The Ice Chips and the Stolen Cup

by Roy MacGregor

  “Or that face,” Lars said, pointing at Lucas’s actual face as he swung his bag up onto his shoulder. “Lucas, you look like you’re about to explode! Either you’ve got a secret to tell or you’d better go back into that bathroom stall.”

  “They’ve got a private club,” Slapper jumped in, looking a little sad. Lately, he’d grown suspicious of the way Lucas and his friends had been sneaking around and whispering, but this was the first time he’d said anything. “What’s the big secret, anyway?”

  Swift’s and Bond’s cheeks flushed red.

  Inside Edge’s head, all he could think was, Don’t say time travel! Don’t say time travel!

  Lucas gulped, thought about Scratch and then about his inside-out underwear—his other big secret—and immediately went back to flushing.

  * * *

  “He should just get over it, don’t you think?” Bond asked her friends loudly the next afternoon, causing the school librarian to hush her for the third time.

  Edge didn’t want to get in trouble, so he just nodded back. Swift gave an uncomfortable shrug.

  “Half ice is not full ice,” the Chips’ goalie explained quietly.

  She and Edge were keeping their eyes on the librarian while Lucas set up his usual mini-sticks game between the stacks. Bond, who was a little annoyed that everything was always about Lucas, was colouring on the side of her shoe.

  Lucas had been obsessing over the Chips’ training since their win against the Orcas. And now none of his friends knew how to tell him the other news about tomorrow’s practice: that their team would be sharing the ice with the Stars. Coach Blitz’s high-end rink was getting a laser show installed to make it even fancier for the final on the weekend. So while the technical work was being done, the Stars and the Chips would share a rink like they used to.

  “No duh, half ice isn’t full ice,” Bond answered back with a smile. “But it’s still ice.” She dropped her marker and jumped to her feet. “I got this—I know what Lucas needs to hear.”

  The Chips’ centre was lying down on his stomach between the stacks with a hockey card in one hand and a button he’d borrowed off the librarian’s desk in the other. Bond watched him pull back his card and take a weak bendy shot with the button before she spoke.

  “Hey, Lucas, what if we actually did leap again? You wanna?” Bond said close to his ear. She was trying to get the words out quickly so none of the other students would hear her. “I missed seeing my dad helping at the Olympics. And Edge missed that leap, too. Let’s all make the jump. Let’s get out of here—let’s go!”

  “I’m waiting for the mini-sticks,” Lucas said, trying to see past her to where the kids’ backpacks had all been piled. Bond rolled her eyes. “When do you want to do this?” he asked, lining up another shot.

  “Tonight,” said Edge, moving in beside Bond.

  “My dad told me that all the grown-ups will be at the technical meeting tonight at the Blitz Complex,” said Swift, joining in. “That includes Quiet Dave!”

  Lately, none of the Chips had wanted to leap. Quiet Dave, the guy who looked after their rink, had been too hard to get rid of, and they’d been too busy with semifinals. They’d also been distracted with other projects: Edge had started playing basketball with his dad, Lucas had started doing little jobs at his parents’ store, and Swift had started her track-and-field training again. Swift’s doctor had made some adjustments to her prosthetic running leg, and now she was one of the fastest runners in the region.

  “Well, it depends,” said Lucas. “Who’s leaping?”

  Just a little farther down the stacks, Sebastián “Crunch” Strong and Dylan “Mouth Guard” Chung were riffling through books in the do-it-yourself section. Lucas guessed it was probably for the Fix-it Club his parents had started at their Whatsit Shop. Mouth Guard was touching everything and getting on Crunch’s nerves—even though the Chips’ math nut had his face so close to his tablet he looked like he might blow his nose in it.

  “You, Bond, and Edge are,” said Swift, twisting her mouth to the side and holding her arm out. Carefully, she slipped something from her hand into Edge’s. “Here—I made a copy of the rink keys a few weeks ago. I’ve got track practice tonight, so they’re all yours.”

  “C’mon, Lucas! Leap with us. Have a little fun,” Bond said, clapping her hands. She was speaking quickly, like she was ripping off a Band-Aid with her words. “Then you can forget that the Blitz twins will be at our practice tomorrow.”

  “THEY’LL WHAT?!” Lucas started, but he was cut off.

  “Wait—leap? Into what, a pool?? I never get what you guys are talking about anymore!”

