On a Slippery Slope Read online

  “You do both, right?” Gabby says, searching my face for an answer.

  “Um …”

  “Wow, both. Usually you do one or the other, but I guess that’s cool,” A.J. says, obviously assuming “um” meant “yes.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Ivy cuts in, “you ski and you snowboard and you’re ridiculously good at both?” She crosses her arms over her chest and glares at me suspiciously.

  “Well … I …”

  “Of course she is! I mean she’s from Glen Haven, Vermont, guys, only listed as the number-one ski-resort town on the east coast by World Skier magazine! It’s an amazing place!” Gabby turns to A.J. “Am I wrong, A.J.? I mean you just came back from there. Tell them!”

  A.J. nods. “They’ve got some sweet slopes.”

  “You must have lived at the hill, Hannah!” Gabby says, squealing with delight. “Eeeeek! Skiing, snowboarding! I mean how could you pick just one? You’re so lucky: our parents made us choose.”

  “Oh, really?” I ask, not knowing what else to say. Actually, what I should be saying is: Wait! There has been a huge misunderstanding. I have never skied in my life, let alone snowboard! And I’m totally afraid of heights! But then again, I’m a little miffed with A.J. just assuming I didn’t have it in me, which is totally rude, even though probably right. No! He’s not right! He’s so wrong! I’ll show him!

  “I ski and A.J. snowboards,” Gabby continues.

  “Okay, now that we have all this settled, can we get back to the meeting?” A.J. says, his annoying brown eyes sparkling as he looks back over at me. “Hannah, can you take minutes?”

  “Minutes?” I whisper to Gabby, confused.

  “Notes of what’s being said at the meeting.”

  “Ahh … sure, no problem.”

  Chloe whispers something into Ivy’s ear and they both look over at me and giggle. Then, Ivy makes an X with her fingers, and hisses. She actually looks super dumb, but I’m sure she thinks she’s being all scary and intimidating. I wonder what they did for fun before I got here?

  “Pssst … Hannah,” Gabby says, nudging me, “can you teach me how to snowboard?”

  “What?” I ask, curious to know how she expects me to listen to her, and, at the same time, write down everything A.J. is saying so I can add it to the minutes.

  “Can you teach me how to snowboard? A.J. has an old board, but he’s too busy with his training to help me.”

  “What?” I say again, scribbling down the words March and sunshine.

  Taking minutes is hard, especially when you have a girl whispering in your ear, like, every five seconds.

  “Fine … sure,” I finally answer stupidly, not knowing what I am agreeing to.

  “So, everyone is agreed then; our ski trip is set for March fifteenth,” A.J. announces.

  “Ski trip?” I whisper to Gabby.

  “Weren’t you listening?” She shakes her head. “Every year we all go away on a school ski trip!”

  “For how long?” I ask.

  “A week, Hannah! You really need to listen better,” Gabby scolds.

  “For a week!” I exclaim.

  “Hannah, did you get that?” A.J. hollers.

  “Um …”

  “March fifteenth,” Gabby murmurs between her teeth.

  “Totally got that, yeah … March fifteenth.” I smile and nod.

  “Until when?”

  “Um …” I quickly do the math: a week is seven days, so if we’re leaving on the fifteenth … fifteen plus seven is twenty-two. “Until the twenty-second,” I say smugly.

  He narrows his eyes. “And where are we going?”

  “On a ski trip,” I answer.

  “Duh.” Chloe looks at A.J. and rolls her eyes.

  “Yes, I know, but what resort?”

  “Um …” I squish up my nose.

  “Mount Sunshine!” Gabby whispers through her curved hand.

  “Mount Sunshine.” I smile, scribbling the word mount in front of sunshine on my paper.

  “Hmm … have you done this before?” He smiles. His dimples are so big that I think you could eat cereal out of them. “Who would like to nominate Hannah as our official minutes-taker for all future meetings?”

  Gabby whips her hand into the air. “Oh, me! I would!”

  “All in favour,” A.J. yells.

  “Aye,” everybody answers with about as much enthusiasm as you would expect after the whole Maple Ridgers comment.

