This Is How It Ends (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

I RAN INTO THE LIVING
room after my shift, hoping I could make it to the mountain on time. It had been a brutal morning. “Georgie's got his panties on extra tight because of the Dash,” Moose had told me as soon as I'd walked into the restaurant. He'd been right. Our manager usually saved his cursing for Moose, but today we'd both been fair game. He'd had us scrub every surface, roll extra tubs of silverware, mix vats of coleslaw. I was over an hour late getting out of there and would have just enough time to shower and change before I was supposed to meet Sarah near the starting line. It was probably stupid to get cleaned up, but there was no way I was going to show up smelling like bacon and eggs.

But I stopped short in the living room, seeing my mom on the sofa. It had been almost a week since our night at the hospital, and she'd gone back to work a few days ago, but she wasn't one to sit still, much less lie down in the middle of the day.

“What?” she asked, looking up from her book.

“How are you feeling?”

She smiled. “Fine, Riley. Really.” She swung her legs over the edge of the sofa, stood, and turned around in a circle. “See?”

She looked solid and steady, the way I'd always pictured her. She'd been a runner in high school, had always hiked the trails behind our house and gone camping with me and my dad when I was little. I'd thought of her as strong like that long after it was true.

“Do I pass?” she asked, returning to the sofa.

“Yeah,” I said, thinking that if she were just honest with me about stuff, we wouldn't have to go through this.

“Are you going to the Dash?”

I nodded, starting up the stairs. “You running this year?” I teased.

“Ha-ha.”

Twenty minutes later I hopped onto my bike after telling her, “I'll be late. Don't wait up.”

“I'm working till five in the morning,” she said. “Try to beat me home, 'kay?”

***

Sarah was watching for me, and waved when I swung off the bike. “Hurry,” she called. “The juniors are almost done.”

I nodded, locked up, and jogged to the base lodge patio, where the Stones were blaring across a crowd of at least a hundred people. As much as we complained about Buford, there was something pretty special about Dash weekend. People were smiling and laughing. Bill Winston, one of the mountain partners, moved through the crowd, glad-handing the seasonal people and chatting up the weekenders. A good winter was important to all of us—no one ever forgot that—and at this time of year there was always the sense it could happen. This could be the year people rediscovered Buford, the season we got record snowfall. It was probably like spring is in most places—the sense of a fresh start, new blood, a chance to re-create our town and ourselves.

I saw it in Sarah's face, her eyes shining with excitement as we wove through people toward the red banner at the starting line.

Trip and Tannis were already there.

“You're late,” Tannis told me. “The ski team's about to take off.”

I craned my neck and saw Nat clustered with her teammates, all of them wearing red-and-white T-shirts emblazoned with the mountain logo.

“Sorry,” I said. “Had to work.”

“We're going with the two forty-five group,” Sarah said, handing me our number.

I taped it onto my shirt, glancing at the huge clock on the peak of the base lodge. Thirty-five minutes. That should be enough time to get my heart rate down from the five-mile ride over.

“When are you guys running?” I asked Trip and Tannis.

“Trip's in the third group, just after all the ski teams,” Tannis said. “My brothers and I are with you. We can say good-bye at the starting line,” she added, “since you'll be looking at our butts the rest of the way.”

“Puh-leeze,” Sarah said, flipping her palm at Tannis.

People ran the Dash individually or in whatever haphazard teams they cared to put together, a semi-organized free-for-all. The starts were every fifteen minutes up until the last runner, which, by the looks of this year's crowd, might be near dark. Times were posted on the lodge windows as teams came in, with trophies for each age category as well as a Worst Time, Dirtiest Finish, Youngest Runner, Oldest Runner, and a bunch of other nonsense. The course wasn't long but it was tough, a combination of hiking; running; rope climbing; and sloshing through streams that, depending on how rainy it'd been, could be three feet deep. Pretty much everyone in town ran it at least once at some point or another, and lots of people did it every year. While we'd been rolling silverware that morning, I'd asked Moose if he was going.