  It was Slapper, who’d just returned with the four Montreal Canadiens mini-sticks Lucas had asked him to get from his bag. And with him was Lars.

  “Edge? Lucas?” asked Slapper, looking a little hurt.

  “Yeah, what are you guys whispering about this time?” asked Lars.

  Chapter 3

  Edge’s back tire skidded on the gravel as he and Lucas abruptly stopped their bikes in front of the Riverton Community Arena. They’d been pedalling as hard as they could—even with their equipment bags on their backs. Edge’s bike was high-end and could handle it, but the chain attached to Lucas’s rusty bike frame had given out.

  “My chain’s off,” he said, shaking his head. Up until now, their plan had gone well: they’d hidden their hockey sticks in the bushes after school, told their parents they were hanging out at Swift’s house (her sister, Blades, said she’d cover for them), and passed Quiet Dave on the road while he was making his way to the other rink.

  Now they just needed Bond.

  And maybe some tools to fix Lucas’s getaway ride.

  “Hey, I’m here!” Bond shouted as she rounded the corner into the parking lot on her skateboard. She was pushing hard with her back leg, trying to keep up her speed. “I’m here, but all I’ve got are my skates,” she said, tapping her backpack. “My parents were getting too suspicious. I had to leave my equipment behind.”

  “That’ll do,” said Edge with a smile. “Hide your bike in the bushes, Lucas. We’ll fix it after we leap back.”

  Edge didn’t want to admit it, but he’d been dreaming about this trip ever since he’d missed the last one. Travelling through time was Lucas’s escape, his place to hide when life got tough—almost like a secret clubhouse. But for Edge, it was an adventure—it was living history! Each leap helped him learn more about the roots of hockey and the players who’d helped build the game. This was history he could hear, smell, feel—and it was better than any movie, better than any game on a screen.

  “I’m still going to put on all my equipment. You?” Lucas was asking Edge as Bond pushed opened the dressing room door and nearly fell flat on her face!

  “What the—?” said Bond, in shock. “I just tripped over a . . . book?!”

  Mouth Guard was in their dressing room, sitting on the floor. He was playing with Crunch’s little model of the rink and had a dozen library books spread out in front of him: The Art of Time Travel, How to Take Apart a Small Engine, and The 10 Best Ways to Flood Your Rink.

  “It’s not me, I swear. It’s . . . Crunch,” Mouth Guard sputtered, stumbling over his words. “He picked the lock at the Zamboni entrance.”

  “Oh no,” said Edge, putting everything together.

  “Please don’t tell him I—” pleaded Mouth Guard, his neck turning red and splotchy. But it was too late. Lucas had already taken off running.

  * * *

  “What in the world are you DOING?!” Lucas was the first to yell—the first to freak out.

  By the time Edge reached the boards near the Zamboni chute, Lucas was already frozen in his tracks. His eyes were the size of hockey pucks, and his fists were clenched tight.

  “How could you?” Edge whispered, staring at the sight in front of them.

  Crunch was there at the mouth of the chute, on his knees. He had a screwdriver in one hand and a library book in the other.
And there were pieces of Scratch scattered all over the ground.

  Crunch, the Ice Chips’ amateur engineer, had taken apart their time machine!

  “How could you be such a . . . such a . . . a STINK-O-SAURUS?!” Edge barked, unable to contain his anger. Normally he hated name-calling, but he couldn’t stop himself.

  “Stink-o-saurus, eh? How do you spell that?” Crunch asked, barely looking up. He was working fast, although none of the other Chips knew what he was doing.

  “You spell it with an enormous stink cloud!” Lucas answered, crossing his arms.

  “Oh my, you’ve broken him!” said Bond, clasping her hand over her mouth.

  “Do you even know how to put all that back?” Edge asked nervously. It was as though Scratch’s robotic guts had all spilled out.

  “Sí, sí,” said Crunch. “According to the calculations I made using my model, our rusty old Scratch will soon be cleaning the ice ten times faster! Didn’t you notice he was having trouble with his turns the last time you leaped?”

  “What? No! Who cares?” said Lucas. He looked like he was going to cry.

  “What if by fixing him, you’re breaking the magic?” asked Bond, saying aloud what everyone else was thinking. “What if we can’t time-travel anymore?”

  “Wait—he’s gone? You killed him?!” asked Lucas, his eyes pleading.