  “Yeah!” Gabby squeals. “Now you’re on the committee!”

  “Okay, so unless there’s anything else …” A.J. says, scanning the room, “our meeting is adjourned. Thanks, everyone!”

  “Omigosh, Hannah, I’m so excited that you’re part of our group,” says Gabby.

  “So, what does the committee do?” I ask.

  “Lots,” A.J. says, suddenly appearing at my side.

  As long as I don’t look at him, I won’t get that weird feeling. Just don’t look at him. Just don’t look.

  “Like plan for our big ski trip!” A.J. elbows me playfully in the ribs, which is even worse than if I’d looked at him. This stupid feeling I get whenever he’s around has got to go! It’s annoying and just … really annoying!

  “Hannah, you must be excited to show off your mad skills!” A.J. says grinning.

  And just like that … poof! My tingling is gone. I have no mad skills. I can’t ski, I can’t snowboard, and I’m afraid of heights. How am I going to get myself out of this one?

  5

  After-School Blast

  Wonderful! It’s the end of the day, my bus is here, and I can’t get to my locker to get my stuff because the Queens of Mean and their gang of doughnut-chucking goons have surrounded the door. I hear the crackle of plastic and look up to see the Leader of the Goons, I think they call him Tiny (funny, cause he’s huge) passing out the rest of his donuts, a.k.a. sugary cake Frisbees. I know what I’m in for. Grrr …

  In no hurry to get onto a bus filled with donut-wielding-thugs, I decide to add a couple of sentences to a writing assignment we started today: Is It Ever Okay to Lie? Funny subject considering my day, don’t you think?

  “Hannah, it’s time to get going,” Ms. Winters says, pointing to the clock.

  “Yup.” I gulp, knowing what’s waiting for me outside.

  “I was the new girl in junior high once. It will get better; I promise.” She winks.

  The bus is pulling away when I get outside. Turns out, ours is the first one to leave, and if you’re not there within, like, minutes of the bell, then too bad so sad — you’ll either have to call your parents or walk. I pick option one and call dad from the office phone.

  “Hey, Dad, I missed the bus. Can I get a ride with you?”

  “Hannah, it’s only 3:00. I’m not even close to finishing work. I won’t be done until 6:00. Can’t you get your mom to come and get you?”

  “Mom’s at the nursing home today.”

  “Oh yeah, right. She started that today,” Dad says. “Well, come by here, then. The station is just down the street from your school. You can watch your old man in action!”

  * * *

  Dad was right; the station is, like, two minutes away, which is cool because now I might actually get to spend some time with him. We might even get to do lunch, something that would have been impossible back in Vermont because all he had time for there was work, work, and more work! He says it’s going to be different here, and that soon enough I’ll be sick of looking at his face. I seriously doubt that.

  The station is in a huge brick building on the corner. Right above the doors, there’s a gigantic neon sign that says CHANNEL NINE. As soon as I walk in, I see a friendly looking lady with a cute, blond pixie-cut standing beside the reception desk. She’s rifling through a stack of papers, apparently not able to find what she’s looking for because suddenly she plunks the whole stack down on the desk and blurts out, “I give up!” She and the guy at reception start laughing.

  “What’s
new?” he says with a snort. Then he points in the direction of a not-very-nice-looking lady who is heading in their direction. The laughter stops.

  Cranky Lady asks Pretty-Pixie-Cut Lady something, which must be about the stack of papers because Pretty-Pixie-Cut Lady starts frantically searching through them again. Cranky Lady is pursing her lips and tapping her foot on the ground. She’s one scary-looking lady. “This is happening far too often, Andy. You need to hire a production assistant. No more excuses!”

  “I know,” Pretty-Pixie-Cut Lady, whose name must be Andy, says, shrugging.

  “I mean, look at this place!” Cranky Lady barks. “It’s a mess!” She scans the room in disgust. Suddenly, her eyes fall on me. She stares for a second and then whispers something into Andy’s ear. Andy looks over at me, smiles, and puts her finger up to tell me she’ll just be a second.

