I grab my laptop off my tidy desk and plop myself in my twin-size bed. Thank goodness these beds are twin XL, otherwise my feet would dangle off. I open my laptop and begin typing "Airbnb" into the search engine, my head clearly on a mission.
Honestly, I’m not surprised I’m failing my classes. I haven’t been going to class. It’s not that I’ve given up; I’m just not interested. My mind is constantly thinking about what outfits to wear and how my life would look if I were modeling clothes for designers.
When the Airbnb website pops up, spotlighting the search on vacation destinations, my mind wanders.
I think about places I’ve been to and the first place that comes to mind is Colorado. It’s right next door to Nebraska, so it wouldn’tbe that hard to get to. With a quick google search I find out It’s about a five-hour drive from here and skiing season just began.
I used to go skiing with my family when I was a little girl, but we haven’t gone in years. I used to love it. My parents were always working, so it was one of the few times my family got to spend together without any distractions. Obviously, that all changed after the scandal and divorce.
We would go to a cute, quaint little town called Silver Lake, which is smack in the middle of the state. It has one bar, a resort, three gas stations, and a grocery store which might be considered almost too small, but it's the perfect little getaway.
I type Silver Lake, Colorado into the search bar and input the dates of my fall break. Scrolling through my options for an Airbnb, I find one that has a polka-dot comforter- I can only imagine how many people have slept on those sheets without them being washed. Continuing my search, I find another place that has a bunch of dead animal heads hanging as decor. Creepy and not my vibe. Is every Airbnb in Silver Lake ugly and out-dated like these? Just as I'm about to give up and find something else to do over fall break, I find one that catches my eye. It’s a cabin at a resort called Smoky Pine Mountain. It’s made out of wood and has one bedroom and a bathroom, but there is a pull-out couch and a hot tub. The idea of sinking my heel wearing, aching feet into a nice bubbly hot tub sounds like the closest I'll get to heaven. It's on the mountain with the same resort we used to go to as a big happy family.
I read through the ratings quickly and once I’m satisfied, I type in my debit card number that my parents load for me weekly. I click confirm without hesitation; the easiest part of it all.
Confetti shoots through the screen, mimicking the joy I feel exploding in my body. I am so excited to enjoy a nice vacation away from this hell hole. My phone buzzes with the email confirmation.
Now I just have to convince Lana to go with me, which shouldn’t be hard—because I always get my way.
2
Aspen
My heart rate slows and the sweat covering my palms starts to dry. This meeting is about a promotion, not a termination like I had feared.
“You want me to be an instructor?” I ask, double-checking with Mr. Ramirez, the professional snowboarder and owner of Smoky Pine Mountain Resort. In other words, my boss, but he lets everyone call him Raul.
“That’s right,” he replies, “I think it’s time you switched positions here at the resort. You'd make a great instructor. You’re ready.”
For a second, I think I hear him wrong. An instructor? I figured this was a few years out—maybe something for the next version of me. Not now. Once, I thought about doing it to get more riding time, especially since I want to go pro, but I never thought it would be possible so soon. I haven't even dared to acknowledge yet. He's always preparing me for my future more than I am.
“But I never applied for the position,” I tell him wiping the sweat off my hands and sitting a little straighter in my chair, “I didn’t even mention wanting to be an instructor.”
“Aspen,” Raul says firmly, meeting my eyes. “I’ve been watching you for years. You’re ready.”
I swallow hard and slump back down in my seat.
Raul hired me at the resort as a cleaning boy to start. From there, I worked my way up—first to the ski lift control panel, andnow, somehow, I’m an instructor. I’ve earned this. It feels like I'm renting this job from someone else. Like eventually, I’ll have to give it back.
“Okay, uh, yeah. Thanks, boss,” I stand up and say, leaning over his desk to shake his hand, hoping my palms aren’t too sweaty.
“Your first day on the job will be the day after tomorrow. We’ll start you off with some guests at the beginner and intermediate level and then go from there,” he informs me.
My worst case scenario brain always jumps to the conclusion that he's going to fire me whenever he calls me into his office. I don't know why, Raul always has my back. He’s been the only one to truly support me. Like that one time I broke my arm after not landing a flip, he was with me in the hospital every day while my mom was off on one of her boy toy trips and my dad was nowhere to be found.
He even started training me to go pro—on the condition that I kept working for him. It’s an easy gig and having his guidance is unbeatable, especially since he was a pro himself. He knows all the drills, every trick in the book and every way to make me sore for days.
“Sounds good. See you then,” I say.
I step out of the office, letting everything that just happened sink in. I can’t believe it. This is going to give me more riding time and practice. Granted, I won’t be doing what the pros do, but I can only become a master of something by teaching it to someone else, right?
Plus, I’mtechnicallydoing what pros do whenever I train with Raul.
Before I grab my board, I head over to the bathroom for my afternoon pick-me-up. I’m already off the clock, but now I plan on riding out the evening. My confidence is already boosted enough after that meeting, but this sure will help.
For a second I had myself convinced I’d be walking out with a box of my things, not a promotion. My brain’s like that—alwaysprepping for worst-case scenarios like it’s doing me a favor. I have to go splash some water on my face.
What if I mess up? What if I can ride but not teach? Not everyone who can do something should be teaching it. My head continues to reel as I continue walking.
