Abruptly, Edge steered them toward a wave and slowed so they could take it head-on. The bow of the trawler rose high, seemed to hang there for a moment, and then crashed down again, sending water in all directions. They’d passed two big container ships, and were aiming toward the open water between a large island and the mainland.
Then another wave hit. And another. And suddenly, they were getting close to shore—being pushed through the mouth of the harbour. Lucas could see people running along the Halifax waterfront, trying to fasten their boats with extra safety lines as huge gusts of wind blew rain at them, almost like buckets of water being thrown on their heads. The few trees they could see looked as though their branches were strips of ribbon being tossed around in the wind. And although the sun was now up, everything on shore had turned grey, like a black-and-white photograph where only people’s raincoats and the blurry yellow of car headlights had been coloured back in.
Edge struggled to hold the wheel of the boat steady.
“Everything’s soaked!” said Swift.
But Lucas already knew that. He’d just finished searching through the bag of supplies he’d packed in Riverton: the portable night light he’d borrowed from his little brother, Connor, and the jackknife he’d tucked into his sock were both dripping wet. Even his beloved journal was soaked through.
Lucas couldn’t turn a page without it ripping! On the first page, a tear had already started right down the soggy middle of his drawing of Mario Lemieux posing in his Pittsburgh Penguins jersey. Lucas had carefully put the journal away to protect his other sketches and to give it time to dry out.
Luckily, Crunch’s video camera seemed to be fine—at least, the red recording light was still on. Crunch, who’d built a camera into his backpack for recording his bike rides through the woods, had made Lucas trade bags with him just before the leap.
“I’ll stay here in case anything goes wrong,” Crunch had said. “But that doesn’t mean I want to miss out on the adventure. Make sure you RECORD EVERYTHING.”
Lucas had nodded even though he’d had no idea where they were headed or what they’d see.
“We’re almost there!” Swift now cheered, squinting through the wind and rain.
“Gnarly-ahoy!” Edge said excitedly. He looked down at his wrist, wondering if the messages he’d been sending were getting through. Had the kid’s walkie-talkie died? Had he been swallowed up by the storm?
Suddenly, Edge’s comm-band buzzed again, making all three Ice Chips jump, but the only sound that came through was static.
Just then, Swift let out a yell: “Reverse! Reverse! You’re coming in too fast!”
Edge pulled on the handle to reverse the engine. He turned the wheel—hard—and the boat started to skid sideways across the water, carried on one of those rolling waves.
The trawler slowed a little, but it wasn’t reversing.
And they were still going way too fast.
Lucas’s stomach did a somersault. He’d been watching the waves, not the harbour. And now he really was going to puke.
“Pull back, pull back!” Swift shouted. “Go around that big pier!”
She quickly turned to Captain Brannen, who seemed to be brushing a piece of lint off his uniform. He wasn’t even watching out the window! Maybe he really doesn’t care if the storm kills him?
“Top Shelf!” Edge said hurriedly, using Lucas’s nickname, just as he did when they were on the ice. “We’re going to get slammed!”
But Lucas was already one play ahead of him.
“You’re offence, I’m defence—we can do this,” he shouted as he grabbed his helmet and two large white buoys that were hanging on the wall.
Moving as quickly as he could, Lucas burst through the ship’s side door.
“Hold back as much as you can. Once these buoys are on, they’ll take the hit!” Lucas yelled as he slipped his helmet over his head to protect himself from the blinding rain.
Edge tried to straighten the boat out as fast as he could, but a wave sprayed up over its side, soaking his best friend. Lucas shook it off as he rushed to tie the two buoys to the side of the boat. His plan: the floaters would soften the blow when the boat hit against the pier—and it was definitely going to crash into that pier!
“Okay—get ready!” Swift shouted at Lucas through the storm.
One buoy was on, but he was still fumbling with the other rope.