  When Cranky Lady leaves, Andy falls back against the desk, letting out a deep breath of air that she must have been holding for a while. She scratches her head, messing up her pretty blond hair, and then turns and to walk away. OMG, she totally forgot about me.

  “Andy, we need you!” I hear a voice calling from another room. Immediately she picks up the pace, walking toward the voice.

  “Hello!” I call in her direction.

  She keeps walking. She’s almost at the door.

  “Wait!” I yell. “I think you forgot about me.”

  She hears me this time because suddenly she stops in her tracks and looks back with a warm smile. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweetie. I’ll be right there.”

  “Andy, where are you!” the voice calls again.

  Ignoring the voice, she rushes in my direction. In her haste, she trips on a fold in the carpet, sending her stack of papers flying all over the room.

  “Oh dear, it’s been one of those days,” she says, pushing her glasses up on her nose. “Busy, busy, busy. There are never enough hours in the day to get things done, like ordering a new carpet for this lobby. Well, you must be Hannah; you look just like your dad.”

  “Um … yeah,” I say, a little surprised. “No one has ever said that before.”

  “Well, maybe it’s your eyes or your smile,” she continues, “but somehow I could just tell. Anyway, it’s great to meet you.” She looks up from the crumpled mess of papers that she’s trying to gather up. “I’m Andy, the associate director.”

  “Here, let me help,” I say, throwing down my knapsack.

  “So, you’re here to watch your dad do his thing, huh? Pretty exciting!”

  “Actually, I missed my bus,” I admit.

  “Have you ever been to a TV station before?” she asks as we walk toward the set.

  “Never,” I say, looking around, trying to soak it all in — the bright lights, the cameras, the monitors, the TV screens; everything looks so lit up and shiny and … I can’t believe my dad works here!

  “Andy, we need you over here!” the voice yells out again.

  “Oh, Hannah, my day never ends! Your dad should be out in a few minutes. You can watch him from here.” She points to a chair at the side of the room, just behind the cameras.

  “Andy, we need you now!”

  “Have fun, Hannah!” Andy calls, nearly dropping her papers again as she scurries toward the impatient voice.

  Suddenly, Dad appears in front of me and just like that, he’s doing the weather! “Hey there, Maple Ridge! I’m Marty Smart and do I have some weather for ya!”

  Watching Dad is awesome. I don’t know how he can make cold fronts and snow squalls sound so exciting! He doesn’t even look a teensy bit scared! Seriously, he looks like he’s having the time of his life! Dad was obviously made for this job.

  “Well, Maple Ridge … the word of the day is blast, because that’s what we’re in for this weekend … a blizzardy blast of weather! I’ll be tracking this storm all week long and as soon as I know more, you’ll know more, and that’s a Marty Smart promise! So, that’s it for now, Maple Ridge. I’ll be back at eleven with all the latest weather updates. This is Marty Smart saying thanks for making Channel Nine your go-to source for weather news. It’s been a real … blast!”

  The ON AIR sign goes off and instantly the room erupts with applause. They must be on a commercial break.

  Grinning ear to ear, Dad gives me two thumbs up and then quickly disappears through a back door that takes him off the set.

  During the break, I overhear the crew chatting:

  “… this guy just might save the show.”

  “… big boost to the ratings.”

  “… corny tag line … ha, ha, ha … have I got some weather for ya!”

  “… the old ladies are going to love him.”

  It’s six o’clock when Dad finally comes to get me. After he introduces me to everyone in the station, and I mean everyone, right down to the night janitor, it’s time to leave for home. Finally! I’ve been starving for the past two hours!

  I hope you’re hungry,” he says pulling up to a Chinese takeout.

  “Awesome, Dad! I’ve been dying for …”

  “Hannah!” Dad cuts me off in mid-sentence. “I can’t believe I forgot to ask you about your day! How was school? Did you make lots of friends?”

  “Friends? Um … I …”

  “Hold that thought!” Dad puts his finger up. “First I need to grab supper and then you can tell me every single detail about your day, okay?”

  “Um, every detail?” Yeah … suddenly I’m not that hungry.

