MY LIFE AS A SNOWBUNY
Kaz Delaney

CHAPTER ONE

I couldn't believe it! Me! Jo Vincent, the original California Girl was actually standing ankle-deep in snow! Okay, so you have to substitute curly brunette hair for the usual long blond Californian locks to get the exact image. And maybe drop a few inches in height. And decrease a few curves. Okay, okay it’s a stretch.

Let me put it simply. Trivialities aside, the point is that I, the dedicated sun, surf and sand freak, had made the never-before-considered-transition and was at this moment tottering on brilliant, white, freeze-your-butt-off snow. And it was great!

It seems really lame now that I hadn't been all that keen to come. In fact I’d fought it all the way. I'd figured that Dad's offer was one of those conscience-clearing things. You know: spend heaps of money on your kid to prove that she is loved despite the fact for most of the year the guy is too busy to lift the phone to dial eight digits.

I admit I am just bitch enough to make dad have to work for my affection a bit harder than that. Does the guy really think I am so shallow that all he has to do is wave an airline ticket, four star accommodation and the chance to see some hod bods in action–and I’ll come running? Oh Puleese!

Okay, okay. I admit I was tempted. I like to travel. And I lerve room service. And I admit too, that the opportunity of witnessing those hot bods in action had caused some serious weakening on my part. Until I remembered they’d all be in school. Eeoww. Stuck in the snowfields sandwiched between the nursery set and the geriatric set. Either way, I’d end up covered in Applesauce. No way.

Me shallow? Get a grip! He’d simply have to try harder than that. I wasn’t going.

Mom was the one who convinced me. Yes, the real reason I was here could be laid directly on the altar of my mother’s incredible powers of persuasion. She listened objectively to my tirade and my reasons. And uttered nine memorable words: "Go or I confiscate your surfboard for a year."

No surfboard?

It was a king-hit. One slug and I was begging for mercy.

And thermal underwear.

This was cool. This was way more than cool.

I tested this newly discovered scenery through the viewfinder on my camera. Apart from the beach, that was my other passion–photography. I fiddled with the telescopic lens, closing in on the action just seeming inches away on the slopes. And as I zoomed in, my blood pressure zoomed up! Feeling suddenly weak at the knees I had to acknowledge that photography was just one of my other passions. Oh my… I stood glued to the spot, absorbing the fabulous scene before me. Guys! Hot athletic guys! The slopes were literally crawling with them.

Okay. Regroup. I knew I was ready for them. I just wanted to charge right out there. But were they ready for me? Note to self: Plan a more subtle strategy.

Back under control, I swung my trusty Kodak in the direction of The Chalet–my temporary home for the rest of the week. It was a good diversion.

Like most of the buildings at the new Pine Grove Ski Resort, the high-pitched roof with its fancy woodwork reminded me of a giant version of the gingerbread house in "Hansel and Gretel." Looking at the fairy-tale image in front of me, I even had an idea who the resident witch might be. Not that I knew Kate Borelli very well yet. And not that it would matter. Not if dad was still working at his usual turnover-rate of female companions. Gone in sixty seconds. Well, almost.

Darn them! Now that I'd actually decided to enjoy myself I wasn't going to let them wreck this trip for me. With that thought, I determinedly concentrated on the shot, creeping backwards as I angled for the wide view.

Tiny flashes of light captured my attention. Tinsel sparkling in the sunlight; leftover Christmas decorations. Fir trees draped in coloured lights that would twinkle against the white snow at night. I felt myself smile into the lens. Yep, this place was magic…

Maybe magic was what happened next. For starters, the place had wound a spell around me. At least that was my story. What else could I blame for being so totally unaware of what was happening? Because I swear I did not hear anything. Later I wondered how I could have missed the noise! It was like someone had turned on an electric ice-crusher right beside me.

But at the time all I felt were a pair of strong hands grab at me. And propel me sideways.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing? Hands off spud! Put me down you moron!"

"I vill do so ven it is safe!"

Safe? I twisted my head back from where I was being well–dragged is closer to the description than carried–in time to see a guy on a kind of outsized skateboard minus the wheels whiz past me, way too close for comfort. That was just before the guy and his board parted company in a rather uncomfortable way, with him head-butting a sign half-covered by fallen snow. "Ouch! That had to hurt…" I shook my head. "What was that wild thing, anyway?"

Danger over, my "rescuer" dumped me in the snow before answering, "Zis is called a `shredder.""

"A shredder? That's why the noise… Hey that's cool! It kind of looks like fun! If you don't come off like that guy, that is. Can anyone hire one of those?" My eyes were still glued to the guy who was lying facedown in snow.

"Ze shredder is fun if it is handled er ...correctly. Zat idiot was not in control of his apparatus and in ze wrong area. It is for advanced skiers only. Are you an advanced skier Miss er…?"

"Apparatus"? What kind of species speaks like that? The head-butt guy sputtered, shook his head and climbed to his knees. He was okay. That out of the way, I got back to my own feet and for the first time I turned to look at the guy with the funny accent. My rescuer.

Then it happened.

My eyes connected with him and it was like being zapped with straight mains power. I was also totally unprepared for the really weird feeling that followed. I don’t mean it was unfamiliar–just the opposite. In fact I recognized it immediately from frequent past experience. What threw me, was that I was just unprepared for it to happen so quickly. I sucked in my breath. It was like deja vu. Face it–it was déjà vu… I knew this feeling well. In my sixteen years I'd experienced it oh–at least fifty times.

It was love… I was in lerve!

My friends always joked that my only requirement for an eligible guy was that he had a pulse. They were wrong. My requirement for the perfect guy stood right here in front of me.

I guessed he was about my age–only he seemed heaps older–you know, more sophisticated. He wasn't all that tall, but that was okay because I'm not very tall either. We were going to be perfect for each other.

I wondered if he realized that yet.