Page 10 of Just Like the Brontë Sisters

Chapter 7: Skylar

Shortly after I moved in with Jo Beth, she and I began this constant informal game of truth or dare. The only twist was we didn’t get to choose ”truth” or “dare” —we randomly assigned them to each other whenever inspiration struck. Jo Beth always won. But then one overcast February afternoon during my junior year of high school, we strapped our skis to our back and hiked up Tenderhook Ridge to ski off-slope. We were alone and a storm was approaching.

“Hey!” I cried. “Dare! You’re going to jump over that ravine.” I pointed up slope to a mess of craggy rocks and protruding branches.

“No thanks, Sky. I don’t have a death wish.”

“You’re not accepting the dare? You forfeit? I actually win a round?”

She laughed but looked down, adjusting her ski goggles. “You can’t just change the rules in the middle of the game.”

“How am I changing the rules?”

There was a sudden gust of wind and a spray of snow slapped us both across the face. I flinched, but not Jo Beth. “We said that dares need to be doable.” She pointed up the ravine. “That’s not doable, that’s suicide.”

For some reason I felt especially stubborn, but I wasn’t sure why. Maybe the moon was full, maybe my lunch wasn’t sitting well, or maybe I was tired of always giving in. “Fine, I’ll do it instead.” I used my pole to snap off the locks of my skis, hoisted them up over my shoulder, and began the climb.

“Come on, Skylar,” Jo Beth yelled. “Give it up.”

I looked back at her, at the silver-medal Olympic skier in her sleek black Bogner parka, which the manufacturers had sent for free. Strands of her long, light brown hair were wind-blown and stuck to her face, and her freckles blended in with her cheeks, which had grown rosy from the cold. Many people forgot that Jo Beth was not beautiful, I suppose because her magnetism propelled her into rock star territory. Meanwhile, I was the younger, un-extraordinary version of my sister and I worried that was all I’d ever achieve. I turned back around, determined to reach a good distance above the area I had challenged Jo Beth to jump. Down below, she shifted her weight and checked her watch as if she were standing at the bus stop.

“You’re insane!”

I could barely make out her words, even though the wind carried them to my ears rather than swallowing them whole.

“Mom and Dad better not blame me for your death.”

She was just trying to scare me. I knew I wasn’t about to die. Only one part of the landscape was very sharp; however, the scattered patches of crusty snow did add to its treachery. But I figured I could zigzag around the blotches of dirt and branches, which would give me enough velocity to hit the decline and fly over the bed of rocks, landing safely onto a plateau of snow at the bottom.

I closed my eyes, said a silent prayer, and took off.

It was like the out-of-body experiences I’d only ever read about. I could literally see myself skiing over this impossible slope, yet I was also the puppet master, controlling my movements from up above. My blood pounded in my ears and I discovered a powerful rhythm as I deftly maneuvered myself through the narrow, snowy path, avoiding the pitfalls, gaining speed, and flying over the rocky ravine that my sister had labeled a death wish. When I landed I returned to myself, laughing and whooping with victory. “Yes!” Then, in a sing-song voice I chanted, “I can do something you can’t do!”

Jo Beth’s mouth turned down and her chest caved, just slightly, before she jutted out her chin. Anyone else would have missed the moment, but to me, Jo Beth broadcast her annoyance as clearly as if she’d yelled it.

“Fine,” she muttered, and made a big show of snapping off her skis and trudging up the mountain, to the exact spot where I had taken off moments ago.

The wind had picked up and snow was simultaneously blowing and falling. By the time Jo Beth reached her destination, the visibility was so bad I could barely make out her turquoise snowflake hat. Razor-edged foreboding jabbed my stomach. Why hadn’t it occurred to me how much Jo Beth had on the line? She’d secured her spot on the ski team for the upcoming Olympics and was supposed to leave next week.

“Don’t do it, Jo Beth,” I yelled. “You won’t be able to see like I could.”

Either she couldn’t hear me or she pretended not to. Jo Beth crouched down into her aerodynamic position and then she became a streak of black and turquoise. She went fast but I felt I was watching her in slow motion, sure of the impending catastrophe yet powerless to stop it. When the tip of her ski hit a patch of dirt she fell forward, her limbs twisting and flailing like they were reaching for something solid, not just grasping at air. She landed face down in a patch of rocks, with her left leg jutting at an unnatural angle.

It took us forever to get to bottom of the mountain. I had to support Jo Beth’s weight as we traipsed gingerly down, abandoning our skis in the hope that they’d still be there when I managed to return. The storm had reduced things to near-white-out conditions. My face, fingers and toes were numb with cold and my limbs ached with fatigue. But my discomfort was nothing compared to Jo Beth’s pain. By the time we’d made it home it was early evening, and much later still when we returned from Urgent Care. Jo Beth hoisted herself out of the car, hopping on one foot over patches of ice to retrieve her crutches from the back seat.

“Let me help you,” I said.

“You’ve helped enough already, Sky.”

And that was the last thing she said to me for two days. Jo Beth had torn a ligament in her knee and her face was bruised and scratched. She would be unable to do her photo-shoot for Rossignol, but more importantly, there was no way she’d win or even compete for the Olympic gold now. And she blamed me for everything.

“Hey,” I said on the second morning of her stony silence. I’d brought up her breakfast of protein shake and pomegranate, which I’d made for her. “Should we drive into Denver today? Maybe there’s a movie worth seeing. I could check the listings.” No response; nothing even registered on her face. “Look, Jo Beth, I’m sorry. Really. Please talk to me.”

I stood there, knowing I should get ready for school, knowing it was good that she hadn’t responded, knowing that an unexcused absence could keep me from getting into my dream school, Cornell.

“Come on. Look at me, please. I really am sorry.”

That word, sorry, always passed too easily from my lips, like a nagging, non-productive cough. Conversely, Jo Beth didn’t know how to say ‘sorry’ at all, but up until then she would at least accept my apologies with grace. Her eyes would turn from steely gray to silver, sparkling as the light bounced off them, her smile warming her face. Not this time. I’d lost her unconditional support and approval, and the ground beneath me felt uneven as I searched, desperately, for a way to get it back. I shouldn’t have bothered. Jo Beth had to be the one to determine the timing of things, and she decided to beckon me later that evening.