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Show All the Variables & Other Love Stories 55 Fifty Dollar Legs Zach Hutson brought his skis parallel, leaned on his good knee, and slid to a sideways stop at the hom-crest. The sun rained above him; at 13,000 feet it seemed close enough to touch. Cara came through the incline hard and slid likewise at his thigh. He breathed hard a visible stream. Clouds rose porous white from his nose and mouth. All the valley lay before him in an amber glaze, the hotels and condos and lifts and shops. He listened to Cara pant in bursts over his shoulder and knew she was winded. He was relieved; he had grown accustomed to girls being smarter than he but wasn't ready to be out skied by one. He had torn a meniscus tendon in a football injury two summers ago that kept him off the slopes last year. There were several points throughout the day he was certain Cara would outlast him. His leg ached and his lungs burned. Before Cara could catch her breath he said he was ready for the last descent and asked if she wanted to go up one more time or call it a day. She reluctantly submitted. Zach beat her off the crest, clenched down his thighs to keep his skis hard straight, and drew aline on the Hotel Saint Bernard. Cara passed him halfway down but his knee hurt too brutally for him to care. When he stopped it buckled and shook and nearly collapsed. Skiers crouched beneath great domed umbrellas on the patio nursing cocoa and frankfurters. Other tourists lounged at the sidebar over steins of frothy beer. Zach joined Cara and all four of their parents at a table near the stairs. He took off his goggles, stunned by the double brilliance of sunshine-from the sky and also reflected up from the |