visit a fancy place like Aspen or Jackson Hole. The second one showed you how to wax cross-country skis—nope, not interested in moving
up
a hill of snow. But the third story, titled “Getting in Ultimate Shape for the Ultimate Skier,” was exactly what I had been looking for—somewhere to start.

I flipped directly to that article because I knew skiing probably used different muscles than the ones I had been using all my life. I stood up and placed the magazine on the table in front of me and mimicked the lady in the photo (who looked like an Outer) by trying to get my right foot up onto the table, but it was too high, so I dropped my foot onto the bench instead.

Then I was supposed to bend my left knee while clasping my hands behind my back and lean everything forward over my right leg to stretch three different muscles I couldn't pronounce. I couldn't do that stretch, either. I mean, you practically had to be a gymnast to twist your body like that.

When I tried to yank my right foot off the bench, my boot got caught and I fell back into a drift of snow.

“What are you doing?”

Eleanor was looking down at me.

“I'm working out!”

She offered her hand and helped me up.

“
You're
working out?”

“Look! My father has tons of these at home,” I said, pointing to the magazine. “Everything I need to know about skiing, so I can be in tiptop shape for my lesson at Sugar Mountain.”

“Wow, that's great, Ruby.”

But I couldn't tell if she really meant it, because she dropped her backpack onto the table like it weighed a thousand pounds and then slumped down onto the bench.

“What's wrong? Oh, no. Has your mother come home already? Is that why you're late?”

“No, it's not that.”

Eleanor's amma was still taking care of her sick aunt, Nenda Soma, in New York, which meant Eleanor continued to do almost anything she wanted to do, with her father's full support. Eleanor said her thaththa had been so quiet all these years that she had no idea he even disagreed with her mother's strict, controlling ways. But now he practically pushed her out the door, canceling all her lessons and clubs and extra advanced classes—at least while her mother was gone—so Eleanor could hang out and do as she pleased.

So every afternoon, even if a snowstorm blew through, we met at Dream Central to talk about our favorite things. Sometimes we “brainstormed” (one of Eleanor's words), which meant we helped each other come up with ways to make our dream predictions come true. So far we were stuck on the moneymaking part, which
was a problem, since that was exactly what we needed in order to get going.