Black Diamond

“Should we try a black diamond?” asks Papa.

“I don’t know, . . .” I say, pulling my on mittens. I look down the black diamond run with hesitancy. It looks steep. I stomp to get the snow off my skis and zip up my puffy jacket all the way up to my chin. An icy breeze makes me shiver with excitement.

I’m about to tell Papa that I just want to take the green run again, when he says, “I’m gonna take the black diamond. You can take green, and we’ll meet at the bottom. Cool?”

“Sure,” I say.

He zips off down the black diamond. I watch him for a minute. I start to inch my way toward the green slope. I look back at the black diamond. I want to go down it. I don’t really want to take green again.

Another icy wind blows. I turn around toward the black diamond, heaving myself along with my poles. I can do this, I tell myself. I gather up all my skiing skills and begin to go slowly down the slope. I gain speed. Soon I’m shifting my weight from ski to ski with confidence. My hood falls off my head, and my hair blows in the wind.

I see Papa at the bottom. He looks totally surprised to see me flying toward him down the black diamond. Then he smiles, and I smile back. Just as I’m starting to brake, my left ski flips over to the side, causing my foot to pop out of my ski and me to fall on my face.

Papa rushes over. “Are you alright? Maybe we should go sit down!”

I sit up, brushing the snow off of my hair and jacket. “No way!” I say. “That was awesome! Let’s go again!”