“You’re going to have to turn to port—that’s left—hard!” Swift yelled frantically toward the helm as she rushed to Edge’s side. That’s what Coach Small always told them: if you were coming at a player and couldn’t stop, it was always better for both players if you turned your shoulder. Captain Brannen probably could have given them some real advice—some boating advice—but for some reason, he wasn’t saying a word.
Lucas finally had the rope tied to the buoy and was ready to throw it over the side like he had the first one, but without warning, Edge flipped the handle into reverse—it was too soon! The bow of the boat was now burrowing through the waves so hard that they nearly fishtailed.
Water was flying all over the place: rain and waves everywhere. Lucas lost his balance—and he still hadn’t thrown the second buoy over.
But Edge couldn’t wait any longer or they’d crash nose first. With Swift’s help, he turned the wheel hard to the left to get into position.
It was as though they were moving in slow motion but still didn’t have time to think. And then suddenly . . .
THUNK! KA-RACK!
The boat crashed sideways against the side of the pier, just as Lucas had said it should.
With an impressive jolt, it bounced off the spot where the one buoy had been placed and was tossed back into the ocean several feet, sending Lucas and the buoy he hadn’t yet secured tumbling overboard!
“LU-CAAAAS!” Swift yelled, running out to the bow of the ship.
Lucas had been standing there only a moment ago. And now all Swift could see was the spray shooting up from the waves beneath them.
“Someone help! LUCAS!” she called frantically, just as two familiar faces, dripping with rain, slowly came into focus on the pier.
Chapter 4
Riverton: A Few Days Earlier
Lucas bit down hard, yanked back, and felt his little finger sting as the top of his nail ripped away. He hoped it wouldn’t bleed. He knew he’d have to stop—his mother had promised she’d try to scrape together enough money for a better pair of hockey pants if he’d only stop biting his nails—but he couldn’t. Not now. Not even long enough to swallow his weekend breakfast of Cheerios, one scrambled egg, and a glass of milk.
This morning, the Ice Chips were playing their very first game at the reopened Riverton Community Arena.
Their rink.
Even if Lucas didn’t feel ready, he at least looked it—standing in the sun on the front stoop of his house, waiting beside his equipment.
With the tip of his sneaker, he drew three small rocks out of the garden and lined them up on the concrete slab in front of him. He turned his foot slightly, cradling one of the stones in the curve of his shoe, and aimed at a space between two small shrubs farther down the lawn, away from where his grandfather and brother, Connor, were playing.
Lucas whispered under his breath as he kicked each of the three stones at the bushes, one after another: “WE . . . WILL . . . LOSE!” One goal, two misses.
Lucas had never said that before. He’d never thought it before. But after last night’s practice, not even Coach Small could deny it: this year’s Ice Chips were terrible.
“Play hard, but have fun,” Lucas’s mom had said, wishing him luck. Then she’d climbed into the car with his father so they could run off and open the Whatsit Shop, leaving Bompa to look after Connor. Lucas had just smiled and shrugged—how could he tell them how unprepared his team was?
This wasn’t a real game—not one that counted for the hockey league. But even if it was only for exhibition, mostly to show the town how well the old
community rink had been fixed up, it was still a game.
Besides, Lucas had to count it: they were playing against the Riverton Stars, the town’s only other competitive novice team, and the Stars counted everything.
Last year, Beatrice and Jared Blitz had marked every point against the Chips on the wall of their dressing room at the old rink. But now that their team had moved into the fancy Blitz Sports Complex, built by their dad, they’d probably be counting those points on a Jumbotron!
“You kids will improve—believe me, it’ll get better,” Bompa said as he rushed past Lucas with a now diaper-less Connor tucked under his arm like a football. Connor was laughing and wiggling, pretending he was going to make a run for it. “And maybe the hockey gods will smile down on you today,” Bompa added with a kind chuckle as he pushed open the front door and went inside.
But how can it get better? Lucas wondered. So far, none of their practices had gone well. Bond couldn’t shoot, and Mouth Guard couldn’t pass. Swift’s sister, Sadie—now known as “Blades” to the Chips—was catching on quickly, but Lars Larsson, the bully, wouldn’t stop hogging the puck. And then there was Lucas himself . . .
