The Slope Rules Page 5

  “You never know. The world works in mysterious ways.”

  I jerk my head to look at him. “Do you know something I don’t?”

  He holds up his hands. “No. But the world is a lot smaller than it was when I was your age. Can’t you talk on social media and your video-chat thing?”

  “He doesn’t believe in social media.” I don’t know what it is but half my friends aren’t into it either. Me, I love looking at everyone’s pictures and seeing what they’re doing—it’s one of the few things that reminds the guys that I have two X chromosomes.

  “Okay, then you’re probably right. But I hate seeing you so upset.” He fidgets with his seatbelt, eyes lingering on mine.

  It’s not like him to not say what he’s thinking. “What’s up?”

  He flips the latch open, closed.

  Open. Closed.

  He’s totally stalling. I rest my hand on his. “Dad.”

  “I have news, but I don’t think this is the right time.” He looks back and forth between me and his lap.

  This isn’t like him. My inability to keep a secret comes from him. “You can tell me.”

  “You’re already upset. I don’t want to make it worse.” He looks in my eyes and my heart stalls.

  Is he sick? He can’t be sick. What will I do without him? “Dad, you’re scaring me.”

  He takes a deep breath, then lays a hand on my leg. “This trip wasn’t a vacation. It was a business trip.”

  Okay, so not sick. But this isn’t a huge deal. He’s been on plenty of business trips over the years so I don’t know why this one is getting such a buildup. I watch him without speaking. If I interrupt he’ll never spit it out.

  He clears his throat. “You know that Calliope has been doing well. Really well.”

  Oh yeah, Dad named his brewery after me.

  “Yeah. People love beer and yours is kickass.”

  He lowers his brow and I shrug.

  “Or so I’ve heard.”

  I lean closer. “So business is good...”

  “Henry and I have given it a lot of thought, and we’ve decided to open a second brewery.” He studies me, face blank, like he’s expecting a reaction other than excitement.

  I get a sinking feeling in my stomach. Dad’s never dramatic and this is definitely dramatic for him. “What’s the catch?”

  His eyes dart to his lap, then settle on me. “We’ve agreed that I’ll be the one to open the new location. Get it going from the ground up. We’re looking at a spring opening which means we break ground, so to speak, in less than a month.”

  There’s something else. Something bad.

  Dad moves his hand over mine. “Cally, the new Calliope Brewing is going to be in here in Colorado. In Boulder.”

  Nausea rolls through me. “But—”

  But we live in Vermont.

  We don’t live in Colorado.

  My whole life is in our creaky old house with the bright purple shingles, curving wood banister, and the huge tree in the backyard.

  But most importantly, our house holds my every memory of Mom. If we leave, where will she go? Another family won’t know how much she loved that house, how we used to sit in the window seat facing the backyard, daydreaming about the future. How I still sit there with a blanket wrapped around me, pretending it’s her protecting me from everything outside that window.

  “Cally?”

  “What about the ski team?”

  A frown tugs at his mouth. “I talked to the school here but they’ve already got their team.”

  It’s like he punched me in the gut. The plane isn’t moving but I feel like the bottom dropped out from beneath me. “I won’t be on a team?” No training. No competition. Nothing to keep me going every day.

  I stare at him, unable to form a coherent sentence.

  Dad squeezes my hand. “I didn’t make this decision lightly. Everything else fell into place. Henry and I don’t want to miss this opportunity.”

  A lump blocks my throat. I want to lash out, to scream that he doesn’t care about me or my feelings or my life, but I know that’s not true. Dad has always put me before everything else so if he’s decided to yank me from my world, he has to have a good reason.

  Dad moves his hand over my hair, settling on the back of my neck. The tears in his eyes mirror mine. “I promise I will make this as easy on you as I can.”

  “But no ski team.” My voice is low. A statement, not a question.

  “Not this season. I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes and presses his forehead to mine. The gesture usually comforts me, but there are too many emotions swirling through me.

  The overhead speakers ding. “This is your captain speaking. We’re next in line. Flight attendants, please prepare for take-off.”

  Dad releases me and we lean our heads against our seats. He’s still holding my hand and I cling to it like my life depends on it.

  What started as the most exciting week of my life has turned into the biggest heartache I’ve ever known.

  ONE MONTH LATER

  It’s two days after the new year and once again I’m in a plane over Colorado, but instead of the despair I felt when Dad told me we were moving, a combination of heartache, anger, and what Dad keeps calling ‘teen angst’ swirls through me. I’m beyond pissed that Dad yanked me out of my life and expects me to start over, but right when I’m ready to lash out, sadness over everything I’m leaving sweeps through me and I’m reduced to a puddle of tears. Saying goodbye to our house was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and I’m terrified that we somehow left Mom behind.

  My favorite is when the mood swings hit in public. One minute I’m scowling at the world—which Sophia informs me is not my best look—and then I’m pushing my hair in my face so no one can see my tears.

  Which, if I’m honest, are usually for Blake.

