The Snowy Read online

  But whatever made today’s tracks was different. It’s big. Is it human? Should I tell Dad about it? He’d probably say it’s a prankster on weird skis. Besides, he’d be mad we went into the volcanic out-of-bounds.

  A shadow passed overhead. Sparky looked up. Hawk. The raptor dove into the trees after some prey.

  What if what made the tracks is really dangerous? He sighed. He thought back to the conversation he had overheard between his parents the day before Thanksgiving break. His mom had returned from the city that day and hugged Sparky longer than usual. She had smiled, but her eyes were brimming. She hadn’t said very much during dinner. What’s going on?

  Later that evening, after Sparky had gone to bed, he heard his parents talking quietly in the kitchen. His mom sounded sad. He crept down the hallway to listen.

  “I’ll have to go to the city for regular treatments,” she said. “It will be difficult for us, but it’s the best place.”

  “How long will you have to do that?” his dad had asked.

  “Four months, they say. If the treatments work.”

  “Did they give you any idea...?” his dad asked.

  “About what to expect? No. They didn’t want to say. Not now.”

  “Ohhh, sweetheart,” his dad said. Then he said firmly, “We’ll do whatever it takes to help you—Sparky and I.”

  “Thank you, my love,” she said. “But for now, please, let’s not tell him. Let him enjoy this first year at the academy. He’s doing so well there. Wait until school’s over before we say anything. Then we’ll have the summer together, okay?”

  There was a pause.

  Sparky saw his mom and dad hugging, both in tears. He ran back to his room, shut the door and flopped on his bed, his arm over his eyes.

  “Mom!” he croaked. Will she die? He wept for a while, then took a deep breath. He’d be brave. He wouldn’t let on that he knew. His mother would need to take care of herself, not worry about him. The treatments will get her better...maybe.

  He didn’t sleep much that night, and lots of nights after that.

  Sparky stared at his ski tips again. His mind jumped to the meeting he had with the school counselor before the Christmas holidays.

  “Your teachers are concerned, Sparky,” she said. “Before Thanksgiving you kept up with your work and got good grades, in addition to playing soccer and taking part in the school play.

  “But, since Thanksgiving, your grades have been falling. Your teachers tell me you’re headed for Ds this semester, or worse. They say you haven’t done your assignments, you fidget in class and you stare out the window a lot.

  “I looked into your file for a clue as to what might be going on, but only found notes of praise.” She pulled a sheet of paper from the file folder. “I was impressed by what your middle school principle wrote:

  Sparky is a bright, high-energy young man who thinks and learns best by doing. A college preparatory and snow sports academy, such as the Jagged Peak Mountain School should be very good for him.”

  She paused. “And it had been good for you, Sparky, until Thanksgiving. But not since. I have to think something serious is going on. If there is, and you’d like to tell me about it, in confidence, I might be able to help.”

  I can’t tell her about Mom. Mom doesn’t want people to know. She doesn’t even want me to know! “I’ll make up the work,” he said. “Really. I promise.”

  The counselor had looked at him thoughtfully. “You’re sure there’s nothing you’d like to share with me? Talking about it can help.”

  “It’s okay. Thanks. It’s...I can deal with it. I’ll make up the work.”

  “All right, Sparky, I’ll let your teachers know. You promised to make up your assignments over the holidays. Does that work for you?”

  “Yes. Thank you,” he had said with a sigh of relief.

  “You’ll turn in your assignments the day school resumes?”

  “Yes, I will.”

  “Then let’s you and I plan to get together then, okay.”

  He had nodded, relieved. Just so Mom doesn’t know. Or Dad. He’d get on my case.

  “Two more things,” the counselor had said.

  We’re not done?

  “I’ll have to tell your mother and father, Sparky. They’ll be able to support you in making up your work over the holidays.”

  Sparky frowned. I don’t want Mom to feel bad. “Do they have to know?” he asked.

  “They do, Sparky. School policy. I assume you know you will not be allowed to train on snow until you make up the work.”

  “I didn’t know....”

