“Some of the slams we took,” Brent says. “We were lucky we got away with it.”

Some of us weren’t so lucky, but I’m not going to think about that. Anyway, a helmet doesn’t stop you from breaking your neck.

“See that Norwegian guy do a Backside Five Forty Rewind?” Dale asks.

“No,” I say. “What’s that?”

Dale was the style master, and I used to love discussing tricks with him.

He puts down his glass. “It’s like a seven twenty, then you put it into reverse. Imagine stalling your spin midair and going back the other way. It’s bloody hard. Try it and you’ll see.” He lifts his chair onto a nearby table and climbs onto it.

I love these guys. When I go out with my colleagues from the gym we talk about Netflix. I may not have seen this crew for ten whole years, but I still have more in common with them than I do with anyone else.

You don’t go pro in a sport for the money, especially not a high-risk one like ours. You’re never going to get rich as a freestyle snowboarder, not unless you’re Shaun White. No, you do it for the passion. To spend every minute of your life doing it, thinking about it, and dreaming it. None of us are pro, not anymore, but we haven’t lost that passion.

Dale leaps off the chair, rotating either way as he drops.

“No,” Curtis says. “You’ve got to rewind a whole one eighty, otherwise it’s just a Shifty.”

Dale flashes him a look.

“Let’s have a go.” Brent climbs up and off he jumps.

A sparky excitement stirs inside me. I stand. “My turn.”

Heather rolls her eyes, but I feel like I’m twenty again. The chair judders as I climb onto it. I leap into the air. Umph. I land hard. I haven’t jumped off anything higher than a StairMaster for years.

“We’re not getting enough air time.” Dale’s gaze settles on a section of tree trunk sawn down to make a table. He lifts a smaller table onto it and places a chair on top. The structure wobbles precariously as he climbs onto it. Brent steadies it just in time. Dale leaps high, staggering into our table as he lands and sprawling to the floor.

“Enough,” Curtis says. “Stop dicking about.”

Dale picks himself up, rubbing his shoulder. “What’s your problem?”

“Someone stole my phone and my computer, that’s my problem.”

“Lighten up.”

Curtis leans back in his seat. “You give my stuff back and I’ll do that.”

He and Dale lock eyes. I notice the empty whiskey glass beside Curtis’s plate. I didn’t realize he was drinking.

“Haven’t changed, have you?” Dale says. “Still annoying as fuck. I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

“So why did you?” Curtis says.