  6

  The S Word

  Ski. It sounds like such a cute little word, doesn’t it? Let me assure you … IT’S NOT! In fact, it’s a viciously cruel, awful word, like food poisoning or seasickness or eating creamed peas on toast! Seriously, my stomach turns over with dread every time I hear it, which is super-unfortunate because, as it turns out, ski is Gabby’s absolute favourite word. I mean just in the last five minutes alone, I think she’s said it like thirty-two times and in every possible way: ski, skis, skied, skiing, skier, ski hill, ski jacket, ski pants, ski suit, ski boots, ski, ski, SKI — I can’t escape that word!

  “I can’t wait to go skiing!” Gabby says again, for the hundredth time today.

  She really needs to stop talking; I’m not sure how much more of this my stomach can take. Why did I invite her to come over to hang out after school? I knew this would happen! Am I subconsciously trying to torture myself?

  She tears open my curtains, looks out at my snow-covered backyard, and lets out a satisfied sigh and nods. “Saturday.”

  “Wait, what!” I exclaim as my brain registers the word Saturday. “What about Saturday?”

  Gabby claps her hands together. “We’re hitting the slopes!”

  “The slopes?” A lump of dread rises in my throat. “You mean … a ski hill?”

  “Of course I do!” she says, laughing.

  I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears as I squeeze my eyes shut and force myself to think — can I do it? Can I learn to ski and snowboard in four days? No, she can’t mean this Saturday; can she? “You mean this Saturday?”

  “Yes, this Saturday!” she answers, her face absolutely radiant.

  My mind is racing. What am I going to do? I can’t learn to ski by Saturday. That’s just crazy! It can’t be done. “No!” I hear myself yelp. I really, seriously think I’m going to be sick.

  “No?” she says pulling her head back like I’ve said the craziest thing she’s ever heard. “I’m sorry …” she adds, tapping her finger to her lips, “but ‘no’ is not an acceptable answer. We’re going this Saturday, end of story.”

  Hold it! Did she just say, “end of story”? Don’t I have any say in the matter? Doesn’t my opinion count? What if I’m busy? What if I have plans? I have a life you know!

  “And don’t say you’re busy,” Gabby blurts out, “because you already told me you’re not.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yes you did.”

  “When?”

  “Yesterday, remember? I
asked you what you were doing this weekend and you said, ‘Nothing. I have no life.’”

  I bite my lip. “Oh yeah.”

  “And this is way more fun than nothing, right?”

  Yeah, potentially killing myself sounds way more fun for sure!

  “Sooooo,” she continues, her face breaking into a huge grin, “where are your skis?” She’s so excited, her eyes are dancing in their sockets.

  Great! She wants to see my skis … my skis! I DON’T HAVE ANY SKIS!

  “My skis?” I say, gnawing at the one fingernail that I have left.

  “Yes, your skis. I want to see them!”

  “Why do you need to see them?” I ask as calmly as I can manage, which I’m pretty sure isn’t calm at all, because my voice has gone all high-pitched and weird.

  “Why wouldn’t I want to see them?” Gabby looks confused. “Are you okay? You sound weird.”

  “I do?” I say with a nervous chuckle.

  Gabby throws her arms up and laughs. “Yes, now will you please show me your stuff?”

  “But why … why do you need to see it?” I squeak. Why won’t she just leave me alone! Make it stop!

  “Because you are an amazing skier and you’re from Vermont, Hannah. Vermont! Filled with ski villages and ski chalets and ski shops and ski …” — (Why does she keep saying ski?!) — “everything. I mean you must have tons of stuff that we can’t even get here, like super-cool, professional stuff, like stuff they use …” she gasps “…. in the Olympics! Oh, Hannah!” Gabby throws her hand to her chest. “Do you think —” she takes in a deep breath, “— you’ll ever try out for the Olympic team?” Her eyes are wild with excitement. “I mean you’re probably that good, right? Right!”

  “Um … well… I don’t …” I sputter trying to come up with something, ANYTHING, that won’t tip Gabby off to the fact that I am a total fraud … a fake! HOW AM I GOING TO GET OUT OF THIS? I don’t ski! I have no gear!

  “So?” Gabby grabs my hands. “Are you that good?”