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however, I’d missed all that early-semester cramming, courtesy of Mom’s Florida homeschooling, and I’d arrived right in time for the true winter season, where we’d spend the entire afternoon out on the mountain. My classmates were all out there now, somewhere, honing their skills on the half-pipe or in the terrain park, while I, myself, would remain on an independent study program with a private instructor until I was pronounced ready to rejoin my friends.
    It felt strange being back on a chairlift, inching my way toward the summit while watching the tiny antlike skiers and snowboarders glide down the mountain below. It was a Friday, November, early in the season, so the place was pretty quiet, with only a few retirees and locals dotting the trails. Once Saturday hit, the resort would be packed with weekend warriors, ready to get their shred on after spending a rough week slaving away in their offices. I envied them, in a way. For them, the sport was a simple pastime, and no one was counting on them to do anything but have fun.
    I gnawed at my lower lip, my anxiety rising with the altitude. On impulse, I started to sing under my breath, like I used to when things got tense during a race, concentrating on hitting all the right notes, remembering all the words—forgetting everything else. To my relief it seemed to work, and by the time I got up to the top of the mountain, I was so into the song, I almost forgot to get off the lift.
    I raised the bar as the chairlift slowed, unfortunately not enough to stop me from stumbling on the dismount, unused to the feeling of slick snow and ice under my board. My face flamed as the lift operator made a move to help me back up. I waved him off, thankful that, at least, he must have been new and didn’t recognize me. Once I cleared the chairlift path, I undid my second binding and carried my snowboard across the flat, toward the green-circle trail Baby Bear—where I was to meet my private instructor.
    â€œLexi! Over here!” a familiar voice cried just as I’d almost reached my intended trail. I whirled around in surprise. I hadn’t realized the new terrain park, the Apocalypse, was two trails down from Baby Bear. And I definitely hadn’t realized that the advanced freestyle snowboard class would be meeting there this afternoon. And I definitely, definitely hadn’t planned on being recognized by Brooklyn as I tried to sneak past them. Awesome.
    I ducked my head and kept moving, hoping perhaps Brooklyn would think she’d mistaken me for someone else. Some random stranger who just happened to be wearing the same exact purple-and-yellow limited-edition Burton jacket I’d won at Regionals last year.
    Um, yeah. Right.
    â€œHey, Lexi, come over and check out the new park!” So much for low profile. Now the whole class was calling to me. Reluctantly I changed my path and headed over to the top of the trail, where the students were sitting on the snow, waiting for their turn to drop into the park below. Including, I noticed dismally, Olivia herself.
    â€œLexi!” Coach Basil exclaimed, waving at me. “Welcome back!”
    A former pro-snowboarder, Coach Basil had retired at age twenty-five to coach at Mountain Academy after a tendon injury cut short her winter-sports career. In addition to being our coach, she also taught drama and served as the den mother for our floor. We all liked her and would often end up hanging out in her room, listening to her extensive indie-music collection. Sometimes she even let us download the albums from her player, as long as we promised not to tell the establishment.
    â€œThanks,” I muttered, my face burning under my helmet. “It’s, uh, good to be back.”
    â€œAnd it’s great to see you, of course,” Coach Basil replied carefully. Then she gave me a hard look. “But to be honest, Lexi, I didn’t think you’d be up here so soon. In fact, I was told you