I had been looking forward to this ski club trip for months. It was supposed to be a romantic opportunity for us. For room assignments our high school ski club chaperones had paired the boys with boys, and girls with girls in the slopeside hotel, but everyone expected we would shuffle the assignments to get boyfriends and girlfriends together. Even the chaperones expected it, as well as the alcohol that would be consumed. My boyfriend Tommy and I were skiing together when he announced that he needed to go back to his room for something he needed. I took one extra ride down the mountain without him and then decided to surprise him back in the room so we could make love. When I arrived at his room there was a sock on the doorknob and the sounds of sex coming from inside. I recognized his voice and freaked out, bursting into the room. The image burned onto the back of my eyelids: Tommy’s hips, rising and falling. His sister Zoe’s perfect, swaying breasts. Their mouths fused together.

In the resort’s lounge area next to the huge fireplace I tried to gather my thoughts. The hot toddy’s warmth is a lie. It doesn’t touch the cold, hard knot of fury in my gut. Pissed off? That’s too small a word. I am incandescent with rage. I don’t cry. I plot. In my mind I go through a list of ski club members who were there in Aspen. Ideally, my revenge would involve one of Tommy’s closest friends, but those guys weren’t on the ski club. What about a girl? I’d been tempted to explore in that direction anyway, would this be the right time? No, too complicated; the seduction likely not fast enough for what I wanted.

By the third drink, the plan has crystallized, dark and perfect. Keeping it in the family like Tommy had done. A truly even score. My moral compass, always a bit wobbly, finally spins off its axis and shatters. The thought of my brother, Alec ... the way his eyes sometimes linger a second too long when I’m in a bikini ... it’s not disgust I feel now. It’s potential.

My fingers are steady as I dial. He answers, wind noise whipping around his gondola.

“Look, big brother,” I say, my voice clear, cold, and devoid of anything but intent. “I know that you’ve been perving on me for years. If you want me, come to room 212 right now.”

I hang up. No room for questions. Power, for the first time today, trickles back into my veins.

In the room, I shed my clothes, each layer feeling like a shedding of the old, betrayed Becky. I slide under the cool sheets, naked, my heart hammering against my ribs. This is madness. This is justice.