glance at the back cover of her book and see the title, Lover of Unreason .
“Is that for school?” I ask.
She looks at me, then slides the book into her lap without glancing down at it. “No,” she says. “Just something I’m reading on my own.” I wait for further explanation, but she doesn’t offer any. Instead she says, “Hey. H. J. and I are going to ski in Telluride on Saturday. Do you want to come?”
Telluride is only fifty miles north of us, so the weather is pretty much the same, but for opening day the snow cannons will be working overtime. I almost say no toEvie’s invitation. Then I remember my mother peering out the window this morning, how I should have stayed with her, and in a flash I see a way to make up for it. She would be over the moon about me accepting this invitation, a normal social activity. Still, I can’t quite bring myself to say yes. “You guys probably won’t want to ski with me,” I say instead. “I just learned a couple years ago, when I came back.”
“I don’t mind,” Evie says. “And H. J. loves to ski with beginners.”
I have a hard time believing this. Even with Luke, who taught me how to ski and couldn’t have been more patient, I could feel him longing to abandon me for the black diamond slopes.
But Evie shrugs. “He says it’s more interesting skiing with someone who has something to learn. He gets tired of the whole shredding culture. He says all anyone talks about in this town is ski equipment and snow conditions.”
I nod, knowing exactly how H. J. feels.
“He’ll probably move away at some point,” Evie goes on. “But he says it’s sunny here three hundred days a year, and he already knows everyone’s name. And he has his job. And, you know, he has to wait till I’m done with high school.”
Evie looks back down at her plate, and I wonder if this is my moment to tell her that I’m sorry about her parents. I try to remember the details of her father’ssuicide, how he did it, and I realize suddenly that this is something I can talk to Luke about. I can ask him about Evie and H. J., because Luke knew them when he was alive.
Outside, the rain turns to snow before our eyes. It falls halfway to the ground as droplets, then morphs into clusters of stars. Growing up, I didn’t see snow until I was six. Even when we first started coming back to Rabbitbrush, it was always in the summer. I can remember not completely believing in snow, the way I didn’t completely believe in dinosaurs, or Santa Claus. I hoped it was real but couldn’t be entirely convinced. It still seems like magic to me, in the first moments it begins to fall.
“Hey,” I say. I know what I’m about to tell her will feel out of the blue. At the same time, I think that probably Evie will understand. “My dog died last night.”
Her face rearranges itself in three quick, visible phases—shock, memory, then sympathy. “Oh, God, Tressa,” she says. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say. My eyes fill up with tears, but I realize that’s okay. Dr. Reisner would say it’s appropriate.
“Listen,” she says. “Come with us on Saturday, promise? It can’t make it better, I know. But at least it will take your mind off it.”
“Sure,” I tell Evie. “I’d love to go skiing with you guys.”
We clear our lunches and say good-bye a little awkwardly. I head to my locker to collect my books for French, and it must just be a Burdick kind of day, because I see H. J. and Mr. Tynan standing outside Mr. Tynan’s classroom. I am the only student in the hallway, and they don’t notice me, not at first. I wonder if I should wave or say something about Evie inviting me to ski on Saturday. But Mr. Tynan’s voice is uncharacteristically stern and sharp. Usually he moves gently, wearing a wry smile. But talking to H. J., his face looks drawn and angry. I hear the word “inappropriate.” “Massively inappropriate,” Mr. Tynan says.
I open my locker, and the two of
“Is that for school?” I ask.
She looks at me, then slides the book into her lap without glancing down at it. “No,” she says. “Just something I’m reading on my own.” I wait for further explanation, but she doesn’t offer any. Instead she says, “Hey. H. J. and I are going to ski in Telluride on Saturday. Do you want to come?”
Telluride is only fifty miles north of us, so the weather is pretty much the same, but for opening day the snow cannons will be working overtime. I almost say no toEvie’s invitation. Then I remember my mother peering out the window this morning, how I should have stayed with her, and in a flash I see a way to make up for it. She would be over the moon about me accepting this invitation, a normal social activity. Still, I can’t quite bring myself to say yes. “You guys probably won’t want to ski with me,” I say instead. “I just learned a couple years ago, when I came back.”
“I don’t mind,” Evie says. “And H. J. loves to ski with beginners.”
I have a hard time believing this. Even with Luke, who taught me how to ski and couldn’t have been more patient, I could feel him longing to abandon me for the black diamond slopes.
But Evie shrugs. “He says it’s more interesting skiing with someone who has something to learn. He gets tired of the whole shredding culture. He says all anyone talks about in this town is ski equipment and snow conditions.”
I nod, knowing exactly how H. J. feels.
“He’ll probably move away at some point,” Evie goes on. “But he says it’s sunny here three hundred days a year, and he already knows everyone’s name. And he has his job. And, you know, he has to wait till I’m done with high school.”
Evie looks back down at her plate, and I wonder if this is my moment to tell her that I’m sorry about her parents. I try to remember the details of her father’ssuicide, how he did it, and I realize suddenly that this is something I can talk to Luke about. I can ask him about Evie and H. J., because Luke knew them when he was alive.
Outside, the rain turns to snow before our eyes. It falls halfway to the ground as droplets, then morphs into clusters of stars. Growing up, I didn’t see snow until I was six. Even when we first started coming back to Rabbitbrush, it was always in the summer. I can remember not completely believing in snow, the way I didn’t completely believe in dinosaurs, or Santa Claus. I hoped it was real but couldn’t be entirely convinced. It still seems like magic to me, in the first moments it begins to fall.
“Hey,” I say. I know what I’m about to tell her will feel out of the blue. At the same time, I think that probably Evie will understand. “My dog died last night.”
Her face rearranges itself in three quick, visible phases—shock, memory, then sympathy. “Oh, God, Tressa,” she says. “I’m really sorry.”
“Thank you,” I say. My eyes fill up with tears, but I realize that’s okay. Dr. Reisner would say it’s appropriate.
“Listen,” she says. “Come with us on Saturday, promise? It can’t make it better, I know. But at least it will take your mind off it.”
“Sure,” I tell Evie. “I’d love to go skiing with you guys.”
We clear our lunches and say good-bye a little awkwardly. I head to my locker to collect my books for French, and it must just be a Burdick kind of day, because I see H. J. and Mr. Tynan standing outside Mr. Tynan’s classroom. I am the only student in the hallway, and they don’t notice me, not at first. I wonder if I should wave or say something about Evie inviting me to ski on Saturday. But Mr. Tynan’s voice is uncharacteristically stern and sharp. Usually he moves gently, wearing a wry smile. But talking to H. J., his face looks drawn and angry. I hear the word “inappropriate.” “Massively inappropriate,” Mr. Tynan says.
I open my locker, and the two of
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