The fans were cheering—no, roaring—more than they had for any other jumper. Some people were even laughing. Eddie wasn’t likely to win—most of his training had been without a coach or the right equipment—but he’d definitely caught the attention of the crowd.
Being smaller than most of the people who had gathered, the Chips and Badgers found they could duck down and wriggle through the legs and heavy winter coats to work their way to the front, where some orange mesh fencing marked off the landing area.
“You know, my cousin Doug plays in the NHL—for the Vancouver Canucks,” Chicken said, almost to herself. She had her hands resting on the top of the fence and was keeping her eyes on Eddie. He was standing again, giving another excited wave to the crowd. “Doug says you have to work really hard to get there.”
“And you have to want it,” added Blades, as if she knew what she was talking about.
Swift’s cheeks turned red. Slowly, she opened one eye. Then the other.
“Are you saying I don’t work hard enough?” she asked her sister, her face flushed.
“No—no. Not at all!” Blades shook her head. What she was trying to say wasn’t coming out right.
At the top of the jump, Eddie slid down his bench. He checked his bindings one at a time.
“You work hard. Everyone can see that in your game,” Chicken said with a smile.
“But if you want to play hockey at a higher level, you have to be ready to fight for it—the way Eddie up there fought to be here,” said Blades. “And the way Chicken fights to play on a boys’ team, even with jerks like Blitz around.”
“I’ve grown up playing with the boys,” said Chicken. “You have to have a thick skin if you’re going to play hockey, and you can’t always choose who’s on the ice with you.”
She looked over at Blades, and suddenly Swift knew exactly where they were taking this.
Beatrice. That’s what this is about.
“You told her about the girls’ team!” Swift said. She was a bit angry, but also a bit relieved. She’d been afraid to talk to Chicken about the decision she was facing—but at the same time, she’d really wanted to know what her new friend thought.
“If you love hockey, play hockey,” said Chicken. “On a boys’ team, on a girls’ team—who cares?”
“Exactly!” added Blades, her eyes on the top of the ski jump. “You just have to play, Swift. Hockey is your game.”
Eddie the Eagle was pulling his goggles down over his eyes. He was vibrating with energy, almost twitching, and he was rising to his feet. The crowd gasped as he suddenly pushed off with his arms behind him. He’d let go! The British skier went flying down the snowy trail with a long swiiiiiish, and a moment later, the jump had launched him toward the clouds.
Eddie, who’d fought for his Olympic dream no matter how many people told him to quit, was flying.
He looks a little like a Canada goose, Swift thought, not even realizing that she was watching, unafraid, her eyes wide open. But he looks like a happy one.
When Eddie landed, slightly off balance but on both skis, the onlookers erupted into wild cheers. The unlikely athlete was full of smiles as he skated toward them, flipped off his bindings, and raised his skis above his head with pride.
“Ed-die! Ed-die!” Ace and Butter began shouting, and the chant quickly swept through the crowd. Everyone was saying it. Everyone was feeling Eddie’s moment.
No gold medal, but no broken legs either. He’d done it!
He’d competed in the Olympics!
Blades spoke loudly into Swift’s ear with a lump in her throat. “If you let bratty little Beatrice Blitz stop you this easily, you’ll never reach your dreams.”
Swift looked at her sister and then back at Eddie the Eagle, who was now just a few feet away . . .
Just in time to see him wink in her direction.
Chapter 12
“DID I HEAR SOMEONE SAY ‘BLITZ’?”
The voice that had just broken through the cheering was one the Ice Chips knew far too well.
There was no question: this had to be Henry Blitz, coach of the Riverton Stars and owner of the Blitz Sports Complex, back when he was just ten years old. But how? And why?
Blitz most definitely wasn’t a hero to any of the Ice Chips. Probably not even to some of the Stars.
But who else could be such a jerk on the ice? Who else had this big an ego?
