“I’m glad this happened, too,” Liz said quickly. “It’ll give you the push you need to get over your fear of heights.”

“Yeah, about that bet.” I rubbed my temple again, massaging away the headache that throbbed harder than ever. “I’m sorry, y’all, but there’s no way I’m going off that jump. I’ll buy the Poseur tickets for you.” I had been saving for another snowboard—they didn’t last forever, the way I abused the half-pipe—but fair was fair.

“Oh,” Liz cried sympathetically, “you don’t have to do—”

“You will not lose this bet!” Chloe insisted. “We are showing up those boys, and you are going off that jump. I’ll board with you tomorrow and coach you.”

Now there was some motivation to get over this problem quickly. Chloe was a notorious betty. On the rare occasion when she graced the slopes with her presence, boys zoomed toward her because she was so cute in her pink snowsuit, then zoomed away again as she lost control and threatened to crash into them. She’d made the local snowboarding news a few years ago when she lost control at the bottom of the main run, boarded right through the open door of the ski lodge, skidded to a stop at the entrance to the café, and asked for a table for one.

“I’m working at the city library tomorrow,” Liz said, “but I’ll ski with you and coach you on Thursday.”

“Have you actually tried to go off the jump and failed,” Chloe asked me, “or do you not even try?”

“I don’t even try.” I didn’t like to look at the thing. I averted my eyes when Josh and his friends jumped off.

“So, now you’ll try,” she decreed. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

I opened my mouth to describe the worst that could happen. I could freeze up ten yards from the precipice, and all four spots where my leg had been broken would throb deep inside, even though I’d been healed for years. I would relive my accident. A series of sickening jerks as every belt and harness designed to keep me safe while rappelling had failed, one by one, and let me fall.

“Hayden, what’s the matter?” Liz called. “You look like you saw a ghost.”

I looked at her and then at Chloe, biting my lip to keep from crying. I didn’t want to let them down, but this was a lot of pressure for what was supposed to be a carefree winter break.

Chloe clapped her hands, snapping me out of it. “I almost forgot what I found to show you! It’s so good, it’ll make this whole night worthwhile.”

The three of us settled on her bed and ate CONGRATULATIONS HAYDEN! cake straight out of the box with our forks while she passed around this secret treasure that was better than boys (as if). She’d been cleaning out her closet—some people did clean out their closets, I supposed—when she’d come across a teen fashion mag–style quiz with twenty questions that she’d written and all three of us had answered back in seventh grade. Our handwriting was young and loopy. We’d dotted the I’s with stars and flowers and hearts.

1. If you accidentally got locked

inside the school for an entire

weekend with a blizzard coming,

and the only way you could

survive was to share body heat

with the boy trapped inside with

you, who would you want it to be?

Hayden: Barry Yates

Chloe: Ollie Cattrall

“Ollie Cattrall,” Chloe mused. “Right after we wrote this, he moved to Massachusetts. I should look him up on Facebook.”

“Chloe!” Liz exclaimed, horrified.

“And then he would post a comment on my page,” Chloe explained, “and Gavin would see it. This would show Gavin he’s not the only man interested in me, and he might treat me a little nicer.”

“Or,” I pointed out, “this would show him that Ollie Cattrall, who lives two thousand miles away, either is being polite to you or is hitting on you because he cannot get a date at his own school. Which makes one wonder if he had to take his Facebook picture carefully in very low lighting.”

She glared at me. “Moving on.”

Liz: Davis Goggins

“Awww,” Chloe and I both said. I reached out to pinch Liz’s cheek. She and Davis hadn’t been dating long, but it was so sweet she’d thought about him that way back in seventh grade. Almost as if they were destined to be together.

“I’m not sure anymore,” Liz grumbled. “Ask me again after he pays for my Poseur ticket.”

2. If you were suddenly transported

to the 1800s and you had to marry

a boy in our class to be saved from

an arranged marriage with an evil

viscount,

(Chloe read a lot of historical romances.)

who would you want to marry?

