"You're taking her," my mother declares.

                "C'mon, this is for a sponsorship deal. She'll be in the way." Cade lounges back in his chair at the dinner table, relaxed in his certainty that there's no way he'll have to take me along to the Dash Energy Winter Games—familiar only to the portion of the American population with more sets of skis than people in the house.  

                "Oh," my mom says, her voice high and innocent. "And Becca won't be in the way?"

                Cade juts his jaw out. "Becca keeps me on track."

                "For what? Teen pregnancy?" I scoff. "It's not like you even ski hard runs with her, she can't do anything tougher than a blue diamond," I point out. "She's more worried about her hair than her turns."

                "Shut up, Lia," Cade says. He throws a placemat at me, which I duck, sticking my tongue out at him.

                "You're not helping, Lia," my mother says. "Cade, your sister needs highway hours for her learner's permit, and there are safe stretches between here and Bend that she can practice on in the truck. Besides, it'll be good for her to see what the games are like."

                "C'mon, Mom. I don't want to spend 10 hours in the truck with her. She's fifteen. She's got the brain of a seamonkey."

                I throw his placemat back at him.

                "At least I have some kind of brain; Becca bleached hers until it poured out of her ears."

                Cade launches away from the dinner table, but I've already pushed off the kitchen counter, dashing through the living room and bolting up the stairs ahead of him.

                "You're taking her," my mom shouts from the kitchen. I slam my bedroom door shut and cut off anything else she says, then lock it for good measure.

                I hear Cade's footsteps, and he stops outside the door.

                "I may have to take you with me, Lia, but no one said you have to have fun. 

               "Is that what you say to Becca when you pick her up for a date?" I sing-song.

                He just slaps the door, and I hear his heavy footsteps receding down the hall.

                "Cade?" I call out. Nothing. He's probably already on the phone with Becca, sulking. Explaining that I'll be ruining their plans.

                His side of the coin is misfortune. My side is pure opportunity.

                Once we're in Bend, all of Mt. Bachelor will be fair game. Cade and Becca can do whatever they want, and I'll spend all day, every day, far away from them and up on the mountain, surrounded by pure, endless powder.

**           **           **

                The road up to Mt. Bachelor is winding, and icy, and our chances of dying on it are exceptional, since Cade and Becca decided they were too tired this morning to drive, and that I could use the learning experience. They were wrong.

                I jerk the steering wheel, concluding it was a terrible plan. My hands keep a tight grip on the wheel, and about every other mile I exhale a sigh of relief that I haven't lost traction on the icy road again.

                Cade and Becca sleep the whole way, defeating the purpose of having legal adults in the car with me. I can't unclench my hands from the wheel by the time we get to the parking lot, which presents another obstacle. An attendant guides me to a parking spot, which is nothing but ice, and I inch my way into the spot.

                "Just park," Becca whines.

                I tap the brakes and catch a satisfying glimpse of her rocking forward in the backseat. I park and hand Cade the keys. I will not drive on the way home.

                We get out of the truck to gear up, but Becca climbs into the back of the pickup and starts poking around in her daypack. I try to reach my own pack, but Cade grabs the back of my coat and holds me still.

                "Lia, what are the rules?" Cade asks.

                "Uh, how about don't be a dick to your sister?"

                He rolls his eyes at me. "Right back at you. What are the rules?"

                I lean against the tailgate, thinking of the rules my dad taught us. He had us memorize them just like multiplication tables.

                "Safety first, you can't have fun if you're injured, and don't try new tricks on new territory," I recite, ticking them off on my fingers. Becca tosses her snowboard out of the truck like a used tissue.

                "And?" Cade prompts.

"Take care of your gear," I mutter.

                "And?" He asks again, staring at Becca's abandoned board.

                 "And showing off is for losers. Winners show their skill with every move they make." I raise an eyebrow at him. This one is my favorite.

                Cade nods, looking satisfied. Becca clambers out of the truck and we grab our stuff and get suited up, though not before she jams her tongue down Cade's throat.

                That's the washing-machine, I think, averting my gaze before the sight is etched into the back of my skull.

                The kiss erases Cade's short term memory, and he forgets her mistreatment of her snowboard as we buy our tickets and make our way to the lift lines. We pile into the group line together, although I pretend I don't know them while we wait. Becca natters on, loud and nasal as a bullhorn.

                "Hey, tag-along," Becca says, pulling on the chin-strap of my helmet.

                I glance at her, and she points at the ground.

                "You dropped something."

                I turn to look, and she takes the moment to shove me off-balance. I fall, and my skis slip out from under my feet and skid away into the snow.

                The monster unclipped my bindings. Becca starts giggling like a broken music box, tinny and weird.