  It was then that Sparky felt angry. Training helps me deal with things. And now they’re not gonna let me train! Don’t adults know anything? “Dumb rule,” he mumbled.

  Sparky looked from the lift into the passing trees.

  He had missed eight days of skiing with his friends to catch up on his work. My assignments are done and training begins tomorrow. But, I can’t train, because it’s Saturday and I can’t hand in the assignments until Monday, when school starts again! Not fair.

  He heard a snowmobile. A flashy green machine, trimmed with shiny streaks of silver, was whining down the slope by the lift. Goober was driving. Sparky waved. Goober braked.

  “Hey, Sparky,” he shouted, as Sparky passed overhead, “Big snowfall tonight. Lots a fun tomorrow.”

  Sparky smiled and raised his thumb. For sure.

  Goober nodded, shoved the machine into gear and roared away. He loves toys. Me too.

  Sparky remembered the day his dad gave Goober a sleek new, shiny red, wide-track trail groomer with Trail Tyrant written on the side in large, bold letters.

  Goober was like a kid that day, playing with the fingertip controls. “Like flying a helicopter,” he’d said.

  Someday soon, imagined Sparky, he’d drive a Tyrant like Goober’s, overhead lights gleaming in the dark, sound system blasting, super wide tracks gripping. He’d manipulate the big plowing blade and its adjustable wings to trim moguls, fill ruts and shape terrain. Then he’d maneuver the rotating tiller and plastic drag on the back to churn the surface and leave thin, parallel lines down the trail—lines that froze firm every night and looked like white corduroy in the morning light.

  Sparky loved to carve the first tracks. He’d stop and stare back at the thin, round arcs he had left behind. Only one thing better than first tracks in corduroy—first tracks in fresh snow.

  He slid off the lift at the top. His phone vibrated. He’d check it at the bottom. On the way down, his phone vibrated twice. At the bottom, he checked his messages.

  Notch had texted from California:

  yes, tomorrow. no way i’d miss this. chance to confirm bigfoot, or discover new life form. i’m all in. can’t wait. we’ll be famous.

  Neff had texted when riding home in her mom’s car:

  Okay, but only if all four of us go. And if it is sunny.

  Sandy had texted from her dad’s police cruiser, while waiting for him to give someone a traffic warning:

  Could be dangerous. Could get lost. Let’s discuss at lunch.

  CHAPTER 5

  That Evening

  AT DINNER, SPARKY chose not to tell his parents about his plan to follow the tracks into the volcanic out-of-bounds. He knew his dad would be against it. Besides, he was expecting his father to bring up another touchy subject during dinner and Sparky wanted dinner to end well.

  “Your mother tells me, you’ve got your assignments done. Have you taken the time to check them over?”

  “Yes, Dad,” sighed Sparky.

  “Just making sure, Sparky, before I let you off the hook. It’s going to dump tonight and I know you’ll want to ski tomorrow. Be ready early?”

  Sparky grinned, “Yeah.”

  “All this snow,” said his mom, “has go
t me thinking about summer, and our vacation. Where would you two like to go?”

  How can she even think about summer, while she’s being treated? Maybe she just needs something to look forward to.

  “Um,” said Sparky, wiping his mouth with the napkin, “I don’t care, Mom, as long as we can do stuff together, like swim, waterski, maybe parasail, scuba dive.”

  After dinner, he helped his mother clean up, gave her a long hug and bolted to his room, where he texted his three friends:

  For tomorrow, bring backcountry skis, poles. Also backpack, flashlight, water bottle, jeans under warm-ups, hiking boots for a cave. I will bring climbing rope, army knife. Meet for lunch in main lodge, not in training center, so we can talk.

  Sparky gazed from his bed through the window at the mass of stars behind the black profile of Jagged Peak. His heart pounded as he pictured the strange kayak-like tracks up there in the dark.

  Sandy, at dinner with her parents and grandmother, asked, “Dad, it’s not illegal to go into the out-of-bounds, is it?”