  I knew whatever we had wouldn’t last beyond vacation, but a tiny part of me fantasized that we’d somehow end up together. I may have even suggested that Dad open the new brewery in Lake Tahoe instead of Boulder, but he shook his head and mumbled something about teenage love and not being ready for me to grow up.

  Blake and I texted a handful of times, and while he was super sweet and flirty, the spark from the slopes wasn’t there. I thought he’d at least sympathize about the ski team, but it’s been radio silence ever since I told him we’re moving.

  Even my knee has healed. It’s like the Thanksgiving trip never happened.

  Slope Rule #4: Don’t force it or you’ll break something.

  That rule’s meant to protect your bones, but in this case it applies to my heart.

  I swipe through the pictures from my going away party. Sophia and the guys took over one end of our favorite pizza place and we gorged ourselves until they closed. Hunter and Sam agreed that Blake’s sudden change in attitude was weird, but seemed to have some guy-understanding that this is how things go. Personally, I think they don’t want to think about me as a girl.

  I pause on a pic of Sophia and Jake, my lip caught between my teeth. There was a time when he was, unbeknownst to him, the center of my universe, but we slid into friend-zone and there was no turning back. In this picture Sophia’s smiling up at him like they’re the only people in the room. And he seems just as into her.

  I click off my phone and drop it in my lap. It’s like they’ve already moved on without me. Sophia slept over after the party and we stayed up all night talking, but she never mentioned that she likes Jake.

  A sigh escapes me and Dad nudges my elbow.

  “Look out the window.”

  I meet his eyes and a pang of guilt twists my stomach. This can’t be easy on him either. I lean over him to peer out the window and my breath catches. That’s where I want to be. The sun’s shining through a cloudless sky, reflecting off the snow blanketing the peaks o
f the mountains that seem tall enough to scrape the bottom of the plane. I stretch closer, drawn to the mountain like it’s pulling me into its shadowy embrace.

  Dad touches my cheek. “Maybe this won’t be so bad, even without a ski team?”

  I let out another sigh, not wanting to concede just yet. “It does have its perks. But explain to me why Henry couldn’t move instead of us?”

  Now it’s Dad’s turn to sigh. “Cally, we talked about this. Jenny’s six months pregnant and all her family lives in Burlington. They’ll need the help with a newborn.” He pokes my side. “You’re already self-sufficient.”

  I cross my arms and sink lower into my seat, the view of the mountains replaced with blue sky so bright that it reminds me of Blake’s eyes, and I have to turn away.

  Dad rests his head against the back of the seat and gazes out the window. I don’t want to be difficult. We’re in this together and right now he’s the only person I know in the entire state of Colorado.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m angsting over my angst.”

  His snort of laughter breaks the tension.

  “Forgive me for being a brat?”

  His shoulder bumps against mine. “A. Always. And B. If this is the brattiest you get, I’m the luckiest father in the world.”

  The corner of my mouth turns up in a smile. “Remember that when I fall into a deep depression because I’m not on the ski team.”

  ***

  It starts to hit me that WE’VE MOVED TO COLORADO when we’re driving on the stretch of highway that circles downtown Denver. There’s farmland near the airport, then the suburbs begin, while the massive Rockies loom in the distance. It’s really not that different from Vermont, except much, much bigger. And open. And, oh yeah, thousands of miles from everything I know.

  “I thought we’d drive past the brewery before going to the house.”

  I’m grateful Dad didn’t call it home. Not yet. “Sure.”

  “There won’t be much to see. It’s not scheduled to open until the spring, but I’m anxious to see how it’s coming along.” Dad’s flown out here a couple times since we were here for Thanksgiving to sign leases for the brewery and this house that he assures me I’ll ‘learn to love.’ If that doesn’t sound ominous, I don’t know what does.

  He takes an exit for another highway and we speed toward Boulder. Soon we’re turning onto a street lined with low brick buildings, their wide windows showcasing clothes and food and beer. Lots of beer.

  “They seem to like their beer here.”

  Dad smiles. “There’s a method to my madness.”

  My head swivels to take it all in.

  Dad pulls to a stop in front of what looks like a Victorian house in the middle of the block of businesses. The familiar Calliope logo hangs above the window, the loops of the L’s linking together, the E drifting off into a trail of stars. Dad commissioned the logo when I was heavy into my princess phase, and while I don’t see any of that girl in myself anymore, I’m touched he’s never changed it.

  “What do you think?”

  I take in the purplish-gray shingles, white trim, and dark gray shutters that flank the picture window and a lump catches in my throat. “It looks like our house.”

  Dad squeezes my hand and I press my sleeve to the corner of my eye.

  “But it doesn’t look like a brewery.”

  He shrugs. “Who’s to say that? Calliope’s never been one to blend in with the crowd. She deserves to stand out.”

  I meet his gaze and tears slide down my face. I’m not sure if he’s talking about me or the brewery, or both. “I can’t believe you did this.”

  “Henry and I agreed that since we’re the newcomers, we need to make a statement. What better statement than a princess-themed brewery?”

  My mouth falls open. “Dad, you are not!” An exterior color hinting at purple is one thing. But no one’s going to—

  “I’m kidding. It’s more of a homey, living room atmosphere.” He kills the engine. “Want to look inside?”