He should have felt better than he did. He was taller and stronger after this summer’s growth spurt. But he’d started using one of his cousin Speedy’s hand-me-down sticks, which was right for his new height, and he wasn’t used to it yet. It was throwing everything off. At least, Lucas hoped that was the problem.
At their last practice, only a few of the players had done okay. Crunch put one in off the crossbar. Edge scored on a sweet deke, and Lars went five-hole. But no one else could score on Swift. Lucas came in, fumbled the puck, then tried to flip it high over Swift’s blocker—but it landed low instead. An easy save for her.
The situation was simple: they just weren’t ready.
Lucas grabbed another couple of rocks—this time with his hockey stick. Being careful not to let the blade touch the ground, he shot those through the bushes, too. This time, zero for two.
He shifted his chewing to another nail. He couldn’t wait for this day to be done. Where are they? he wondered, just as his comm-band finally buzzed.
It was Edge.
Buzzed again. It was Swift.
Buzzed again. It was Crunch.
Lucas’s teammates were just around the corner.
He took a small sliver of nail from between his teeth and tossed it into the bushes. He quickly retied one of his shoelaces and hoisted his hockey bag up onto his shoulder.
It was time.
A moment later, Edge, Swift, Crunch, and Lucas were all together, working hard to make jokes to get their spirits up.
“We’ve got this,” said Swift with a hopeful smile.
“Yeah, let’s kick some butt for that rock-a-silly rink of ours,” Edge said to Lucas, giving his best friend a little push.
Lucas knew how Edge felt: they owed it to their beloved old rink—the rink that had almost been closed down . . . but now belonged to them, and them alone.
Now we just need to own the ice, too, he thought as he and his teammates set off toward their first pre-season game against the Stars.
“What the—?” began Edge. He stopped suddenly, and Crunch walked right into him.
Lucas couldn’t say a word.
The four Chips had arrived at the old Riverton rink just in time to see a bus pull up to the front doors. The bus was brand new, and it had a huge Stars logo on the side.
“No way!” said Mouth Guard, who was just lifting his bag out of the trunk of his parents’ car. “They’ve got their own bus?”
Apparently, they did. The bus sighed to a halt, and the side door whooshed open with a burst of air. The driver hopped out and immediately pulled up the luggage door, revealing a dozen new hockey bags, each with the words “Riverton Stars” and a player’s number on it. There were dozens of high-end composite sticks, too.
The Blitz twins bounded down the stairs of the new bus. Beatrice was first. Her new jacket, track pants, and cap were all in the team’s colours—maroon, black, and gold—and all read “B. Blitz” and the number 13. Smiling at the twins, the driver reached in and yanked out the top two bags—Beatrice’s and then one with a 9, for Jared.
“Do they have to carry their own bags . . . all the way to the door?” Bond asked sarcastically, walking up to her new teammates.
The other Stars were now grabbing their bags, too, and heading toward the rink entrance. As they walked past, they paid no attention to the Ice Chips standing to the side, their own bags over their shoulders and their sticks in their hands.
Lucas and Swift stood together, burning as they listened to what Coach Blitz’s players were saying.
“They should have torn this old barn down when they had the chance!”
“I’d quit if I still had to play at this rink!”
“This place is a joke!”
“Just like the team that practises here!”
When the Stars had moved on, Swift leaned in and whispered into Lucas’s ear: “We’ll show them who practises here.”
Lucas smiled back . . . but of course, that was exactly what he was afraid of.
Chapter 5
The Zamboni doors closed. The ice was now glistening and hardening. The Ice Chips stood at one gate, flexing their legs impatiently. The Riverton Stars were at the other gate, their helmets pressed to the glass.
For a meaningless exhibition game, the tension was thick enough to cut with a skate blade.
The doors opened and the kids flooded onto the ice. First was Bond, who started with a quick stutter step—her signature move back when she played roller derby—before she bolted across the fresh, clean surface.
