He couldn’t deny it any more: Lately his flatness had made him feel he just didn’t have much in common with other people. Lately, it had made him feel lonely.

      Tears froze on his eyelashes. He brushed them off to watch Arthur and the other kids weave in and out of each other’s paths, gliding gleefully down the mountain. Suddenly, though, Arthur shouted something and broke off from the group. He was heading towards the daredevil skiers!

      Stanley scrambled to his feet. ‘No, Arthur!’ he cried. ‘There are jumps!’

      Too late! Stanley watched in horror as his brother flew up in the air and then crashed in a pinwheel of skis and poles and flying mittens!

      Without a second thought, Stanley angled his body edgewise into the wind, like the blade of a knife. He ripped down the mountain at a terrifying speed, and within seconds he was at his brother’s side.

      ‘Are you all right?’ Stanley asked. He offered Arthur his hand to help him up.

      Just then a boy about Stanley’s age skidded to a stop in a spray of snow beside the brothers. ‘Don’t try to move him!’ he warned. ‘He may have a broken bone. I’ll go to get my father . . . He’s a doctor; he’s on ski patrol today!’ And then, just as suddenly, the boy took off on his snowboard again.

      Stanley bent down beside his brother. ‘Does it hurt awfully?’ he asked. ‘Do you want me to go get Mum and Dad?’