of us can see from our dorm room windows but never get the chance to touch—was too good to pass up.
The boulder’s tucked tightly against a copse of pine, its nose poking out of the snow, exactly where I marked it on the map.
We drop to our knees around it, groping under the snow. Whoops and hell yeahs rise up as I pull out six sets of skis and poles. We fish out a pile of buried trash bags and tear them open, counting out a set of boots for each of us.
“Jack, you’re a motherfucking genius!” One of my hallmates gives me a drunken kiss on the forehead and shoves me backward into the snow. The metal fence rattles as we feed our gear through the opening, the sharp edges of the chain link snapping back over and over until the last of us clears the “No Trespassing” sign.
We lug our gear through a swath of trees and pause on the other side, an awed silence falling over us.
The slopes are dusted with windswept powder. It glitters like stars against the dark, disappearing into a night that feels suddenly infinite and ours.
I step into my skis. They hover over the crest where the slope meets the trail and I watch as, one by one, the others take off down the mountain with wild howls, their skis cutting left and right, polishing the edges of the roughest black diamond on the mountain.
The slope falls away when I try to look at it straight on. But out of the corner of my eye, I catch movement. A shadow, like a swirl of dark fog, weaving around the base of the trees.
“You okay, Jack?” my roommate asks.
“Yeah, I’m great,” I say, hoarse from the cold and the laughter. I tear my gaze from the trees, kicking myself for slugging those two beers on an empty stomach. “Never felt so alive.”
“Too bad we only get one run,” he says.
One run. That’s all we get. The slopes are closed. The lifts are down. By the time we make the trek back up the mountain to school, it will be nearly morning, and I’ll be a prisoner in that place for the next six months. All I want is one perfect run, a few fleeting moments when nothing’s holding me back.
“Hit it hard, Jack. No second chances.” There’s a reckless shine in his eyes as he shoves off. “Meet you at the bottom.” His skis make a soft swish as they fade from sight. My eyes drift to the woods and I drag them back, ignoring the doubt creeping through my mind.
This is the one night you’re not leashed to that place. The one night you don’t have to answer to anyone. Don’t lose your nerve.
I tug my hat low over my ears and follow him. The wind sears my face, stealing my breath. The night rushes by faster than I can see ahead of me. I take the first few turns cautiously—too cautiously—avoiding the first two moguls altogether.
We only get one run . . . no second chances.
I loosen my knees and lean into the turns, catching wind as I hit the next mogul straight on. Suddenly, I’m flying. My heart soars in my chest. My skis touch down, skimming a crust of ice. I dig in, but the momentum pulls me like a tow rope through the dark.
The slope disappears. Exhilaration turns to panic as the trees rush at me.
With a snap, my insides shatter, wood pummeling bone. The impact tears me from my skis and throws me backward into the snow.
I lie there, eyes closed, a deafening ring in my ears. The stars shimmer as I blink myself conscious, my warm breath curling like smoke from the wreckage.
There’s no pain. Not at first. Just a low groan. The unsettling sense that something is broken. My hat’s gone, and the back of my head is drenched and cold. The last of my friends’ shouts fade downhill.
I have to catch up to them. I have to get up.
I move my . . .
My legs don’t respond. No pain, no cold, nothing. . . . I feel nothing below my waist. Nothing but fear as it seizes me.
Shit, Jack. What the hell have you done?
I open my mouth to shout for help but the words won’t come. I can’t get enough air. Pain sharpens against my ribs. It swells until there’s no room for breath or thought or anything else.