A Little Too Late (Madigan Mountain)

January Term 2011

It’s Friday morning, and Ava is smoothing the sides of a wet piece of pottery in the art studio when someone puts a work tray down on the table next to hers. “Can I sit here?” a male voice asks.

She looks up to find a stunning guy with dark, wavy hair and broody eyes waiting for an answer. “Yes. Yup. Sure,” she says in a rush of words.

He pulls out his chair and sits. “I’m Reed.”

She already knows who he is. Everyone does. He’s a vaunted all-American ski racer, known for his daredevil attitude. Athletes are everywhere at Middlebury College, but there’s something intense about Reed that has always drawn Ava’s gaze. In a sea of frivolous college boys, Ava can tell that he’s a serious person. A man. Even if they’ve never had a single conversation.

Until now.

“I apologize in advance if I try to copy off your homework.” With a frown, he pulls the plastic bag off a half-formed clay vase he must have begun earlier in the week. It’s lopsided. “This isn’t going too well, is it?”

She studies his vase, which lists to one side like the famous tower in Pisa. “You want my opinion?”

“Yes,” he says, his eyes steady.

“You could spend an hour trying to straighten that up. But clay isn’t like an oil painting—not everything can be fixed. Sometimes you really just need to start over.”

“From scratch? I spent two hours on this.”

“The second time won’t take two hours, though. Trust me. Besides—” She lifts the less beautiful of her own two vessels off her tray. “Starting over is fun.” She shows him the vase in her hand. Then—with a flick of her wrist—she dashes it to the concrete floor where it folds in on itself with a satisfyingly wet slap.

Reed is rarely scandalized. But when Ava’s project implodes on the art room floor, he experiences a moment of pure shock. That is not what he expected her to do. Not at all.

But then he gets a look at her smile, and everything is better. He even barks out a laugh.

The truth is that he’s been sneaking looks at Ava during the lecture portion of this class. She’s very beautiful. Now is not the time to lose his nerve. “I think I understand,” he says, picking up his awful vase and holding it out in the palm of his hand. The form is hideous. So he gives it a toss upwards. It arcs through the air before landing at Ava’s feet with a loud and unexpected farting sound.

They both double over laughing. They’re so loud that everyone else in the art studio looks over their shoulders to see what’s so funny.

It takes them a long time to calm down again. But eventually Reed peels the clay off the floor and starts over. He kneads it into a ball while fat snowflakes fall gently past the studio windows.

January term—or J-term, because everything at college needs a nickname—is an unusual time on campus. Everyone takes just a single class. This one is called The History and Practice of Ceramics. He’ll spend half his classroom hours studying ancient cultures’ use and decoration of pottery, and the other half of his time muddling through pottery projects.

It’s harder than it looks. Reed thought taking a ceramics class would make him feel closer to his mom. But it isn’t working. She’s still gone, and he can’t even call her up and ask her how the hell to make a vase that doesn’t tip sideways.

“This class may have been a mistake,” he mutters as his second attempt comes out imperfect again.

Ava turns to him. Her hair is the color of dark honey, and he wonders how it would feel sifting through his fingers. “Why did you pick this class?”

He considers telling the truth, but then doesn’t. “I needed an arts credit. How about you?” He looks over at her vase and does a double take. She’s drawn an exquisite bird onto her pot. It has a berry in its mouth and a cocky look in its eye. “Fucking hell, that’s amazing. Is it a crow?”

“A raven,” she says, setting down the pointy metal tool she’s using for her artwork. “I plan to draw animals on all my projects, so they won’t notice that I’m not a very good potter. Oh, hey—” She reaches out and touches his wrist.

The warmth of her hand is unexpected, and he lifts his chin to meet her gaze.

Her cheeks flush, and she withdraws her hand. “I think you should brace your piece inside with some balled-up newspaper, and then use a sponge on that rough spot. If you keep going like that, you’re going to put your thumb through it.”

“Ah,” he says. “Good idea.”

“Now I have to go to work.” She starts cleaning up her station, and disappointment crashes over him. But now he remembers where else he’s seen her before. “Don’t you work at the Bowl?” Middlebury has its own ski hill. That’s partly why he came all the way to Vermont for college.

“That’s right. Two days a week. I race cross country, but I thought learning to ski downhill would be fun. I haven’t even tried it yet, because I’m freezing by the time my shift is over.”

“Ah,” he says. “Hands, feet, and face.”

She stops cleaning. “Sorry?”

“That’s how you stay warm as a lift operator. Do you have Sorel boots?”

She shakes her head.

“Then you need toe warmers. Those little packets that heat up when you expose them to the air? And wool socks. Those are just a given. Bring an extra pair of gloves to swap for the second half of your shift, because they get wet.”

Her smile is bright and unexpected. “You know a lot about this.”

“It’s the family business.”

“Operating a chairlift is the family business?”

“We own a ski mountain in Colorado.”

“Ohhh. I see. That’s glamorous.”

“Sometimes. But I put in a lot of hours working the chairlift. Somebody would call in sick, and my parents sent me right out there to cover a shift. Not so glamorous then.”

“Got it.”

Another moment passes, as both Reed and Ava just stand there, trapped inside their lingering gazes. Reed has lost the thread of the conversation, and he doesn’t mind all that much. He could stand here all day talking to her. This is the most alive he’s felt in months.

But Ava reluctantly drops his gaze, checking the time. “I’ve got to run, Reed. See you Monday? I’ll need an update on that vase.” Her smile is bashful.

“Monday,” he agrees softly. And when she finally walks away, he stares after her like a lonely hound dog.

That afternoon he buys a whole box of those toe warmers at the pro shop, and then starts counting down the hours until he can give them to her.