“We weren’t talking about you,” Swift said truthfully, eyeing Blitz’s crooked grin and his puffed-out chest. The applause of the crowd had died down a bit as another ski jumper—one who wouldn’t win and wasn’t as much of a lovable underdog as Eddie—was preparing to go.
“Sure you were,” said Blitz with an annoying grin.
Lucas shook his head and Blades rolled her eyes.
“Aww, sweetie, were you scared for little Eddie, the ski jumper?” Blitz asked in a baby voice, looking straight at Swift. Behind him, Small was standing there in his very 1980s haircut—Is that what they called a mullet?—shaking his head. He had a silver medal around his neck, and another one in his hand.
“Not . . . really,” Swift answered, but she’d missed a beat and Blitz could guess why.
“You’re not afraid of heights, are you? Don’t tell me you’re . . . chicken?!” Blitz asked, laughing. He wasn’t just playing the bully—he was acting like the kind you’d see in a movie. He was trying so hard that Lucas almost burst out laughing.
“No, I’m Chicken,” corrected Chicken, making a motion toward Small’s hand. “Are you afraid to wear your medal or something?”
“Not afraid to wear it,” said Blitz. “Don’t need it. I’m a gold-medal player. We all know you girls cheated me out of that today.”
“You could at least carry it,” Small complained to Blitz in a tiny voice, holding out the silver medal. “Keep it and put it in a drawer at home. You don’t even have to look at it.”
“Nah, it’s worthless. Give it to the cheaters,” Blitz nearly spat as the crowd suddenly erupted into cheers. Eddie the Eagle might have won the hearts of the crowd, but the ski jumper from Finland, Matti Nykänen, had just landed his third gold medal!
“Wait, I don’t get it. How did we cheat you?” Swift asked.
“Well, Purple Laces, you’re not supposed to be here,” said Blitz, trying to stand his ground against a wave of exiting fans.
For a second, Swift wondered if Blitz somehow knew that she and her friends were time travellers whose home was in the future. But then she figured it out: he meant girls weren’t supposed to be here.
“You’re cheating. Hockey’s for boys—and silver’s for losers,” Blitz hissed. He reached out as though to take the medal from Small’s hands, but then he batted it to the ground instead.
“If we have to buck the system to play,” said Chicken, crossing her arms, “maybe the system is wrong.”
“It’s not our fault you can’t beat us,” said Ace.
“Oh, yeah? I can’t beat you?” Blitz asked loudly, stepping forward and puffing his chest out even more. “We’ll see about that.”
Butter quickly moved in closer to Ace, and Chicken did the same.
Lucas swallowed hard.
Is Henry Blitz going to fight us?!
Chapter 13
“The timing has to be just right,” Chicken whispered. She was crouched behind an Olympic banner that had been hung on one of the fences. “I still think this is a bad idea, but if you have to do it, you’d better do it properly.”
“This seemed like a better idea than fighting each other,” said Lucas, raising an eyebrow. Blitz had given them a choice between a fight and a dare. And Lucas had chosen the dare, since he hated fighting—both on and off the ice.
The bully, of course, was delighted.
Now, instead of brawling with Blitz (and his teammates? Would Small really have done it?), the three Ice Chips were about to act out Swift’s scariest nightmare ever.
They weren’t just taking the elevator down from the
ski jump, as they’d done when they first landed; this time, they were making their way to the top!
Once the Chips had accepted the dare, they’d slipped off their Badgers jerseys, handed them back to Chicken, and pulled their Ice Chips ones over their heads. They’d also given Ace and Butter the three gold medals they’d won.
“For when your teammates get over their food poisoning,” Lucas had said, feeling proud that they’d got to be part of the Badgers’ gold-medal win.
“I’d go up with you, but the Desmonds are expecting me for dinner,” said Chicken apologetically. She was carefully lifting the bottom of the fence for Lucas, trying not to look suspicious. Blades, who’d already gone under it, had just buzzed his comm-band to say the coast was clear all the way to the chairlift—their only way back to the elevator.