“Are you crazy?” he'd said. “I get my recommended daily allowance of tourists right here.”

“You'll miss the after-party.”

Moose had given me a funny look, like he was going to say something, then thought better of it. “Thanks, but I get my daily allowance of assholes at school,” he'd finally said, adding, “No offense,” as an afterthought.

“Gee, why would I be offended by something like that?”

“I didn't mean you,” he'd said. “But that guy you're friends with . . .”

“Trip?”

He'd nodded. “Yeah. That dude's a jerk.”

I'd shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“Anyway,” Moose had said, “I've got my own after-party planned.”

I knew better than to ask him about that.

The loudspeaker announced the next group, and a few minutes later we heard the starting gun pop, and Natalie's team took off. Within a minute they were around the first turn and disappearing into the woods.

“How are we going to beat that?” I asked Sarah.

“Where's your positive attitude, Riley?”

“I knew I forgot something.”

Sarah smiled. “Remember, their whole team has to cross before their time counts. So having more people isn't necessarily better.”

“Even if they're all strong, well-conditioned athletes who know this mountain like the inside of their own house?”

She nodded. “Even if.”

Trip checked his watch. “I'd better get with the team. Good luck,” he said, adding suggestively to Sarah, “I can't wait to watch you wash my car, baby.”

“That's too bad,” she answered. “Because it's going to be a loooong wait.”

“I like confident women.” He winked.

“Oh my God.” Tannis rolled her eyes. “How can you stand him?” she asked Sarah.

“I don't know.” Sarah considered Trip with a grin. “He has a certain je ne sais quoi, don't you think?”

“That's French for ‘ridiculous arrogance,' right?” I asked.

Even Trip laughed. “Nice smack talk, Ri, but let's see how you race. Later, losers.” He jogged toward the starting line and a few minutes later took off.

They called us soon after. Tannis lined up with her two huge, muscular brothers. Sarah and I were at the other end of the starting line with a motley assortment of townies and tourists.

“Nervous?” she asked as we waited for the gun.

“Why do you ask?”

“The foot-to-foot dance is sort of a tip-off.”

“Maybe I just have to use the bathroom.”

She frowned. “Do you?”

“No. I'm nervous.”

She reached out, squeezed my shoulder. “Don't be. It'll be fun.” Her cheeks were flushed pink with the cold, her eyes still sparkling. She looked beautiful, and I felt scared and excited being there as her partner. I hoped I didn't screw it up.

Then the gun went off and we were running hard, a pack of twenty or so headed up the long, slow slope of the bunny hill. I could feel the burn in my lungs as we neared the turn where I'd watched Natalie's team disappear. Already Tannis and her brothers had fallen back, not as light or nimble as me and Sarah. I wondered how they liked the view of our butts. I let Sarah set the pace, and I trailed a few steps behind. Trip had told me she ran regularly, and even though I didn't, I was pretty sure I could keep up, thanks to having to bike whenever our car broke down or my mom needed it.

Sarah veered onto the first of the hiking paths that wove through the woods. I kept my eyes down like I did whenever we went to the cave, watching for loose stones. Behind us I heard someone call out as they stumbled. I knew from the course map that this trail kept going up about a quarter mile before we got to the first obstacle—a rope wall twenty feet high. Beyond that was the stream and the mud pit and a rock wall that was part of one of the terrain parks when the snow fell. And in between each, lots and lots of running.

I glanced behind, saw no one. We were clearly in the lead, though I had no idea by how much or how our time would stack up against anyone else's. I didn't expect to win, but it sure would feel good to beat Trip and his football friends. Not that they were bad guys—not all of them, at least—but I couldn't help holding a small grudge at the way they'd become his go-to buddies at exactly the wrong time.

