Besides, I only have a minute or two until I reach the top of the hill. I won’t be late; I never am. I’m just worried about Anna. If I needed to, I could make it down the hill in less than a minute, and make it back to the bus in less than ten. She’d take at least half an hour, mostly because she’s afraid of going fast. I looked it up; tachophobia.

Large words amuse me.

“We’re almost to the top,” I say, and pull my skis up a little, so they don’t get caught on the bottom of the ramp.

Anna’s skis shoot up. “Okay.” She’s so paranoid.

Soon, we reach the ramp, and I slide off, leaving a wide margin for Anna to follow and not fall on me.. which happens a lot, but I can’t really blame her. It’s her first year. I probably sucked at skiing my first year too.

Technically, Anna’s even not supposed to be on this hill. Beginners go on the green hills, then blue, then black, then if they’re good enough, double black. Double black hills are a little overrated though, and as I said, I hate getting technical.

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