“I wish you could come,” Swift said with a smile, knocking Chicken gently with her elbow as they watched Lucas scurry across the snow on his hands and knees. “But I get it. You wouldn’t want to miss your last night on that awesome rink under the stars.”
“Ditto. But I can’t miss that rink. Tomorrow I’ll be back in Saskatchewan, and you’ll be home, too . . .” Chicken said shyly. Butter and Ace had already gone back to the houses where they were staying so they could pack.
“Right, going home . . .” Swift answered, but she had no idea if that was true.
“Promise me you’ll give that girls’ team a chance when you get there, okay?” Chicken asked with a little smile.
“You mean play, even if it’s hard?” asked Swift. She couldn’t stop thinking about that team, about how Lucas’s mom had called it “a great opportunity,” and about how she’d been letting Beatrice Blitz ruin it.
“Especially if it’s hard,” said Chicken, her smile widening. “Remember: keep it simple, stupid.”
“I will, stupid,” Swift said with a giggle as her comm-band buzzed twice—the others telling her it was her turn to go.
“Pinky swear, okay?” Chicken said, holding out her little finger so Swift could wrap hers around it in a mini handshake.
“Girls’ hockey will get better in a few years. I mean, it will . . . exist. I’m sure of it,” Swift said awkwardly as she gave Chicken a quick hug and slipped away under the fence.
* * *
“It’s going to be dark soon,” Lucas said, pointing toward the sky, which had turned a yellowish orange. The wind had become colder, too. The three Ice Chips were hiding behind some bales of hay, watching the metal lift sweep up the hill in front of them, one chair after another clinking by.
“I’m going to miss her,” said Swift. She knew she’d never forget Chicken—the girl with the invisible puck.
“Me, too,” said Lucas.
“Guys,” said Blades, peeking around the hay. “The man running the chairlift has gone to get his picture taken with Eddie. And he’s left the lift running . . .”
“Great, so when do we—” Swift started to ask, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.
“The chairs go through the bottom of the lift every seven seconds or so,” said Lucas, checking his comm-band. “I’ve been timing them.”
“Do we go now?” Blades demanded, poking her head over her bale of hay for another look. “He’ll come back.”
“No,” said Lucas nervously. “Okay—WE GO NOW!”
The chair dipped slightly as it pressed into the backs of the three Ice Chips’ legs and they sat down. It was sweeping them off their feet.
“Blitz is still down there, watching us,” Blades said. She turned around as their chair rose into the air. “What a jerk-a-doodle!” Another one of Edge’s made-up words. (If he ever did play-by-plays, he’d obviously be amazing.)
“Look at him,” Lucas laughed, leaning over the bar of the chair and looking back down the hill toward the thinning crowd. “Blitz thinks he’s winning—thinks we’re scared.”
“I am scared,” Swift said, her voice shaking.
The moment Blitz had suggested the dare, Lucas jumped on it. It made sense: each time they’d leaped, they had to go back the way they came in order to find their way home. Lucas was now sure of it. Somewhere up there, high above the crowd, a wormhole was waiting for them.
As the chair rose higher and higher, Blades couldn’t get over the view. The sunset was turning pink and purple, and lights were popping on all over the Olympic Park, making it look like a snowy fairy land—a place where magic happens.
“I’m sorry we didn’t get to meet your hero,” Swift said to her sister, shifting her weight to the right. With her bag beside her and her wrist aching, she was finding it hard to get comfortable.
“Nica,” said Blades, trying to avoid eye contact, “you are my hero. I don’t always like to admit it, but it’s true.”
“I’m what?” Swift asked, shocked, as Lucas let out a little giggle.
“Everyone said you should play sledge hockey because of your leg when we were little,” said Blades. “That was cool, but you wanted to play standing hockey instead—and you did it. You trained and you worked and you got good. I mean, you got really, really good at it.”
“You’re probably the best player on our team,” Lucas whispered, blushing.