If she could just get a shot to go with that beautiful stride, thought Lucas, she’d really be amazing.
Blades, Edge, and Alex Stepanov, the small, Russian-speaking forward who went by “Dynamo,” were next. Swift slammed her pads hard once she made it to the crease, and Crunch and Maurice Boudreau, called “Slapper” because of his mean slapshot, bumped gloves over the red line. Then came Lars, who stepped out with his head down and a serious expression on his face, as if he was ready to play the game of his life.
Then, finally, Lucas. He was the last at the boards, as usual.
“Get a move on!” Edge yelled with a laugh in Lucas’s direction as he scooped up a puck and fired on Swift. “We need our Top-inator, our Top Shazam, our Top Shelf-a-go-go . . .”
Edge’s word babble was often endless, but it made Lucas giggle.
Letting go of some of his nervousness, Lucas smiled back, stepped onto the ice, and—WHOOOOOOOOOPS!—fell flat on his butt!
He tried to stand back up, but this time his skates slid out to each side, pitching him face-forward onto the ice.
Was this for real?
The other kids were pointing and laughing. None of the parents in the stands could figure out what was happening. Swift was the first to skate over to where Lucas was, flat on the ice.
“Whoa! Are you okay?” she asked.
“My edges are gone,” Lucas said, puzzled.
With Swift’s help, he made it back to the gate, pulled himself through, stood up, and lifted his right skate. He ran his bare thumb over the steel blade—it was as dull as a Popsicle stick.
He checked his left skate—the same.
What’s going on here?
Lucas could only assume the obvious: someone had filed the edges off his skates.
But why? And who? And . . . when?
Then he remembered: he’d had to go back into the arena’s lobby for his pre-game ritual that morning. On his way in, he’d somehow forgotten to kiss his fingers and touch the glass case with the photo of the two boys holding the championship trophy—one of his pre-game superstitions. Half-dressed, he’d hurried back out to the lobby—for only a moment—leaving his skates alone in the dressing room.
Well, not entirely alone. Lars had still been there, getting ready.
Lucas look
ed out the open gate door. Most of the players on the ice were still staring at him—except Lars, who was skating by with a guilty expression on his face.
Lars wouldn’t—would he?
“Go, but go fast,” Coach Small said as he gave Lucas a quick pat on the back.
Lucas knew his coach was talking about the sharpener’s shop in the lobby—and he knew that he had only a few minutes before the warm-up would end and the game would begin.
Luckily, the skate sharpener was able to get to work right away.
“Looks like someone ground them into the cement floor,” Mr. Johansen said sympathetically as he turned on his machine. “Took every bit of the edge right off.”
When he finally turned the spinning stone sharpener off again, Mr. Johansen checked the edges with his eye. Then he took a whetstone in his thick hands and rubbed it along the blades of both skates before handing them back to Lucas.
“You’re good to go,” he said. “Get back out there!”
Lucas still couldn’t believe it. He’d already been so concerned about his stickhandling, and now he had to worry about sabotage? From one of his own teammates?
“Gotta be the Blitz twins—they’re going down,” Edge said, suddenly appearing beside his best friend.
“Maybe,” said Lucas, hurrying into his newly sharpened skates. But there was no time to talk about Lars or the twins. The game was about to start!
The two Ice Chips made it back to the rink just as the referee was raising his whistle to his lips. A quick wave of tension ran through the arena as the shrill sound echoed off the boards. Lucas hated that feeling, but he loved it, too.
Go time.
He could see that Coach Small had called Bond, Lars, and Mouth Guard over to the bench for a chat that was now breaking up.
The coach nodded and clapped his hands as the three young players moved back onto the ice. “Think ahead out there!” he called. “You hear me, Dylan?”
Mouth Guard nodded back, blushing as he realized he was being singled out, but fully aware that he deserved it. Passing was the weakest part of his game, and he hadn’t been able to hide that from anyone—not even the bully Lars, who was smirking as he made his way toward the bench to wait his turn.
The Ice Chips and the Haunted Hurricane Page 2