                I land on my butt, bracing my fall with an unprepared wrist, which jolts under my weight. I bite my tongue. She'll just do it again another time if she thinks it bugs me enough. Which, tailbone aching and wrist humming with pain, it does.

                "Bye," Becca calls, waving as she and Cade move forward in line. They're next for the lift.

                Cade turns around and gives me an apologetic look. I give him the finger instead, wincing as the motion twinges something in my wrist.

                The person behind me helps me onto my feet, and I clomp over to my skis, clipping back in. I ski over to the singles line, watching Cade's signature tangerine powder jacket disappear into the sky. I wait for Becca to fall off the lift, but not all wishes come true.

                I get to the front of the singles line in no time, but as the lift attendant tries to organize the group line, they break into an argument. An empty lift takes off as they argue, and the attendant waves me forward, along with the only guy behind me. We glide to the loading line, and as I sit back on the lift I feel the familiar sense of dread and excitement mingling in my body.

                The guy next to me doesn't introduce himself, so I plug my headphones in and try to focus on the mountain as the lift climbs. I haven't been to a brand-new mountain in a long time, and giddiness bubbles in my chest at the thought of the new runs. I wish Cade hadn't said he'd guide me around for the first few. I didn't bother to choose a place to start.

                The lift jerks, and I pop my earbuds out, waiting for the motion to stabilize. We hinge on the wire, the ground far below, a white, unforgiving expanse.

I forget how to breathe, every hair on my body standing on end.

                The lift has stopped. I keep my gloved hands gripped on the safety bar, though it's safe only in name.

                "What happened?" I ask.

                "Probably nothing," the guy next to me says.

                I glance over at him, but he's wearing his goggles, their shimmering surface reflecting a metallic rainbow. Waves of dirty blonde hair peek out from beneath his helmet. He tugs his neck-warmer below his chin, revealing equally blonde stubble, his lips looking red and wind-bitten.

                "I'm Reed." He extends his arm out, and we shake hands like marshmallow-people.

                "I'm Lia." I take my hand back and grip the safety bar again.

                "I take it you're not a fan of heights," he says.

                "How'd you guess?" I inject sarcasm into every word, but he doesn't seem to be paying attention. He's looking off toward the horizon.

                "We'll be fine up here," he says. "We'll start moving in a minute."

                "Or we could plummet to our deaths," I say through gritted teeth.

                "Maybe you'd fly," he answers. "Like a little bird."

                "That's ridiculous."

                "I wish you could see Broken Top from here," he continues, changing the subject. "It's my favorite mountain."

                "Why?" I glance between my feet and try to erase the image of the distant ground below by following Reed's line of sight. He's looking at clouds. Everything is clouds.

                "It's wicked. Jagged and mean-looking, but it's just the inside of a dead volcano. Like a wolf with broken teeth."

                We look at the clouds some more, the seconds dragging like days, both of us pretending we're not just dangling from a wire. The wind shifts, kisses the lift, rocking us slightly. I scoot closer to Reed, keeping my eyes on the bruised clouds, waiting for them to move.

                "Hey, I think I see it," I say. I lean over Reed, pointing. "Is that it?" The clouds part, snow-caked spires coming into view.

                "Hi, Broken Top," Reed says.

                "Hi," I echo. I try to imagine the mountain as it used to be, when it was whole, an active volcano. Before the ice and wind wore it down, little by little, opening it until its insides became outsides.

                The lift shudders, and we start moving. The clouds wrap Broken Top in their fuzzy grasp. I keep my eyes on the mountain, hoping to see it break through the clouds again. The ground rises to meet us, and when the lift slows we slip off, skiing toward the Pine Marten lodge. Reed skis away without a word.

                I look around, wondering whether Cade and Becca might have waited for me. All I see is parents and children. I sigh and shove my hand into my pocket, pulling out my map of the mountain. I unfold it and study the lines.

                I hear the swish of approaching skis, and look up, wondering if a kid is about to plow into me.

                Reed slows to a stop in front of me, pulling his goggles up and resting them on his helmet. The red line the goggles left behind isn't enough to distract me from his eyes, deep brown and lined with fine, long, cinnamon eyelashes. He looks like he could be in Cade's year at school, or maybe a little older.

                "Little bird, I don't think you're ready to be on the mountain alone," he says.

                I roll my eyes. "I can ski just fine, I just have to decide where to go."

                "Look, there's an easy run you can take all the way back to the main lodge, you can work out your nerves from the lift. There's no shame in knowing your limitations."

                I tuck the map back into my pocket and fold my arms under my breasts.

                "And how would you know my limitations?" I ask.

                He responds with a bemused smile.

                "I'm just saying, I have a little more experience than you."

                "Oh, yeah? When was the first time you skied? Because I was three," I retort.