  I scramble out of the car and follow him through the front door. An archway sweeps over the entrance, guiding us into the heart of the room. A hodge-podge of chandeliers dot the tin ceiling—some covered with sparkly tear-drop shaped glass, others more masculine metal and steel—while ornate crown molding edges the room and windows, and— “You put in my window seat?” I tip-toe over the tarp covering what looks like hard-wood floors, careful not to knock over the buckets of paint scattered around the room, and stop in front of a large bay window across from the bar.

  Dad moves next to me. “It doesn’t have the same view as back home, but I thought you could do homework here if you visit me after school.”

  Tears blur my vision. I can totally picture Mom curled up in the window seat with a book. “You didn’t have to do this.” I turn in a circle, waving my arm at the space. “But I love it.”

  He pulls me into a hug. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear you say that. So,” he pulls back to look me in the eye. “You ready to see the house?”

  We backtrack through town, the happiness I felt at the brewery vanishing when he turns into a newer housing development. “Harmony Hills? Since when are we subdivision people?”

  Dad doesn’t answer.

  We pass house after identical house, most constructed of pale brick and so large they’d cover half our block back home. A tree sits in the center of each yard, their bare branches reaching for the blue sky, and while the landscaping varies a little from house to house, there isn’t a single personal touch on any of them.

  “I’m guessing ours isn’t purple?”

  He winds through streets with names like Peak and Trail and Avalanche—Seriously? They named a street after a natural disaster?—and comes to a stop in front of the bazillionth white brick house.

  He kills the engine. “This is it.”

  I lean my head against the seat. My arms and legs don’t want to move. This can’t be our new home. It’s a fricking mini-mansion! We may have money but we are not the kind of people who throw their money in your face and make sure everyone knows exactly what they have—and what others don’t. My friends know we’re well-off but that’s never been what I’m about. The rich kids have their own circle and I consider myself lucky that I don’t have to hang out with them.

  Dad touches my arm, snapping me out of my freak-out. “What are you thinking?”

  I sigh. “Can I stay at the brewery?”

  Did you really think he’d let you stay at the brewery? Sophia texts.

  No, but it was worth a shot.

  The cookie-cutter feel continues inside the McMansion. Everything is beige or white, with the exception of dark hardwood floors that I admit are kind of cool, and every room looks the same. Worst of all, I can’t feel Mom. The staircase railing doesn’t have the nick from when Mom finally carried my first pair of skis downstairs after I insisted on sleeping with them for a month. The living room ceiling doesn’t have spots of paint in the corner from the weekend we were snowed in and decided to repaint the walls. And the kitchen is missing—her. Even though it’s been seven years since her accident, the scent of flour and vanilla and cinnamon enveloped me every time I opened a cupboard. This kitchen smells like bleach and lemon and emptiness.

  I’m currently flopped on a double bed in the third bedroom from the stairs, but I could switch rooms and never know the difference.

  It’s like being inside a bran muffin.

  Hope there’s lots of bathrooms. When does your stuff get there?

  I sigh. Next week. Thank god Dad packed sheets in his suitcase. It’s bad enough we’ll have to use someone else’s dishes until our stuff arrives. I try not to think of the people who were in here before us.

  Meet anyone yet?

  My eyes flick over the stark white wal
ls, and I roll onto my back to try to stop the sensation that they’re closing in on me.

  Just the ghost of Christmas future.

  The house won’t get the best of you.

  I miss home.

  I miss you.

  Anything exciting happen since I left?

  Texting with Sophia is rapid-fire, our replies coming as fast as we can type, so the pause now makes me sit up.

  Soph?

  Well...

  Spill.

  I get the feeling this will be about Jake, but part of me hopes it isn’t.

  I sort of had a date today. With Jake.

  Even though I saw it coming, my stomach drops. I don’t like Jake like that anymore and I love Sophia and want her to be happy, but it’s like a punch to the gut.

  Cally?

  I swallow the bitterness lingering at the back of my throat.

  I had a feeling he liked you! How was it?

  I can feel her exhale from halfway across the country. We’ve never kept secrets from each other so I’m sure that was as hard for her to write as it was for me to read.

  Amazing. We met for coffee, then window-shopped downtown.

  Did you kiss?

  Not yet, but it’s coming.

  I smile. I’ve always worried that my friendship with the guys kept them from asking her out, so if me moving helps Sophia with Jake, I can add one positive to the list.

  I want to hear all about it.

  Deal.

  Love you.

  Love you too. Gotta go. xoxo.

  I drop my phone on my chest. I should probably unpack or see if Dad needs help, but exhaustion tugs me into sleep before I can even turn off the light.

  ***

  The next morning, after taking a minute to remember where the hell I am, I throw on my sneakers and grab a sweatshirt before heading downstairs. Dad’s scribbling in his notebook on the kitchen counter while sipping from a Starbucks cup. He nods his head at an identical cup next to him.

  I inhale, letting the cinnamon and vanilla worm their way into my brain. “Thanks.”