I glanced at Veena. She was quieter than usual. “What’s up?”
“I’m nervous.” Her voice was tight. “I still haven’t stomped the landing on the double V and without it, I’m not sure I can win. Maybe the Grand Prix this weekend but not the Olympics.”
I squashed a pillow in my arms. “How does this work? I mean, how exactly do you win one of these competitions?”
Veena threw an armload of clothes at her bag on the ground and curled up on her bed facing me.
“First of all, judging on the halfpipe is a little like judging on gymnastics, diving, or ice skating: six judges evaluate our runs for height, variety, execution, and what new tricks we bring to the pipe. We get two runs in the qualifying round and three in the finals, and we can score a maximum of one hundred points per run. The highest and lowest judges’ scores are dropped each run, and the other four are averaged. Getting a perfect score is pretty hard, though, because lots of things can be deducted. Drops and stops eat points, of course, plus not getting big air or not giving the tricks much steez.” Steez, I’d learned, was a snowboarder mash up of style and ease, and it was definitely a compliment when given.
“So you are like those drama queens, the ice skaters,” I teased.
Veena barely cracked a smile. She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. “We don’t have to say, beforehand, what tricks we’ll do for each run. I can throw in the double V if I’m feeling good. But it’s not ready yet; Nate said so today.”
“All the work you’ve been doing will pay off.”
She shook her head. “Everyone else has been working hard, too. To win, I need the double V.”
“It’ll be there when you need it.”
She turned her head my way. “Think so?”
“I do.” I’d practiced each skill I’d learned at Juno repeatedly for months, teaching my body what to do. Later, when I was tested, the skills were there.
“You’ll win,” I said. “Know how I know?”
“How?”
“Lakshmi told me, last night while you showered. She said you’d beat down the competition and win gold in Laax.”
Veena’s smile was tired. “Yeah? She only told me I was slacking with my puja.”
“Well, maybe you should pack her just in case. You know Bart’s driving us to Copper tomorrow morning, right?”
She made a face. “I wish we could ride in the van with everyone else—”
I shook my head. “Can’t do it. Dad was not budging on that.” I threw an extra pair of wool socks in my bag.
Someone hammered on the door, making me jump. They yelled what sounded like pep rally.
Veena groaned.
“What?” I asked.
“Muth forces us to get together the night before competitions. He calls them motivational sessions. We call them pep rallies.” From the deadpan way she said it, they were anything but.
We joined other griping students in the hall on the way to the dining hall. Students slouched around the tables in the big room, their body language saying they’d rather be anywhere other than here. Veena and I found Ali and Gage. Jake winked at me from a few tables away. He didn’t seem mad that I almost jerked his arm off at the bar. Maybe he’d been too messed up to remember.
Dr. Muth and Newman were up front. They both wore crisp khakis, collared shirts, and of course Newman had on a scarf, bright red this time. He sat at attention with a laptop, hanging on Muth’s every word. They looked kind of ridiculous up there surrounded by the sweats and slippers group they were “motivating.”
Muth cleared his throat and held up his hands, fluorescent lights flashing off his glasses. “Students, please, come to order.”
Veena rolled her eyes. “What are we, in court?”
“More like jail,” Gage said.
“Many of you will compete in the Grand Prix event tomorrow. You’ve trained thoroughly for this day and have every reason to be proud. Let’s give a round of applause for those who will represent VMA at Copper Mountain.”
The snowboarders couldn’t resist a few shouts, hoots, and fist pumps. Veena and Ali grinned. Muth went on with some announcements and schedule changes for the week.
“When do you compete?” I asked Gage in a whisper.
“We have our own pro series, the World Tour. We go to different events. Better ones.” He waggled his thick eyebrows.
“Are you going to the Olympics like VV and Ali?”
“Matter of fact I am.” He fished something out of his pocket, taking his time. “Gum?” He held out a crumpled minty-smelling stick.
“Thanks.” I popped it in my mouth. It tasted better than the wrapping looked. “What event?”
“Giant slalom.”
“What’s that?”
He grabbed a stray pencil off the table and drew on the surface, making a few dark marks down and about an inch apart with a long, wavy line around them. “The giant slalom looks like this.” His finger traced the line. “You ski fast between sets of poles with a lot of vertical drop and jumps along the way. The goal is to be fastest down without bailing.”
“Looks like a long S.” I ran my finger down the line he drew.
“Feels like it, too. S for shiiit when you don’t make a turn.”
I snorted, and Veena elbowed me, hard. When I looked up, every eye in the room was on me, including Muth’s. “Miss Rossi? Is there something else you’d rather be doing?”
“No, sir.” I cursed inside.
“I’d think someone who’s having trouble passing most of her classes might pay a bit more attention?”
The room stilled. A