Hayden: Mark Jones

Chloe: Scotty Yarbrough

Liz: Everett Walsh

“Everett Walsh!” Chloe exclaimed. I fell off the bed laughing.

Liz folded her arms and tried to scowl at us, but I could tell she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. “What’s wrong with Everett Walsh?” she sputtered. “I didn’t know when we wrote this in seventh grade that Hayden would hook up with him later. I saw him first.”

“He’s so straitlaced,” Chloe said. “Not exactly the ideal hero of a romance.”

“Watch out for his mama,” I advised Liz.

“I was answering the question you asked,” Liz told Chloe self-righteously. “If your family threatened you with an arranged marriage in the 1800s, you’d want someone on your side who was very mature and organized, who could approach the situation logically and help you out of it. In the 1800s, Everett Walsh would have been a barrister. He’d be perfect for the job.”

“I’d rather have the evil viscount,” I said.

We stayed late at Chloe’s, giggling over the other eighteen questions. The night was so fun, and I loved reliving these memories with Liz and Chloe. I hoped we stayed friends forever and would someday look back fondly on this night, just as we were looking back on that night four years ago. And I hoped we wouldn’t remember this as the night we foolishly cut those cute boys loose.

Because although the night was fun, this quiz definitely was not better than boys. I didn’t admit it to Liz and Chloe, but I remembered exactly what I’d been thinking when I took this quiz in seventh grade. I’d been hoping I wouldn’t go to hell for the little white lies I was telling. I would have been mortified to say so, but when I’d picked Barry Yates or Mark Jones or any boy for the rest of the quiz, I’d always meant Nick.

“Hayden Christine O’Malley!”

I started awake. White morning sunlight reflected off the snow outside and bounced through my bedroom window. My body still felt sore and my mind was wiped out from the contest and the argument with Nick yesterday. For my dad to be hollering at me like that, I must have been so tired when I came in last night that I left dishes on the kitchen counter instead of putting them in the dishwasher, or—worse—I forgot to let Doofus out. That really would be a mess to clean up.

I reached out from under the covers, opened my bedroom door, and called down the stairs, “Yes, honored father?”

“Get down here.”

I jumped out of bed, eager to please. That was the only way I knew how to take the edge off the punishment he chose to hand down. Luckily, I glanced in the mirror, because I’d slept in a Burton Snowboards T-shirt. This would not help me look innocent at all. I pulled that off and pawed through my dresser for something more ladylike and less … dangerous. Hello Kitty!

I galloped downstairs—tripped over Doofus at the foot of the staircase—and slipped into my chair at the kitchen table. A plate of whole wheat pancakes and tofu bacon was waiting for me. I hoped the steam and the giant innocent face of a kitten on my T-shirt would blunt whatever blow was coming.

My dad had his back to me at the stove. Mom had already left to open the health club.

Across the table from me, Josh put his fork down and made a small twisting motion with his fingers. I wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be telling me I was screwed.

Dad set his own plate at the table and sat down. He drew out the torture, taking a bite, chewing slowly, staring a hole through me without speaking.

Finally I said, “Good morning, respected padre.”

“Hmph,” he said. “Your brother tells me that by giving in to your acrophobia, thereby ruining your chances of a professional snowboarding career, you are also sabotaging his chances of having the same sort of career through no special effort on his part. Shame on you! You’re grounded.”

I sniffed. “Did you really wake me up early during my winter break just so you could make a sarcastic comment to Josh?”

Josh stuck out his tongue at me, then took a huge bite of pancake.

Dad pointed at me with his fork. “Yes, sorry. If I’d waited until you woke up on your own to make that sarcastic comment, I might have been late for work.”

I yawned.

“But while we’re on the subject, Josh is right. His motivation is self-serving, but he’s right about your phobia. If you really want a pro boarding career, sounds to me like you’d better get over your fear or throw away your chance to impress Daisy Delaney. No pressure.”

I grumbled, “You have no idea.”

