The Shuddering

hall and demand Ryan let Oona in? Rolling over, she pulled the comforter over her head with a rough sigh and squeezed her eyes shut, one ear against the pillow, her palm pressed over the other to block out the sound.



CHAPTER FOUR
    T he sun rose over the hills to reveal new beauty. It had snowed overnight—the lightest dusting, like powdered sugar. The trees sparkled, flocked with a fresh blanket of white, glittering as the sun burned away the early morning haze.
    Despite Ryan’s best efforts to keep the group on track, they were late piling into the car, but they were cheerful and warm, bundled up in their gear while the Nissan rolled down the slope of the drive. Jane gazed out the passenger window, oddly quiet; Sawyer sat in the middle of the backseat like a sultan, a girl on each arm. After half an hour of highway, the Nissan coiled up a series of twists and turns, ascending a mountain that only got more gorgeous—leafless aspens shining in the crisp morning air, as though their branches had been dipped in silver. The clouds that had been thousands of feet overhead were suddenly nothing but a fog slithering around the bases of tree trunks, whispering across a glistening onyx tarmac. The ebb of down-tempo music offered the perfect sound track, lulling Ryan into Zen-like contentment. By the time they reached the ski resort’s parking area he felt renewed, ready to embrace the day despite the early hour.
    Ryan climbed onto the Nissan’s running board and unstrapped the boards from the roof rack while Jane and Lauren shoved thickly socked feet into their boots, awkwardly waddling around the car after their ankles had been secured. Sawyer concentrated on his iPod, shuffling through playlists, making surehe was ready to go—because when it came to Sawyer, music was key; everything else came second. April sat in the backseat, her legs sticking out of the Xterra, her shoulders pulled up to her ears against the chill. She looked uncomfortable as she watched everyone busy themselves around her.
    When Sawyer had admitted that April hadn’t boarded before, Ryan had been pessimistic. It was hard to tell with novices—they either took to it like a duck to water or had a miserable time. Jane had been in the latter group, having spent two days on her ass, overcome by a few fits of frustration that had reduced her to tears. Ryan had stuck with her, spending days on the bunny hill with his sister. He eventually got her on her feet, but it had taken a lot of time, a lot of patience, and, on Jane’s part, a lot of pain. He wasn’t sure how it was going to work with April: whether she was the type of girl who would stick it out because it was something she really wanted to do, or whether she’d throw her hands up and admit defeat after a handful of falls. After a few minutes the group left the car, the four of them stiffly marching toward the lift ticket windows while April trailed behind.
    The closer they got to the ticket counter, the less April wanted to go through with it. There was a ski lift to the right of them—a four-at-a-time monster that whipped around the curve at a speed that seemed impossible; yet people were falling into the chairs, unscathed, laughing as though they were having the times of their lives. Up ahead, a girl in a pink jacket caught the edge of her board on the snow. April winced as the girl flew onto her stomach with a squeal, her hat popping off her head and landing a good three feet ahead of her. For a second April was sure the girl wasn’t going to get up, but she did, giggling madly as a couple of skiers helped her to her feet.
    She tugged at one of Sawyer’s many jacket zippers, chewing her bottom lip as they continued to walk forward. Ryan was leading the pack, a good ten paces ahead of everyone, probably trying to make up for lost time.
    “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she whispered.
    Sawyer shook his head and pulled the bud out of his ear.
    “This,” she said, waving a hand at the lift. “Me.”
    “What?”
    “I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” she repeated. “You know…” She gave him a look, willing him to understand without making her explain.
    Sawyer slowed his steps, allowing distance to grow between them and the rest of the group.
    “Really?” he asked, jabbing a finger under his thickly woven hat, scratching an itch. It matched the scarf that April had noosed around her own neck—a set she had knitted when they had first gotten