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Boy Wonder (Cont.)

WHEN GROWN-UPS, in particular coaches and national- team organizers, talk about Roger, their voices get high and excited, sort of like his. They talk about the Olympics and sponsorships and careers. They say that snowboarding is the hottest sport in America, and that whoever turns out to be the hottest kid in the hottest sport—well, that kid is going to be very hot indeed.

He's a maniac on the hill. He never gets tired and HE NEVER WANTS TO QUIT," says former coach Kyle Frankland. "He won't eat, he won't drink, he'll just keep making turns."

They talk about Shaun White, that freckly 16-year-old Californian who reportedly earned close to a million dollars last year, along with two automobiles he wasn't old enough to drive. They talk about Roger and they use phrases like "a younger Shaun" and "cross-marketing" and "magazine kid." They say all those things while at the same time pointing out the dozens of roadblocks that stand between any 12-year-old and greatness. Roger, they say, is one of a handful of promising snowboarders, the majority of whom, if history is any guide, are as famous at this precise moment as they will ever be.

But in the end, they believe in Roger. The scope of his accomplishments, his foundling status, his blue-collar background, the kismet of his last name—all of it tells them that this isn't about talent or potential, it's about destiny. These grown-ups, like all grown-ups, hold in their hearts the idea of the Wonder Boy, and they want Roger Carver to be that boy. (The deeper truth is, we want to be that boy, and this is the closest we'll come.)

But ask Roger about the future and his eyes rake the ground. He says something like, "I want to go into the Coast Guard, you know, so I can drive boats."

What else?

"Getting a new four-wheeler would be cool. Or winning a truck."

What else?

He thinks. A game board of lines forms on his brow.

"I want new tires for our four-wheeler trailer. So I can haul my stuff and friends around. You know, to do things."

That's it?

He thinks.

"That's it."

Roger may be 12, but he knows that being the Wonder Boy is a complicated job. He knows this partly through his parents, self-sufficient and resolutely undreamy people whose voices do not get excited when they talk about their son's snowboarding future. But mostly he knows it through experience. He knows how sneakily the forces of destiny operate, how they slip invisibly into your blood, how they can catch you by surprise.

"I really don't know why I'm good at snowboarding," he says. "It's just luck, I guess. I mean, I just got into it, and then here I am." He laughs, an incredulous chirp. "Roger Carver.

"I know my life is my real life," he continues. "I know I'm not living a ghost life, but still, sometimes it feels weird. I mean, who am I? Sometimes I think about it and it's like, how can that be? To go from that life to this." He shakes his head. "The odds must be one in a million—no, make that a billion. One in a billion."

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