It had started the summer before eighth grade. Trip had been playing Pop Warner for a few years by then but had somehow gotten it into his head he was destined for more. He'd gone down to the rec field almost every day that summer, and I'd gone with him. Eventually I'd drift to the bleachers with a book, bored with the repetitive drills he was willing to run endlessly with whoever was there that day. Maybe I'd have joined in if I'd had any idea how
not
joining would come back to bite me. In August, he tried out for the team. I did too, but when they posted the final roster, his name was on it. Mine wasn't. I remember standing outside the coach's office, looking at that list, not surprised but feeling a bitterness in my throat as Trip high-fived the other guys. “Bummer, Ri,” he told me, not bothering to suggest I try again next year. He walked away chattering with all of them without a backward glance. I tried to shrug it off. Told myself it was just one small part of his life. But I already knew it wasn't. If I'd made the team, I realized belatedly, I'd have been along on their bus trips and practices, I'd have been going to the Hull after. But since I hadn't, from then on a huge part of our days and weeks had no overlap.

“How you doin'?” Sarah called back breathlessly. We were nearing the top, but she kept a steady pace up the steep hill.

“Good,” I panted. “You?”

“Fine. We're almost to the ropes.”

Sure enough, a big net stretched across the trail around the next bend.

“Hello, warriors,” the attendant called as we ran toward her. “Up the rope—one at a time, together, however you like. Continue onto the trail to the right.”

I could see a yellow sign with an arrow pointing the way she'd said.

Sarah ran to the net and started to climb without hesitation. I waited a beat for her to scale about two feet of it, then started up myself, feeling the tug and pull of the ropes, our weight causing them to swing at odds and together.

And then another tug, harder, as someone else started up. I looked down to see Jed, Tannis's marine brother.

“Thought you'd lost us?” He grinned up at me.

I didn't answer. But I did climb harder. Sarah had already swung her leg over and was descending the other side as I reached the top.

“We're doing great,” she said through the net, her voice low. We were close, as close as we'd been in the cave, and I could see sweat on her brow, her messy hair, not unlike how it had looked in my vision. “Keep it up,” she said, continuing down. Then she jumped to the dirt, and I clambered down the ropes and followed her onto the next trail.

We kept a steady, quick jog along the path to the stream, which was thankfully only about a foot deep. Our sneakers squished and squashed as we started up the hill on the other side, one of the ski trails near the top of the mountain. Steep, but with easier footing.

At the summit Sarah paused, and I pulled up beside her. “Beautiful, huh?” she said.

“It is,” I agreed, surveying the valley spread out below us. No one in Buford ever got tired of this view.

Sarah checked her watch. “We're at eleven minutes,” she said, her voice breathy. “Not bad, but we've gotta pick up some time.”

“Tannis is behind us,” I reminded her.

“Forget her. We had her beat at the starting line. Ready?” She took off without waiting for an answer.

I followed her onto the second half of the course just as Jed emerged from the woods.

We did great on the first part of the descent and the rock wall, but the mud pit was a disaster. I think we were both feeling the exhaustion by the time we got there, but Sarah plowed right in, immediately losing her footing and falling face first into the muck.

“Yuck,” she spat.

“Yer not the first to do that today, honey,” called the attendant.

“I feel so much better,” Sarah muttered, wiping mud off her face and taking the hand I offered. But instead of pulling her up, I lost my footing too and slid down beside her.

“Sorry,” I said, scrambling to get back up. We slipped and slid, falling three more times and losing at least that many minutes trying to get across.

“What are we doing wrong?” Sarah stormed in frustration after her third fall.

“I'm not allowed to tell you, sweetheart,” said the attendant. “But here comes yer competition.”

I turned back and saw all three Janssens starting into the pit.

“Lookin' good, guys,” Tannis called, laughing.

Sarah climbed out, with me just behind her. “I'd love to watch you have a swim,” Sarah called back, “but we've gotta run.”

We half-jogged, half-stumbled onto the last trail, still trying to clear our eyes. I'd watched a mud wrestling movie with Trip once, and the girls in that had looked pretty good, but Sarah looked like some kind of wild mud zombie, her face smeared and streaked with dirt, clumps of it sticking to her shoes. I'm sure I was no better.