Wired (2005)
“A bad skier who wanted to be good, whose name was Joe Hardy. Yes, everyone who had ever read one of the Hardy Boys mystery books always teased him about it. Me included.
“Chet!” I shouted.
He turned to me, grinning at our inside joke. He looked more like Chet Morton of the Hardy Boys series than Joe Hardy, and I was the only person who ever called him Chet instead of Joe. I stomped toward him in my ski boots.
He was standing beside the ski rack with all his equipment and hadn’t yet changed.
“Re...member how you’ve been begging me for lessons?” He was a couple of years older than me, but in our small high school, everybody knew everybody.
“Today?”
“No, but I’ll owe you.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Taxi service,” I said. “Right now. Leave your stuff here. We’ve got to go.”
“But I—”
“You just got to the ski hill. I know. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Try to keep up,” I said. I could see where he’d parked his red Jeep Wrangler.MoreLess
“Chet!” I shouted.
He turned to me, grinning at our inside joke. He looked more like Chet Morton of the Hardy Boys series than Joe Hardy, and I was the only person who ever called him Chet instead of Joe. I stomped toward him in my ski boots.
He was standing beside the ski rack with all his equipment and hadn’t yet changed.
“Re...member how you’ve been begging me for lessons?” He was a couple of years older than me, but in our small high school, everybody knew everybody.
“Today?”
“No, but I’ll owe you.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Taxi service,” I said. “Right now. Leave your stuff here. We’ve got to go.”
“But I—”
“You just got to the ski hill. I know. I promise I’ll make it up to you.”
He shrugged. “Why not?”
“Try to keep up,” I said. I could see where he’d parked his red Jeep Wrangler.MoreLess
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