  “It’s not illegal, Sandy,” he said. “But it is dangerous, especially the volcanic zone. As sheriff, I strongly recommend people don’t go in there. Why do you ask?”

  “I...some people were talking about going in. I was just wondering.”

  Her dad studied her for a moment. Then he glanced at Sandy’s mother, and at her grandmother, his mother.

  Sandy looked at her grandmother, pointed to the salad and said, “Can I ask you about the time Grandpa Sam disappeared?”

  “Of course, dear,” said her grandmother, passing the salad.

  “Didn’t you say, the morning Grandpa left, he told you he was going into the out-of-bounds to check out some kind of volcanic cave he had found?”

  “He did, sweetheart,” replied her grandmother. “Something went wrong out there.” She paused. “We were in love. He couldn’t wait for our new baby.” She smiled at Sandy’s dad. “And he loved teaching science at the new high school.”

  “You said they looked for that cave.”

  “Yes, they did. They searched for weeks and found nothing. It was a sad time, a terrible time.” She cleared her throat and took a sip of water.

  “I wish I had known Grandpa Sam,” said Sandy.

  “I wish you had too,” said her grandmother. “He would have loved you, very much. In some ways you look like him, your eyes especially. He was an exceptional man. I have never given up hope.”

  Sandy smiled sadly at her grandmother. It was so long ago. How can she hope to ever see him again? Sandy’s phone buzzed in her jeans pocket. She wouldn’t answer it until after dinner. In her family, the meals, local car rides and the kitchen were reserved for real talk, not for messages, pics and videos.

  After dinner, Sandy helped clean up, then she went to her room. She read Sparky’s text about the next day and replied:

  Okay. But I still think we should talk about it first.

  Neff, after dinner, went to the barn to feed her pet llama, which would be giving birth in a week or so. She texted:

  Sunny day tomorrow. I’ll go if Sandy will.

  Notch, in bed early in California, texted:

  good thinking about the gear

  After dinner, Notch went straight to bed. He would be getting up super early. He lay there thinking about his three friends. He had it better than they did. He remembered riding with Neff and her mom to the school after training last week. Her mother’s dented, old, all-wheel drive station wagon, faded green with frayed seats, wasn’t nearly as cushy as his dad’s shiny new, black SUV with leather seats, one of five vehicles that he owned.

  Notch knew it hadn’t always been this good. His father had struggled in business for a long time before his dot.com company took off. Notch’s mom said Notch should appreciate what he had. He tried. He kept up his grades and did his chores at home. Doing them allowed him to surf in the summer, ski and board in the winter, and buy cool stuff, like electronic gear, games and music.

  Notch’s mom woke him at three. He tumbled out of bed, threw on his warm-ups, slipped into his untied sneakers, grabbed a juice, plopped his gear and himself into the backseat of his dad’s big SUV and rode to the general aviation terminal at the San Jose airport, where his father’s private jet was warmed up and waiting.

  His dad parked on the tarmac next to the plane.

  Notch got out, stowed his gear in the cargo hold and climbed the steps into the cozy cabin.

  “Hi, Sally. Hi Ted,” he said to the crew. They looked up from their pre-flight checklist, smiled and waved. Notch shuffled sleepily to the back, fell into the tan leather seat, clicked his belt, grabbed a pillow, pulled the red and black Indian blanket over his head and curled up sideways.

  He was asleep before the jet lifted off toward Jagged Peak.

  CHAPTER 6

  Next Morning

  IT WAS DARK, when Sparky woke up. He rushed to his window, “Major dump!” Smiling, he threw on his clothes, scarfed down breakfast, hopped in the pickup and waited.

  Just before dawn, he and his dad pulled out of the garage. The truck’s headlights probed through the last fluttering flakes.

  As they wheeled from the drive onto the freshly plowed road, high beams lighting the way, his father said, “Snowbanks are higher than the truck.”

  “Road looks like a bobsled run,” said Sparky.

  “It does.”

  “Fresh pow,” said Sparky. “Funnest snow there is,” a phrase he coined when four.

