Free Death's Last Run by Robin Spano Page B

you’ve got the basics down. Whistler’s gonna be your town, dude.”
    â€œDude,” Clare said. “Are you available for another lesson, say, tomorrow?”
    â€œOh,” Flippy said. “She doesn’t hate me anymore.”
    â€œI know you’re not full of shit now. Your lesson kind of worked.”
    â€œKind of, huh? Come on. We can ride the gondola up and do one run down from the top.”
    Clare undid her bindings and followed Flippy Floopface to the Whistler gondola.
    â€œHey, Chopper,” the attendant said to her instructor, which was cool because Clare was ready to learn his real name. “Who’s the chick?”
    â€œHey, man, this is Lucy. It’s her first day on a board. She’s cool.”
    â€œMan, you’re gonna love it here,” the lift attendant said. “Sorry you got stuck with Chopper, though. Sick snowboarder, but can’t teach worth shit.”
    â€œShe told me already.” Chopper took Clare’s board and ushered her into the moving gondola. “But if I can get her down this hill in one piece, she’s gonna buy me a beer.”
    â€œI am?” Clare said, as the gondola doors closed behind them.
    â€œYeah. Hey don’t take this wrong, but you look just like this dead girl.”
    â€œWhat?” Clare knew she looked like Sacha — same shoulder-length dark hair; same slight, wiry build.
    â€œShe died a week and a half ago. Up in the Blackcomb Glacier.”
    â€œI’m so sorry,” Clare said.
    The view behind Chopper was one of the most gorgeous sights Clare had ever seen. Whistler Village receding below them looked like a European fairytale town. Clare half expected a cobbler and some elves to run into the streets.
    â€œWhere’s Blackcomb?” she asked.
    Chopper pointed at the mountain beside theirs, with its own gondola that didn’t go up quite as high.
    â€œAre people avoiding the run where she died?”
    Chopper shook his head. “That’s the fucked-up thing, man. Everyone’s all, this is so sad, let’s have a candlelight vigil and cry together and shit. I mean not literally — we haven’t done the candle thing — but Sacha’s all anyone wants to talk about when they’re drinking.”
    Good to know.
    â€œBut by daylight,” Chopper said, “it’s like Sacha was never even here. People are skiing and riding the glacier like it’s all still fun and games.”
    Clare frowned. “It’s a transient town, right? Do you think people are just used to other people coming and going?”
    â€œYeah, but Sacha never left. This town wasn’t transient for her.”
    â€œWere you, um — I mean you and Sacha — had you dated or anything?”
    Chopper looked past Clare, into the mountain behind her. “Nothing serious.”
    Clare smiled sadly. Of course she’d buy Chopper a beer. This was business.

FOURTEEN

    RICHIE
    Richie grooved around his all-white living room, past the sofa and club chairs, dance tunes in his ears. He was trying to pick up his mood, find a positive head space where he could get some clarity on his massive fucking problem.
    Great choices he had. Take the drugs to the States, and maybe get busted. Or play safe with the law and get into indefinite debt with one of the scariest cartels in the States. What the fuck would Billingsley do?
    He looked at his couch — white, leather, pristine — and remembered Sacha lounging with her feet up on the arm. Even in clean socks, there was no way Richie would have let anyone else put their feet there. Not even his mother.
    He picked up his snowboard, turned the volume up on Flo Rida, and opened his door to leave. He dug this song, “Wild Ones.” It made him think of Jana, always ready to go with some crazy new bedroom idea. Man, that chick made Richie’s head spin.
    It was raining in the village, but Chopper had texted to say it was