Though my stomach hurt, somehow I swallowed breakfast. Thirty minutes later, Josh and I pulled on our layers of boarding clothes—tripped over Doofus—and headed outside for the bus. But when I opened the mud room door and looked down at the doormat, I stopped short. Josh ran smack into me and nearly brought us both down. “Forward,” he said. “Most people walk forward. What is it?”

I picked up the local newspaper and held it out to him, speechless for once. It was rolled, but on the part we could see, a huge headline proclaimed, SNOWBOARDING COMPETITION … And a huge photo showed me in midair, snowboard and parka and red hair bright against the blue sky.

Then I pulled the newspaper back from Josh and took another look. “I’ve never seen myself snowboard before. Check my excellent form! I would be ecstatic, except that my life is crumbling around me and stuff.”

“Your life isn’t crumbling around you. Just go off the damn jump.” Josh grabbed the paper from me and slid off the rubber band. Unrolled, the news was even worse. The whole headline was, SNOWBOARDING COMPETITION SHOWCASES LOCAL TALENT, and the caption under the photo read, SNOWFALL HIGH SCHOOL JUNIOR HAYDEN O’MALLEY LANDS A FRONTSIDE 900 IN THE HALF-PIPE TO WIN THE GIRLS’ 16 TO 18 DIVISION.

“Give me that, you little traitor.” I grabbed the paper back. “I’ve got to hide from Mom and Dad. You want them to make me spend my whole winter break in some shrink’s office?”

“If it helps you get over your phobia, yeah. Dad will just call the newspaper office to deliver another copy. And I don’t know who you’re calling little.”

I knew one way to solve this argument. I carefully tore the whole article out of the front page, then rolled up the newspaper and slid the rubber band back on. “Doofus,” I whispered. Poor Doofus, behind us in the mud room, stood up in a rush of jingling dog tags and slobber. I slipped the paper into his mouth and whispered, “Take this to Dad.”

Doofus wagged his tail and trotted into the kitchen. We heard Dad say, “Did you bring me the paper? Good dog. Wait a minute. Bad dog!”

Josh softly closed the door behind us. “You’ve got to do something, Hayden. You just can’t throw away this opportunity with Daisy.”

“If it’s a choice between that and me falling to my death, I sure as hell can!” I shrieked. As if in answer, ear-splitting brakes squealed downhill. “And now we’re going to miss the bus!”

We waved our arms and skidded down the icy sidewalk with our snowboards as fast as we could. The bus driver was used to us and waited. Hardly anybody rode the bus this early—only a couple of other die-hard locals on winter break. We called hi to them in the back and sat down up front.

I heaved a deep sigh. “You’re not the only one gunning for me to go off the jump. Now I’ve got Liz and Chloe on my case.” Briefly I recounted my ugly convo with Nick last night and explained our snowboarding challenge—leaving out that I’d supposedly made Nick feel worse about his parents’ separation on purpose, which was actually an accident.

Josh was staring at me with his brows down, perplexed. “Nick Krieger, of Krieger Meats and Meat Products?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that Nick Krieger.”

“Why is Nick Krieger telling you that girl snowboarders are no good and your win doesn’t mean anything? Does he like you or something? Make sure he knows we’re vegetarian. Mom and Dad would die if they had to pay your dowry in kielbasa.”

I gaped at Josh in disbelief. “What do you mean, does Nick like me? Is that how you flirt with girls you like? Tell them they’re bad at stuff? Is that how you flirt with Gavin’s sister?”

He blinked innocently. “Is that wrong?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘wrong.’ I would say ‘not the most efficient way of asking a girl to the middle school Valentine’s dance.’”

He wrinkled his nose and moved his mouth, imitating my scolding, so I knew I’d guessed correctly about the last time he’d bombed asking out Gavin’s sister.

“Stop it.” I slapped at him. “And tell me the truth. Do you agree with Nick that I’ll never be as good as a boy, so there’s no use trying?”

“Keep in mind that I have seen the answer key. I know what I’m supposed to say to stop you from hitting me.”