Wired by Sigmund Brouwer Page B

the last bit of wire that was still around the tree. She flipped over. As she fell, her snowboard and ankles got caught in the wire. She slid until she reached the end of the wire and then she snapped to a stop like a dog running to the end of its leash.
    The girl yelped.
    I ran over as fast as I could. “Are you all right?” I asked as I helped her to her feet.
    She didn’t thank me for saving her life. She punched me in the face.

chapter three
    â€œHey!” I shouted. “What was that for?”
    â€œYou jerk!” she shouted back. “You could have killed me!”
    She took another swing at me. I grabbed her wrist just before her fist hit my face a second time.
    â€œKilled you?” I was breathing hard from running. My face hurt from her punch. And now this girl in a purple ski suit thought I had tried to kill her? “No way, I was trying to—”
    â€œDo you think that kind of joke is funny?” She pulled her arm away from me. She gave me a dirty look. “What if you had tied the wire completely tight before I hit it? It could have sliced me in two.”
    â€œI was trying to untie it.”
    â€œSure,” she said. It didn’t sound like she believed me.
    She reached into her jacket and pulled out a cell phone.
    â€œCould we talk about this before you call the police or anyone else?” I said, “Here, look at my fingers. See the blood? I was trying to untie the wire when you came down.”
    â€œOr,” she said, “you were just finished tying it and couldn’t get away in time.”
    â€œSure. I’m on a timed run for the racing team and thought I’d just stop for a few minutes. You know, because I’m so much faster than anyone I wanted to give them a chance.”
    She snapped her cell phone shut.
    â€œSo maybe you’re telling the truth about the wire,” she said.
    â€œMaybe?” I pointed at my skis farther down the hill.
    â€œSee,” I said. “The wire nearly got me too. That’s where I fell. I came back up the hill in case anyone was behind me.”
    She stared at me for long seconds.
    â€œI’m sorry,” she said. She looked at the ground. “You probably saved my life.”
    In a movie, she would have leaned forward and kissed me.
    This wasn’t a movie. I licked blood off my lip. It was dripping from my nose where she had punched me. Instead of kissing me, she unzipped a pocket and found some tissue. She wiped the blood off my face.
    â€œWhat’s your name?” she asked. She had an accent and spoke like the tourists from New York. Her hair was blonde and straight. She had light green eyes. She looked like she could be a model.
    â€œKeegan Bishop.” I waited for her to say something about me being a great skier. Everyone who skied here had heard of me.
    â€œKeegan,” she said. “I like that name. Are you a racer?”
    I grinned. “You’ve heard of me?”
    â€œNo. I see the racing number on your back. And you just told me you were on a timed run.”
    How dumb did I feel? I tried to change the subject. “Are you from around here? Or are you on Christmas vacation?”
    â€œMy name’s Cassie,” she told me. “Cassie Holt. Thanks for asking.”
    Again I felt dumb. She probably thought I didn’t care enough to know her name.
    A couple of skiers appeared. They didn’t say anything and just skied past.
    I wondered when one of the ski officials would show up to see why I hadn’t made it to the bottom yet. I was going to wait right here. I wanted them to see why I had fallen. That way, I would get another chance to run my time trial.
    It seemed like Cassie and I had gone a long time without talking.
    â€œWell,” Cassie finally said. “If you didn’t put the wire there, who did?”
    â€œI’d like to know. Just so that I could strangle them.”
    She smiled. “You’re too cute to be