The Ex Games(32)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Finally, Gavin and Davis maneuvered their boards to the edge of the course and tipped over into the pipe, skidding to a stop just above Nick’s dark, motionless body.

Through the thick snow, I saw him slowly rise.

I gasped again, and realized I’d been holding my breath.

He kicked off his snowboard and hoisted it behind his back to carry it home. The boarders around me on the lip of the course cheered for him.

“Thank God!” Liz exclaimed. “He can’t be hurt too badly if he’s walking away.” She turned to me with her dark eyebrows raised in question. “Want to go after him?”

I did, desperately. I squinted through the snow after the dim retreating shapes of the three boys, Gavin and Davis sliding on their boards, Nick limping a little. “Better let him cool down first.”

Liz puffed out a little sigh of relief. “Still want to get in that last run?”

“No. If it’s okay with you, let’s call it a night.” I’d thought I wanted to squeeze every minute of boarding I could out of winter break. I’d never been the person to turn down one last run. And I should have been ecstatic that my snowboarding challenge with Nick was over now because he’d been injured.

But for once, my heart just wasn’t in boarding. My heart was with Nick.

This was how my life worked: Something great happened simultaneously with something very bad. I won lessons with Daisy Delaney, but I had to snowboard off a cliff to get any benefit from them. I found the perfect pair of jeans, but they didn’t belong to me, and they had BOY TOY written across the butt. Now my ugly bet with Nick had ended, so maybe we could finally get together. But oops—I had just screamed at him in front of a live audience, and he was probably crippled.

That night after supper I sat on my bed, staring at the cell phone in my hand. I’d already called Liz and Chloe. Both of them had promised to meet me on the slopes the next day just for fun, since the comp was obviously off after Nick’s injury. More importantly, they said Davis and Gavin did not have an update on Nick’s condition. Boys, it seemed, did not check on each other like girls.

Which was precisely my problem. I couldn’t stand the thought of Nick hurting in his house without his mother home. Maybe his dad wasn’t home, either. They might not even know he’d fallen. I had to make sure he was okay.

Nick had been angry enough at the half-pipe that he’d probably hang up on me when I called. Or worse, he’d be very polite, like he was at school to people he didn’t know.

But his well-being was more important than my pride. I’d just entered his number from the school handbook into my cell phone. All I had to do was press the green button and the call would go through.

Good: I would find out whether Nick was okay.

Bad: Nick would view me as one of those girls at school who chased him, even after they’d gone on two dates and he’d called it quits.

Nick’s number waited impatiently on the screen, tapping its foot. I could press the red button to cancel the call. Without pressing anything, I set the phone down on my bedside table, crossed my arms, and glared at it.

Good: Nick wouldn’t think I was chasing him.

Bad: Nick would die alone in his house from complications related to his stupendous wipeout. The guilt of knowing I could have saved his life if not for my outsized ego would be too much for me to bear. I would retreat from public life. I would join a nearby convent and knit potholders from strands of my own hair. No, I would crochet Christmas ornaments in the shape of delicate snowflakes. Red snowflakes! They would be sold in the souvenir shops around town. I would support a whole orphanage from the proceeds of snowflakes I crocheted from my hair. All the townspeople of Snowfall would tell tourists the story of Crazy Sister Hayden and the tragedy of her lost love.

Or I could call Nick. Jesus! I snatched up the phone and pressed the green button.

His phone switched straight to voice mail. Great, I hadn’t found out whether he was dying, and if he recovered later, he would see my number on his phone and roll his eyes.

Damage control: Beeeeep! “Hey, Nick, it’s Hayden. Just, ah, wanted to know how a crash like that feels.” Wait, I was trying to get him to call me back, right? He would not return my call after a message like that. “Actually, just wondering whether you’re ready to make out again and then have another argument.” He might not return that call, either. “Actually, I remembered your mother isn’t home, and I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Please give me a call back.”

Pressed red button. Set phone on nightstand. Folded arms. Glared at phone. Picked it up. “Freaking stupid young love!” I hollered, slamming it into the pillows on my bed. Doofus jumped up, startled.

Ah-ha.

I slipped into long underwear, layered on the BOY TOY jeans and shirts and sweaters and coats and hats, and waddled stiffly downstairs to find Doofus’s leash. By now Josh and Mom were video-bowling. I hoped they were so absorbed that I could escape from the house just by calling a good-bye into the den as I passed the doorway.

But no. “Hayden,” Mom called. “Where are you going all bundled up?”

“I’m taking Doofus for a walk,” I said brightly.

“I already took Doofus for a walk,” Josh said.

I stared at him. He stared right back at me while Mom took her turn bowling. I could have explained that I wanted to walk by myself and get some air. But it would be pretty unusual—one might even go so far as to say unheard-of—for me to take a hike on a winter night when I was exhausted from boarding all day.

I could also come right out and tell both of them that Nick had fallen on the slopes today and I wanted to check on him. But then Mom would suggest I take the car to his house. And then I could never pull off the façade that I just happened by his mansion while walking my dog.

Besides, it was the principle of the thing—the very idea that Josh saw I wanted to walk Doofus and he was going out of his way to foil me, like a normal little brother. This made me angry. Did he want Nick to die on the floor of his bathroom from an overdose of mentholated rub? Did he want me to spend the last eighty years of my lifespan in a convent? Maybe he was mad that I was trying to sneak out of the house wearing his jeans for the third day in a row.

“I am taking Doofus for another walk,” I said clearly, daring him to defy me.

“That would not be good for Doofus.” He folded his arms. “Mom, that would not be good for Doofus.”

Oh! Dragging Mom into this was low. Not to mention Doofus. “Since when is going for a walk not good for a dog?” I challenged Josh.