“Just . . . Don’t you think it’s odd that he would help you? It could turn out he’s helping you beat him. You don’t think he’d tell you something . . .” I search for the right word.

“Deliberately give me the wrong advice, you mean? Nah. He’s not like that.”

“But he’s so competitive.”

Across the room, Julien has disappeared and Curtis is talking to a couple of guys I don’t know.

“What you’ve got to understand about Curtis,” Brent says, “is he knows a lot of people and he seems like a friendly guy but he’s got walls a mile high. There’s an inner circle and everyone outside of that is a potential opponent. If you’re in his inner circle, the guy would kill for you.”

“Right,” I say slowly.

“But you’ve got to earn that trust.”

“And you did?”

Brent nods. “Took a while, but yeah.”

“Is Dale in the inner circle?”

“Nah. Dale pisses him off.”

“Yeah, I’ve noticed that.” Two strong personalities fighting for dominance. “What about me? Am I in the inner circle?”

Brent looks away. “Hard to say.”

In other words, no. The answer hurts, but I sense the truth in it. I may have made the inner circle briefly, after Saskia buried me, but the race earlier today blew my chances.

I sip my drink, wondering who’d be in my inner circle. My brother makes my life hell when he wants to, and I have issues with both of my parents. Brent and I were close, but not anymore; and Odette, but again, not anymore. Snowboarding has distanced me from my friends back home. My fault entirely, because whenever I’ve had to choose between snowboarding and them—twenty-first-birthday parties, engagement parties, or whatever—I’ve chosen snowboarding.

So nobody. I don’t have an inner circle.

All around me, groups of friends laugh and chat. How has it come to this? The eve of the most important competition in my career so far and I’m friendless and alone.

Brent nudges my hand. “Want me to come over in the morning and we’ll ride up together?”

“Yeah, great.” A spark of hope. Maybe this will work out. Brent and I will stay friends.

Heather bustles about collecting empties from Saskia’s booth. She knocks over Saskia’s half-full bottle of Orangina. Saskia says something and Heather draws herself up, furious. Silver top gleaming, Saskia gets to her feet, too. They argue, and Heather looks madder and madder, though I can’t hear what they’re saying over the music.

Odette stares at Saskia in shock, then scrambles to her feet. She shouts something in French at Saskia and runs from the bar.

What on earth did Heather say?

Saskia leans in close to say something in Heather’s ear.

Heather slaps her across the face. “You bitch!” It’s loud enough that I hear it.