  Sparky was booted up a half hour before the lifts opened. He left his skis next to the lift and went into the lodge cafeteria.

  “Up with the roosters again?” asked Mrs. Gilford, handing Sparky a hot chocolate piled high with whipped cream.

  “Yeah,” he smiled and slurped the froth. “Thanks Mrs. G.,” he said. He put a top on the cup, placed his arm over the railing and skied down the stairs on his boot soles, shattering the silence with a series of rapid clunks. He headed to the employees’ locker room to see who was around. When he got to the door, he heard Goober and Bobby talking. He paused.

  “I don’t think the boss woulda believed us about them tracks, if we didn’t send him that video,” said Goober.

  Sparky took a sip.

  “Guess not. Wonder what he’ll do,” said Bobby.

  “Hey, guys,” said Sparky, stepping through the doorway.

  Bobby and Goober looked up.

  “Did I hear you say you sent my dad a video?” asked Sparky.

  “Hey, Sparky,” said Bobby,“Thought that was you on the stairs. Yeah. We found some creepy tracks goin down the race trail. Got a video. Give it to yer dad.” He tapped his upper lip and pointed at Sparky’s.

  Sparky wiped the whipped cream from his lip. “Creepy tracks?” he asked, “Like what?”

  “Slidin tracks,” said Goober. “Weren’t skis or snowboards.”

  “Last night?” asked Sparky, taking another sip.

  “Yup. After groomin,” said Goober. “I’m comin down from the top checkin the corduroy. I get partway down and seen the tracks come from the trees to my right. They weren’t there when I went up. They come across to the middle then head down. I steer left of em. Brake. Reach over, open my right door. Never seen tracks like them. Bottoms like a v. I follow em down. Just before base area, they cut back up into the woods. So I book for the maintenance shed.”

  “He nearly drove through the front door,” said Bobby. “I’m sittin there, feet on my desk, sipping coffee, when, boom, he busts in, breathin hard. What’s up, Goob, I says. You gotta see this, he says. Gotta video.”

  “So I grab the cam and we hop on a snowmachine,” said Bobby. “Goober drives, I video. We get up to where Goob saw the tracks come out of the woods and guess what? A new set comes out next to em. They go over the Tyrant’s right track and, poof, disappear.

&n
bsp; “Them new tracks didn’t cross the Tyrant’s left track,” said Goober. “That thing musta climbed on behind me.”

  “No way,” said Sparky, glancing from one to the other.

  “Yeah, way,” said Goober. “Musta done it when I first come down and slowed up to look.” Goober blew out slowly. “It musta rode right behind my window. Coulda grabbed me.” He hugged his chest.

  Sparky took another sip. “So,” he asked, “you figure it made the tracks, then came back up, waited for you to come down and jumped on?”

  “Yeah,” said Goober.

  “Weird,” muttered Sparky.

  “It rode right across the base area,” said Bobby.

  “We found where it got off,” said Goober. “Big footprints, I tell ya!”

  “We followed ‘em up to Snake,” said Bobby. “They went into the out-of-bounds, so, we come back. I called the boss...uh...your dad, first thing. Sent him the video.”

  “What’d he say about it?” asked Sparky.

  “Thinks it’s someone pullin a prank.”

  “Weren’t no prank to me,” said Goober. “No skis or boards could made them tracks. The thing ain’t human. I don’t know if I want to go up there again.”

  “Yeah,” said Bobby, “it might wanna ride inside this time.”

  Sparky smiled.

  Goober bit his thumbnail.

  “You think,” Bobby asked Goober, “he coulda been playin with you, like cat and mouse?”

  Goober scratched the stubble on his chin. “Only thing I know is when a cat’s done playin, it eats the mouse.” He slapped his thigh. “I ain’t goin up there again tonight, no sirree.”

  “I’ll ride with you, Goob,” grinned Bobby. “If he shows up again, he can sit between us.”

  Goober muttered, “Ain’t no joke, Bobby.”

  “So you think it could be a prank?” asked Sparky, looking at Bobby.