“Right foot goes in front,” I cut him off before he can finish his rant.
“What?”
“You stopped your fall with your right foot. That’s your lead leg. Strap it into the binding.” I point to his board.
“Before I get on the chair?”
“That’s sorta how this works, Frosty.” I strap my own foot in.
“How do I get off, then?”
“Put your back foot on the board in between the bindings and let gravity do the work.”
“No. No way.” He starts backing up as he rambles. “I’ll slip and fall or end up doing the splits if one foot is out—no. I’ll just carry the board on the chair.”
My shoulders slump from the weight of his absurdity. “You can’t carry the board, it’ll drag on the ground before we’re up in the air.”
“I’ll rest it on my lap then.”
“It’s five feet tall. It’ll take the whole width of the chair, including my lap.”
“Then it takes up your lap, too. I don’t care. I’m not putting it on until I’m at the top.” His lips press into a defiant line.
Damn stubborn popsicle. If my hair wasn’t trapped under my helmet, I’d be pulling it out right now. “Fine.” I snatch the board from his hand and nudge him toward the chair. The lift operator raises hisbrows and opens his mouth to object but snaps it shut when he sees the curt shake of my head.
The chair comes around behind us and we both sit, and I drape his board over our legs with one arm as I pull the safety guard down with the other. We ride in silence, Frosty swinging his head back and forth to admire the view while I rant in my head about how ridiculous it is to carry the board on the chair.
When we reach the top, I push off and glide down the exit ramp with his board in hand, circling around to a stop in time to see him shuffling toward me, arms waving to the side to keep his balance on the decline. It’s awkward as fuck, but with his big doe eyes and tiny red nose peeking out from under the oppressive helmet, it’s also kind of cute.
Cute?Kill me now.
Once he finally makes it to me, he’s so close he has to tip his chin up to see me from under the helmet. “Ready.” He smiles like nothing’s wrong.
“Goggles.”
He obediently moves them from their perch on his helmet to cover his eyes.
I point to the ground and grunt, “Sit.”
He plops down and I kneel in front of him, strapping both feet into the bindings. Then I strap in my own and stand up, waiting for him to do the same. He puts his hands behind him and tries, unsuccessfully, to push himself up. Looking left, then right, he tries again, rocking his weight forward to get some momentum behind the effort. It gets him about an inch off the ground before he falls back on his butt with a little, “oomph.”Bet he loves my bike shorts right about now.
“Here.” I shove my hand toward him. He takes it and I pull him forward, lifting him a few inches, but with the bindings holding hislegs in place he can’t move his ankles freely, which basically makes him dead weight. Before I know it, he’s back on his ass and taking me down with him.
“Fuck,” I mutter as my weight pitches forward. He drops my hand and squeals, bringing both arms over his face as if that’ll stop the impact. I lurch left in a sloppy somersault, saving his chest from getting crushed and my shins from getting sliced on his board, and come to rest sprawled on my back next to him.
I’m vaguely aware of Frosty muttering about me trying to squash him to death as I stare up at the clear blue sky, praying for patience, which is fucking ironic since I don’t pray. When I’m sure I won’tactuallytry to squash him, I unhook my back foot and stand up. Coming around in front of him I offer my hand to try again, this time bracing a foot on his board so I can help push it to the ground as he stands.
It's awkward as fuck, but I finally manage to get him upright. When he’s settled on two feet, he beams at me as if the simple act of standing wasn’t just the biggest shitshow ever, and I lock my jaw to keep from snapping at him while I strap back in and offer both my hands.
He stares down at them, brows drawn. “I saw you do this with Max, but it won’t work with me.”
“Why?”
“We both ride with our right foot in front. I can’t mirror you if we ride the same direction.”
I’m actually impressed he came to that conclusion without any help from me, not only because he’s right but because it means he’s already clocked which is my dominant leg. Admitting that will only make him more insufferable though, and this day is undoubtedly going to be long enough already. Instead, I twist so my left leg is pointed forward and ride the board in an elongated arc, circling around until I’m backfacing him with my arms outstretched. “I can ride with either foot forward.”
“Showoff,” he mumbles under his breath as he takes my hands.
