The dynamics between Brent and Curtis interest me. They’re rivals, but there’s friendship as well. Curtis is older—he must be twenty-four or -five, which is getting on a bit for a pro snowboarder. Kids these days are winning major events as early as fifteen years old, and few continue to compete past their late twenties. Soft, young bones don’t break so easily. Does Curtis feel threatened by Brent’s swift rise? He must do.

I lurch forward as the bubble stops. Crap. We’re only halfway up the steep cliff.

“Rumor has it a skier jumped those cliffs once,” Curtis says.

I look at the sheer rock face. “Seriously? Would you do it?”

“Not without a parachute.”

There’s a crackle from the speaker and an announcement in French.

“What did he say?” Brent asks.

“Brace! Brace!” I say.

Curtis laughs. “Sick, Milla.”

“What did they say really?” Brent says.

“I don’t know,” I say. “My French is pretty basic.”

“They have a mechanical issue,” Curtis says. “‘Sorry for the delay.’”

Brent swears. “Anyone got any food?”

I dig through my bag and pull out a muesli bar. “I’ve got this.”

“Cheers.”

The bubble swings from side to side like a fairground ride. An icy draft blows through the gap in the window. I hug my knees to my chest. “Bloody freezing in here.”

Curtis swaps sides to sit next to me. After a beat, Brent does the same on my other side, so I’m squashed between them. This is pretty intimate, and I sense I’m not the only one feeling that, because we all fall quiet.

The low sun has turned the snow golden. The powder fields above are etched with the wavy lines of a thousand descents. I should be picking their brains about tricks, but I can’t think of anything except the pressure of Curtis’s leg against mine.

He catches my eye again. “Better?”

“Yep.” I need to get out of here. I can’t handle him looking at me like that. The last thing I want this winter is a distraction.

The speakers crackle and another announcement comes on.

“No shit,” Curtis says. “The wind’s triggered an automatic shutdown. They’re going to evacuate us one by one from the bubbles. Better get comfy. We’re going to be here awhile.”

A helicopter buzzes overhead. We crane our necks to see. It hovers above one of the bubbles way down the slope. A man abseils out. I blow on my fingers. This is going to take forever.

“Want my jacket?” Curtis says.

“No, thanks,” I say.

“Want mine?” Brent says.

I catch the look that Curtis flashes at Brent. Back off. “No,” I say. “Do either of you want mine? Good, because you’re not having it.”