“You have talent, but you also have heart, like Eddie,” Blades continued. “You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
“And like Chicken said, you can’t let Beatrice stop you,” Lucas added, reaching into his backpack. “I found something on the ground that should remind you of that.”
“Silver?” asked Swift, laughing when she saw it. “Isn’t that for losers?”
“It’s to remind you to keep trying. Not to let anything stop you—not even a Blitz,” said Lucas, placing the medal in Swift’s hand.
“I’ll treasure it,” she said, giggling. She wrapped her fingers around the ribbon—at the very same moment their chair started to rock . . .
With a rusty, creepy, grinding sound, the chair swung violently to the right, then to the left, spilling the silver disc out of Swift’s hands and over the edge of the chairlift.
“Nooo!” Blades and Lucas both yelled.
But the Ice Chips’ goalie, acting on instinct, had already gone after it.
* * *
“HELP ME!” Swift yelled with panic in her eyes. She’d caught the medal in one hand and was desperately dangling from the chairlift bar with the other.
“Hold on!” Blades gasped as the chair swung in the other direction, creaking like it was about to fall.
“Blades, she’s slipping!” Lucas called.
Swift was holding on with only the tips of her fingers . . . when Blades suddenly caught her by the arm.
Blades could see the fear in her sister’s eyes: she couldn’t grip back—her wrist was too hurt.
“Give me your other hand!” Blades yelled. Lucas reached for Swift, too, but the chair suddenly swung back again—creaking, threatening—and tossed him toward her sister instead. Now Lucas was holding Blades and Blades was holding Swift, whose entire body was dangling from the chairlift, far above the snow and lights.
“Can we fall into the snow from here?” Lucas asked, freaking out. “Do you think she could drop?”
But Blades had another idea.
“What if we just rock it more—rock her back up? Swing the chair so she can get her leg up onto it, then you can grab her around the middle?”
Lucas thought it was risky, but he didn’t have another plan.
“Okay—on three,” he said, securing a hand on one of the bars and the other on Blades’s arm.
“One,” said Blades, rocking the chair as hard as she could to the left without letting go of her sister’s hand.
“Two,” said Lucas, making it swing the other way—so far that Swift’s leg could almost reach it.
“Three!” Blades, Swift, and Lucas all shouted at the same time as the chair swung back again.
That’s when they heard the top of the chair—the part where the metal wheel meets the metal wire�
��unhooking, screeching, moaning . . .
Suddenly, it was as though the floor had been pulled out from under them.
And they were falling!
Chapter 14
Riverton
Blitz’s silver medal was the first thing to hit the ice. It appeared, as though out of nowhere, skidding across the red line of the Riverton rink, and hit the boards with a clack. Next came Swift and her teammates, followed by their bags and sticks. Lucas and Swift were aware they’d just come across the centre line on Scratch’s perfect sheet of ice—they knew how it worked by now—but at the same time, they could swear they’d just fallen out of the sky.
It had all happened in slow motion.
The chair on the ski lift in Calgary had tipped one final dramatic time; it had creaked and stuttered as it tilted. The supporting bar had become unfastened. They’d dropped about a foot with a quick jolt. And then, one by one, the Chips had lost their grip . . . they’d let go.
Falling—Swift first, then the others—they’d watched in horror as they sped through the cold, twilight-filled air toward the hard-packed snow beneath them.
The fairy lights had grown brighter and brighter, and were soon bleeding into each other—almost glowing.
And then the feeling of falling had given way to floating.
Instead of being dropped, they felt more as though they’d been launched.
Like Eddie.
Like an eagle, pushing off and taking flight.
And when the lights had unblurred themselves and separated, they’d become the reflection of the rink lights in Scratch’s perfect flood.
Miraculously, nothing was broken, nothing hurt—except for Swift’s throbbing wrist.
The Chips were still breathing heavily as they dusted themselves off and changed out of their equipment. A moment later, they were already headed for the WhatsIt Shop.
The Ice Chips and the Invisible Puck Page 6
