At ten the next morning, the Cayenne pulls up behind the O’Toolemobile. AmberLea comes to the door. “Have they called? Have you got long underwear on? What happened to your face?”
My first answer to AmberLea is no, the second is yes, the third is “I’ll tell you later.” I’m as ready as I’ll ever be for something I don’t want to do. Skiing is the kind of thing Grandpa loved, not me. Any activity where some part of you is not touching the ground should be against the law. “I don’t know about this,” I say. I shrug on Bun’s sport shell. It’s too large. I take it off and pull on one of Deb’s fleeces first. “Hat,” says AmberLea. All I’ve got is my new one. “We’re twins,” she says.
“Triplets.” I’m thinking of Toby. “Listen, I should stay in case they call.”
“C’mon.” She tugs my arm. “There’s no use hanging around here worrying. If you’ve got your phone, they can call. Hey, you’ve done some tidying up!”
“It felt weird with the chairs upside down.”
It’s cloudy outside, not too cold. I thought we’d go north to ski, but we go east on the 401 to a place called Brimacombe. I keep checking to make sure my phone is turned on. AmberLea rides with me in the back. Toby and Tina are chattering up front. First I tell her how I got jumped last night. AmberLea looks worried and sympathetic. Good. I don’t want too much sympathy, though, or I’ll look wussy. “Anyway, I fought them off.” I shrug. “Had to be SPCA.” Looking out the window, I ask casually, “Do you, uh, hang out with Toby a lot?”
“Yeah. He’s a sweetie. He brings, like, a different perspective to things. Did you know he and his brother sold some software to Apple for three million dollars when he was only fifteen?”
“No, I guess I missed that.” When I was fifteen, I was figuring out Donkey Kong.
We get to Brimacombe in barely an hour. Ski equipment comes out of the bin on the roof rack. “I don’t know about this,” I say again as AmberLea walks me to the equipment rentals to get stuff for me.
“It’s going to be fun,” she says. “Their website said rentals come with a free lesson. Or I can give you one. Which do you want?”
I want to go home, practice my Michael Caine accent, start a romance with AmberLea and later have Bun walk in, saying, “Guess I better call Roz, huh?” Those things aren’t on the table though. “Was Toby on the Olympic ski team?” I ask sourly.
“What? No. His dad was. In ’94, I think.”
“Maybe I could have a hot chocolate in the chalet.”
“Spencer.”
Whatever I was going to say next is drowned out by a car that badly needs a muffler job.
We rent stuff for me. I feel like Frankenstein in the boots, especially after I snap into the ski bindings. A slender guy with a blue jacket, aviator shades and a big black mustache poles up shakily. He looks as if he’s trying to make up his mind about lessons too. “Lesson from you,” I say to AmberLea.
We go to the Baby Bunny hill. AmberLea shows me how to sidestep up the gentle slope. From the top, Baby Bunny seems to have morphed into Mount Everest. “This,” says AmberLea, “is how you snowplow.”
The snowplow actually turns out to be okay. I get down and up the hill a couple of times. I only fall over when I get distracted by AmberLea in her ski stuff, which includes a short yellow jacket and red skinny jeans. I’m a huge fan of skinny jeans on AmberLea—on many girls, in fact—but these red ones make a great combo with my blue ones. It’s another reason we’re perfect for each other and, like I said, the only reason I fall seven times. Really. Anyway, I take her picture on my phone. She videos me skiing. We watch it. Let’s just say I’m not a natural. She shows me what to do differently. I try again, just missing a crash with the black-mustache guy, who has fallen over at the bottom of Baby Bunny. It’s nice to know other people can’t ski either. “Better,” says AmberLea. “Now, point your skis in the same direction.” Uh-oh.
After an hour or so, I graduate to the Bunny hill. There, I get to ride the Magic Carpet to the top instead of sidestepping. I’m moving up in the world, literally. AmberLea leaves me to take some runs on the bigger hills. She waves from the lift. I wave back and almost fall off the Magic Carpet. Hands steady me from behind. It’s black-mustache guy.
“Thanks.” I push my glasses back up my nose.
“No worries.” He coughs, covering his mouth. He’s wearing striped wool gloves I’ve seen before someplace. I stare, then have to turn away. It’s hard enough riding the Magic Carpet without looking backward. At the top I hang back, pretending to fuss with my boots. Black Mustache starts down the hill. I follow. It’s a slow trip. Black Mustache is even worse at skiing than I am. By the time we’re down, I’ve noticed something interesting: a little bundle of blond hair poking out under the back of his pulled-down tuque. I’ve also done some thinking.
Toby’s at the bottom. It’s chalet time. AmberLea is already at a table; Tina is in the washroom. Black Mustache comes in and looks our way before sitting down. “That guy,” I whisper. “I think that’s Dusan, the SPCA guy from the streetcar, in disguise. I need you to decoy him while I check on something.”
“What’s the plan?” says Toby. We all look at each other. There’s a pause, then AmberLea sighs. “I guess I’ll have to take off my clothes.”