Everyone was speaking French earlier, but they switched to English when I joined them.

“We should insure our legs,” another girl says. “Like ze football players.”

“You know Mariah Carey insured her legs for one billion?” Saskia says.

“Jennifer Lopez insured her bottom,” someone adds.

“When are they ever going to fall?” I ask. “I wish I could insure my bottom.”

We all start talking about which body parts we’d insure.

The barmaid brings over another tray of shot glasses. She hands one to Saskia, who hands it to me. I didn’t intend to drink tonight but it’s hard to refuse. These girls are all competing in the Le Rocher Open and they’re drinking. Saskia’s buying. I wait until everyone has one, then knock it back. We all cheer, attracting raised eyebrows from the girls in the neighboring booth, who are German or maybe Swiss, and presumably competing tomorrow, because none of them are drinking.

Two guys lope up to our table, one dark skinned, the other with blond dreads. I recognize them from somewhere.

“Who’s this?” says the dark-skinned one, looking at me. London accent.

“Fuck off,” Saskia says.

The guys drift off toward the bar. Wait—that was Brent Bakshi and Dale Hahn. And Saskia just told them to fuck off!

Right behind them is Curtis. He flashes me a smile and nods at his sister, frowning when he sees the shot glasses, and heads toward a table of guys—more faces I recognize from snowboard DVDs—to shake hands. Curtis and Saskia are snowboard royalty—their parents are snowboarding pioneers Pam Burnage and Ant Sparks—and they seem to know everyone in here.

Sitting beside me is Odette Gaulin, X Games bronze medalist. The girl in the mint jacket. Her short brown hair curls out from below a Rossignol cap. I’m trying not to be starstruck, but she’s actually really nice. She’s doing the season here too, I learn; the other girls are only here for the comp.

I lean in toward her. “Do guys get intimidated by you? I mean, you’re so good they must do.”

Odette waves her fingers. “Pfft.”

I wish that band would shut up. I’m losing my voice. “I was seeing this Swiss snowboarder last year and he dumped me because I beat him at arm wrestling.”

The girls crack up.

“In front of all his friends,” I add.

Odette gives me a high five. This is the vodka talking. I never open up like this normally, especially not to people I’ve just met, but it feels good to get it out. I didn’t realize how much I’m still smarting about it. A boardercross pro, Stefan never slowed down for me, and I loved riding with him because I had to pull out all the stops to keep him in sight.

“Send him to the gym,” the girl across the table says.