'How did I ever manage to get myself into this?' Sandy wondered aloud and then groaned, although no one was there to hear her. She looked down again from the top of the slope and quickly shut her eyes to block out the sight. 'Help!' she said pleadingly in barely more than a whisper with her eyes still closed. Michael? Anyone? Please, oh please... somebody help me out of this mess!' She was louder the second time, but without anyone nearby to respond - not even Michael, her best friend - it did little to resolve her present dilemma.
At thirteen, short-haired Sandy was quite tall for her age, but thin, which only gave her an appearance of greater height. At the moment, she was dressed in a colorful, thick winter jacket that had a bold bright pink and white design sweeping across a purple background. Her smooth water-repellent pants were the same purple color as her jacket - it was obviously a fashionable, co-ordinated outfit. Warm dark purple gloves covered her hands, and her attire was topped off - literally - with a purple ski hat, scarf and stylish ski goggles. If anyone had been around to see her, dressed the way she was, she would have been clearly visible from a long distance away against the almost solid white backdrop of snow surrounding her.
Sandy opened her eyes and glanced again at the sign posted near her at the top of the slope: it was a triple diamond slope, an expert-level ski run. How had she ended up there?
(line 33) She reproached herself that Michael had at least shown enough sense to get off the ski lift at an earlier opportunity to go down a more moderate slope. Absorbed by the view from near the top of the Sierra Nevada Mountain range in the Lake Tahoe area - shared between California on the she west side of the range and Nevada on the east- she had foolishly decided to ride the lift up a little further and had found herself facing this ski slope, one that was well above her slightly more than beginner-level skier abilities.
Sandy sighed deeply, tightly gripped her ski poles in her gloved hands, pointed her skis straight, and pushed back on the poles in her hands enough to cause herself to inch forward as all other avenues seemed to be closed to her. Once more than half of the length of her skis was sticking out into the air- only their back ends were still making contact with the snow at the slope's top - her balance began shifting forward, her skis followed, and she found herself rapidly picking up speed as she headed straight down the excessively challenging slope.
'How am I supposed to slow down?' Sandy shouted, but with the wind whipping by and the trees rushing past on either side of her, she could hardly hear herself. Everything she had learned about skiing in the previous two days seemed to have faded from her mind. Concentrating only on maintaining her balance, she kept her skis pointed straight downhill, which unfortunately only made her pick up more speed on the steep, icy slope.
'Simone would know how to ski expertly down this slippery slope, Sandy thought as she tried to imagine herself as Simone, international spy and heroine of the Simone LeClerc adventure series that Sandy loved to read. Coming up ahead of her, Sandy saw the ski lift which Michael had gotten off earlier. She desperately hoped she would find her friend among the skiers and snowboarders waiting there and she would be able to stop.