                He laughs, the kind of laugh I've heard Cade use before, when he's about to tell Becca she's adorable when she's mad. It's about the only time I've ever sided with Becca over him. Just because a bear looks cuddly doesn't mean it can't rip you to shreds.

                "Look, I just wanted to help you," he says, holding his hands up. "I'm not gonna babysit you when you freak out on a hard run, ok? Just—"

                "Just shut up and let's go," I tell him. "Lead the way."

                Reed shakes his head, but when I follow him to the next lift, he doesn't say a word.

**           **           **

                Reed glances back at me, calling out a cry that is carried off by the wind. Based on our last few runs down the mountain, I think it's a further mixture of praise and astonishment. His surprise is both annoying and pleasing, like a bitter syrup that leaves you feeling fuzzy and warm once it's in your stomach.

                He's been good company this morning. The Oregon snow isn't what I expected—it's wet and deep and heavy, nothing like the light powder I'm used to skiing in Colorado and Utah—but the sheer quantity of the snow is unfamiliar and provides new room for tricks and techniques. All the rocks and nastiness are buried eight feet below.

                Reed hollers, and I echo the cry, a primal sound that takes root in my bones and blossoms, raw and wild, from my throat. I speed up to overtake him, and delight in turning just enough to kick snow up in Reed's direction as I pass by.

                I settle back into my turns, winding my way down the run, existing in a world that's shades of white, reading the give and push of the snow beneath my skis, adjusting with small, un-thought movements.

                The slope levels out somewhat, and I slow down, waiting for Reed to catch back up to me. Instead of stopping to talk, he veers wildly to the right, toward a stand of trees. I ski over to him, watching as he stops just short of crashing into a tree. He waves me over, and disappears further into the stand.

                Skiing through trees isn't my favorite pastime, but I follow him to an even thicker part of the stand. He's taken his helmet and goggles off, and is rummaging through his daypack. I hang my own helmet and goggles off a tree branch, and swing my pack off to grab a drink of water.

                "What are you doing?" I ask.

                Reed leans back, revealing a wooden box nailed onto a tree, padlocked-shut. He holds up a keychain with a pink furry gorilla on it.

                "You've heard of the apres ski, right? This is the pendant ski."

                I roll my eyes at the pretension, taking another swig of water.

                He unlocks the wooden box and swings the door open. I edge closer and notice an assortment of glass bottles within. Most are the size of a paperback, but a bunch of hotel-size liquor bottles are packed in as well. Like an alcoholic dollhouse.  

                "What does the little bird drink?" he asks, standing aside to give me a closer look.

                "Just beer," I say, because that's all that Cade has let me try.                                 Reed whistles in disappointment, pretending to survey the wooden box.                 "I'm afraid we're out of that today. But let's see..."He clinks the bottles around. "We have some peppermint schnapps. Very appropriate for the mountain."        

                "I think I'll wait," I say. "Maybe on our last run." The only time I've skied remotely disoriented was after the flu last year, and I was so dizzy I almost crashed into a tree. Alcohol seems like an even worse plan.

                "Ok, little bird. But I think we should celebrate your skill. It's not every day I meet someone who can give me a run for my money." He grabs one of the hotel bottles and reaches over to my water bottle, glass making a dull clink against plastic.

                "I'm glad you proved me wrong." Reed smiles, his eyes bright and focused on mine.

                "I'm happy to do that anytime," I reply. I find myself smiling back, a blush threatening to blossom on my cheeks.

                "Will you ski with me the rest of the day, little bird?" he asks. He takes a sip from the liquor bottle. It looks like he chose the peppermint schnapps.

                "Maybe if you stop calling me that." I smirk at him, but Reed just throws his head back, laughing like a robin in spring.

                "That's the one thing I was right about, Lia," he says pointedly. "You fly down this mountain like you were made for it. I think little bird is a great name for you."

                "Whatever." I lock my fingers around my water bottle. They are threatening to reach out to Reed. They like what he's saying.

                "I don't think I'm little, is all," I add, trying to salvage my dignity.

                "Birds own the sky. Even the little ones." Reed skis closer so that he's next to me, digging his poles into the ground to plant himself there.

                "You know what they say about flattery," I say. I think I say it, anyway. I am not sure I have a voice.

                "It gets you everywhere?" he asks, leaning closer.

                Ok. My vocal cords must still work. Even if it doesn't feel like anything else is working. My face has caught fire, and my heartbeat flutters, tickling against my ribs.

                "Probably." I let myself lean in toward Reed, and he meets me, holding me so that I don't slide away. Not for the first time I wish ski gear weren't so bulky.

                Reed dips his head down, and I meet his lips with my own. He tastes like peppermint, salt, snow. I lose myself in the kiss, breathing him in and realizing that, in this moment, I'm dangling just as far above safe ground as I was when we were stuck in the lift.

                But for once, I'm not afraid. I can see mountains on the horizon.