“I thought you were a peace activist, not a matchmaker.” I pick up my skis and head to the bench to change boots.
When Michelle sits next to me, I find myself bristling even before she opens her mouth.
“I can’t deal with boys,” I explain. “Things are too complicated right now.”
“I’m sorry.” She fumbles with her boot clip. “I know I need to stop trying to control everyone’s lives and putting everyone in neat, perfect boxes. I just want you to be happy. You’ve seemed so—”
“Stressed?”
“Yeah.” She gives me a half smile. “Plus, with my love life now a complete failure, I needed to—I don’t even know how to explain this.”
“You want mine to be a success.”
“Yeah.” Michelle wrinkles her nose and shakes her head. “I know. It’s lame. But if I can be a matchmaker, then I don’t have to think about my love life.”
“I’m sorry about Charlie.”
“Tell me about it.” She bends down to redo her straps, but I think she’s just trying to hide her tears. “I miss him. It was the hardest thing ever to leave him when we moved to Seoul. But I thought we were strong enough that nothing could tear us apart. I was so stupid.”
“Is the pain worth it?” I ask.
She hesitates. “I don’t know.” Then she clasps my hand and smiles at the ceiling. “Yeah, it is.”
After I’ve jammed my feet into my ski boots, the two of us wobble outside into the sun. Komo would flip if she knew I was out here on such a clear, sunny day. But all that seems so far away. I suck in a gulp of mountain air and feel as if I’ve finally escaped it all.
I clip on my skis. It’s been a long time since I’ve skied. I glide forward, wobble, and fall onto my side. Okay, so maybe it’s been longer than I remembered.
Michelle and Lily laugh from behind as I brush off snow and pull my hat back into place. I join in their laughter and manage to stand up just as Marc skis over. He swooshes like a pro as snow sweeps in a wave in his wake. I absolutely can’t let him see me teeter-totter. So I lean on my ski pole and try to act all nonchalant by whipping out a quick wave and a casual nod.
“Hey.” He lifts his ski goggles to his forehead. “I see you decided to come after all. Don’t forget you’ve got hot chocolate duty with me tonight.”
Michelle and Lily casually glide away to the lift, which it doesn’t look like I’ll be attempting for some time. I notice a sly grin on Michelle’s face. I want to scream obscenities at her. No! I want to scream at their backs. Don’t leave me here. Alone. With him!
But I can’t. I have to pretend I’m completely fine hanging out with Hotness here.
“You want to go down some routes together?”
As in the bunny slopes? Sure. That’d be a blast, Mr. Ski Goggles. “No, I think Michelle, Lily, and I are teaming up.”
“Really? Looks like they’re getting on the lift.”
And so they are. Craptastic. I try to run after them, but my skis cross, and I face plant into the snow. I cringe, not from the blast of cold that hits my face, but from my idiotic fall. At least the snow will have cooled my raging bonfire cheeks.
I lift my head and see a black-gloved hand reaching out. Any dignity I had five seconds ago vanished with that dive. I grab his hand and let him help me up, but then my boot snaps out of the ski and I fall into Marc’s arms.
He steadies me. My face smashes into his chest. He’s so close, and I don’t pull away as fast as I should. But then, he doesn’t either. I press my hands against him to steady myself and feel his chest under my palm. My legs are Jell-O.
“You need to unsnap your ski,” he says. “You’re tangled.”
His face is close to mine, and I notice he’s got a slight dimple on his chin, too. He’d be at the perfect height to lean down and kiss me. The noise around me blurs, and all I can focus on is his lips and breath and presence.
Then I remember my aunt’s words about Haemosu’s jealousy. Would he hurt Marc?
I jerk back so fast, I stumble again. This time I must have turned the right way, because the ski sets me free and I can now wobble around like a normal person.
His eyebrows cock up. “Maybe I could give you a lesson.”
Tempting. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be hanging out at the Black Diamonds, so don’t let me slow you down.”
Some kids by the lodge call out Marc’s name. It’s Ryan and gorgeous Min of the Long Legs. Marc looks at me as if for some positive sign to stay, but I turn back to my skis and ignore him. He glides away, and somehow I manage my way, alone, to the ski lift.
Dad would’ve been pleased, and I should feel victorious with that sense of euphoria from overcoming temptation. I don’t. My heart is like the inside of a bamboo stalk: hollow. The ski lift jerks and I slide off the bench, but the cold metal bar keeps me clamped in place. Wind rushes across my hot cheeks, and I close my eyes.
I almost kissed Marc. Out of the blue. In front of everyone. What had I been thinking? What must Marc think of me? My face burns as I remember how close our lips came to touching.
Pine tree forests spread below. They look soft and mossy, and I reach down my hands as if to brush my fingertips across the tips of them. I spot the sprawling Dragon Plaza below and the little black dots of the skiers. Wait a sec. Why does that other ski lift beside me deposit skiers off at intervals like a conveyer belt? Mine sure doesn’t. It just keeps going and going and freaking going. My heart sinks.
I’m such a moron! This lift doesn’t go to the beginner slopes. I’m headed directly for the black diamonds. I may be a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, but I’m definitely not a black belt in skiing.
The station to get off is fast approaching, and another thought hits me. I don’t know how to get off this thing! I search through my memories. I come up with nothing. Knowing my luck, I’ll break a bone by falling off the lift. I’ll be the laughingstock of the entire eleventh grade.
I brace myself as the bar lifts. The ski patroller standing there waves his arm, saying something I can only guess is “Get off, you idiot!”
I push myself and slide down the little incline. It takes me a few moments to realize I did it. But my elation is short-lived as my eyes take in the slope labeled Rainbow Run in front of me.
Cliff would be the more appropriate word.
People pay money to leap off of that? I wonder how they can allow condoned suicide. It can’t be legal. Two skiers skim up to the edge of The Cliff, adjust their goggles, and disappear.
I glance around for another slope down, but I don’t see any other way.
The Cliff it is. I suppose if I can wear a pink hanbok in front of a thousand people, I can leap off a cliff, too. I swish to the edge, and my heart squeezes so tight that my arms grow numb. And then my legs. And my brain.
No. I can’t get scared over some stupid cliff. I’m better than that. I ease onto my bum—it’s the only way—and as soon as I sit, snow seeps through my jeans and I wish I’d opted for snow pants. I focus on slithering down, my skis straight in front, and keeping my back against the ground. Inch by inch I grow closer to the bottom, which is all I can think about. Getting to the bottom. I’m at the edge, out of skiers’ range, but I know any minute someone could come barreling into me.
I’m halfway down and nearly to the path below (which thankfully looks more like a ski run than my current suicide mission) when I hear someone calling my name above. I glance up. It’s Marc and Gorgeous-Perfect-Body Min floating past in the lift. And they’ve spotted Wet-Butt Me. I wonder when this day of complete embarrassment will end. She snuggles in closer to Marc and points my way, a gloating smile on her face. My chest tightens, and I’m not sure if it has to do with the snuggling or my current situation. Probably both.