Matty stepped beside Clover and winked at her proudly. She turned to the reporters, in her element. ‘One at a time, please. Yes, you. What’s your question . . .?’

The music was pumping, lights strobing over the glassy superpipe that was as precision-groomed as a Kardashian eyebrow; there wasn’t a stray speck on the icy surface. The bleachers were packed, people waving banners and flags, their cheers rising into the night sky as they awaited the next rider. This was the third run of three and everyone was chasing a perfect ten.

Clover understood now what Beau had meant about competing under the lights. It gave everything a completely different feel. This was nothing like Stomping Ground, or their training runs on Kitzsteinhorn. Surfing had certainly never thrown up anything like this. Kit was in a brave new world up there – and he was loving it. The crowd had noticeably warmed up to him: a high score of 9.2 on his first run hadn’t elicited much more than a tepid clap. But by his second run, which scored lower – 8.9 thanks to a hand down on a landing – the cheers had begun to crackle the night sky. And now, as he slid into the starting position for his final showing, people were on their feet, calling his name before he’d even gone.

Matty jogged Clo’s elbow knowingly as the cameras caught Kit’s bewilderment, coming in tight and treating everyone to some close-ups. The crowd erupted again. Word had definitely got out. People were learning the truth.

But not him. Not yet. Clover knew he had his airbuds in. Like all the riders, he’d be listening to his own playlist, riding to his own beat, giving the spectators a show. He checked his goggles, his chinstrap, clapped his hands together a few times to get him in the zone.

The crowd picked up the beat, clapping him too. They were showing him in every way they could that they were behind him. On his side. Willing him to the win.

He dropped in—

‘And that’s an aggressive start by Kit Foley,’ the commentator announced.

‘Oh my god!’ Matty whispered as Kit grabbed his board on the upswing and extended his body into a perfect arc. He landed it, cruised down and swung up on the other side, spinning through the air like it was the natural way to travel.

Down in the next instant, airborne again . . .

‘. . . There’s the Switch Backside 1260 that Foley’s beginning to claim for his own!’ the commentator cried.

Clover could hardly watch. She thought of Mikey. If he should fall too . . .

‘And he’s coming in hard and fast! There he goes for the Double McTwist . . . beautiful execution, you can see his surfing background helping him here with those whip-smart turns . . .’

Clover realized she was holding her breath again. She tried to breathe.