CHAPTER 22

TEN YEARS AGO

Adrenaline pumps through my veins. Today is backflip day. It snowed overnight and they haven’t cleared the pipe, so we came up to the glacier to build a jump.

You are entering a high mountain area. Danger: crevasse, avalanche! Proceed at own risk! The warning signs are repeated in six different languages, but we duck under barriers and hike into the powder.

The fresh snow glitters in the sunshine. This is perfect timing for me, a chance to try new tricks with a softer landing. If I can nail backflips over a straight jump, I can move on to McTwists in the pipe.

There are seven of us up here today. Dale and Curtis work with shovels—collapsible ones they brought up strapped to their backpacks; the rest of us use our hands and snowboards to shape the jump. Cold seeps through my snowboard trousers as I kneel on the snow, gripping my board by its bindings to slide it back and forth across the takeoff.

Curtis straightens, face red with exertion. “Looks good to me. Everyone happy with that?”

He and I walk up together, sinking in up to our knees with each step. The air’s thin up here and I’m gasping like a woman in labor. He’s panting too, which makes me feel a bit better.

“You need to go to the gym more,” I say.

“Shut up. I didn’t see you there last night.”

“I was at physiotherapy.” My knee’s been flaring up since I jumped the cliff to save that baby glove.

I check over my shoulder to make sure Saskia’s not within hearing distance. She’s way back, with Odette and Julien. “Saskia can do McTwists, yeah? She did one in the final at the Brits.”

“Yeah,” Curtis says.

“I haven’t seen her do any here yet.”

“She had a bad slam at the Hintertux summer camp. Knocked herself out. That’s when she started wearing a helmet.”

“Has she tried one since?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Interesting.” If I can land some backflips today, she’s not going to be happy.

The snow gives way under my boot. Curtis yanks me backward. There’s a glassy blue crack right where I trod.

We peer cautiously into it. It’s a deep one—bottomless, they call it—that continues downward as far as you can see.

“Big crevasse just here, folks,” Curtis shouts to the guys below.

I check around me for more. Problem is most of them are hidden beneath thin layers of snow—snow bridges—so you can’t tell they’re there until you step on them.

“Go on,” I tell Curtis. “You can lead.”

He laughs and tests the snow ahead with the tail of his snowboard. We continue slowly up. At the top we strap our boards on, wheezing for breath.