  “Of course not!” exclaimed Crunch, but he didn’t sound too sure of himself.

  “There’s only one way to find out if Scratch still works,” said Edge, turning to his two leap buddies. “We’re going to have to try him out.”

  * * *

  Once the flooding machine was reassembled, Lucas pushed the orange button on the remote control, and the Chips waited.

  Pthu-pthu-pthu-pu-huzzzzzz!

  At first, Scratch wouldn’t move. And then the machine, which was only the size of a ride-on lawnmower, began sputtering and wobbling around the rink. Moving . . . but backwards?

  Phhhhriiiit-phroooo . . . Zeee-beeep! Zjjjjjjjooooop.

  Scratch quickly spun in a circle, and then kept spinning and spinning—like a dog chasing his tail or a broken amusement park ride. Steam was coming out of his engine, and he looked like he was about to spin off into the rafters.

  “THIS ISN’T GOOD!” shouted Edge, shaking his head.

  Bond couldn’t take her eyes off the little malfunctioning robot, but Lucas couldn’t look at all.

  The three would-be leapers were all standing at the open door in the boards, skates on and ready to go. That is, if time travel were still possible. Thanks to Crunch and Mouth Guard’s ridiculous fix-it scheme, this could be the end of their adventures!

  If Scratch can’t flood the ice properly, Edge was thinking, we won’t be going anywhere tonight.

  Or maybe ever.

  But Lucas had an idea.

  “Crunch! Mouth Guard!” he yelled, his eyes now open wide.

  The Chips’ fix-it guy was sitting in the stands, typing on his tablet. And Mouth Guard was walking up and down the rows of seats, counting his steps and humming to himself.

  “What if it’s the remote control that’s broken and not the flooding machine?” asked Lucas, remembering a conversation he’d overheard while helping in his parents’ store. “What if you’ve been fixing the wrong part?”

  “Impossible!” said Crunch, shifting his glasses to the top of his head. “But . . . possible. Let me see if I can use my tablet to run him.”

  Crunch pushed a few buttons and then pushed a few more, and Scratch stopped spinning. The resurfacing machine moved forwards, then backwards, stuttering a little. And then, very slowly, he started to clear the ice, as carefully as a gymnast dipping her toes on a balance beam. One half circle at a time.

  “Are you controlling him?” Bond shrieked, excited.

  “No!” said Crunch. “All I did was push the reset button.”

  Soon, Lucas and Edge were staring at that same irresistible, mirror-like surface they’d fallen in love with on their first leap. It was glistening in the overhead lights. It was magical.

  And again, it was calling them.

  “He’s working!” Lucas declared. “I’m getting on the ice!”

  Mesmerized, he stepped slowly onto that hard, clean sheet—just as Scratch stuttered.

  That’s when someone else suddenly slid into view across the rink’s centre line.

  Chapter 4

  Lucas, Edge, and Bond gasped as a girl dressed in a heavily layered old-fashioned dress smashed right into Lucas’s shoulder, knocking him off his skates. He couldn’t figure out where she’d come from. It was almost as though she’d fallen out of the sky!

  The girl had puffy sleeves and a smear of something black across her right hip—was it soot?—and her light brown hair was tied back in a soft bun. She was half-running, half-sliding across the ice. She looked terrified.

  “Whaaaa . . . whoa! Whoa!” she shouted as her carefully laced leather boots sent her sliding toward the blue line. It was as if she were running on banana peels. She had one arm out in front of her, ready to brace herself against the boards, and her other arm gripped a large silver bowl tightly to her chest.

  “Is this really happening?” Bond asked, her eyes wide in shock.

  Blinking in the brightness of the arena, the girl spun sharply to see who’d spoken . . . and fell flat on her butt.

  Her legs were splayed out before her and her soot-streaked skirt was half inside out, but she looked ready for a fight, ready to defend herself. The Chips could see that under all those layers was an exceptional athlete.

  “These strange lanterns!” the girl cried in a British accent. She was looking around as though she’d never seen rink lights before. “Where have I—”

  “Don’t be afraid,” said Lucas, skating slowly toward her. “We’re not going to hurt y—”

  “Grab her!” Crunch yelled from the stands. “We’ve got questions to ask!”

  The girl looked at Lucas, and he could see terror in her light blue eyes. Is she running from something? Or someone? Is it us?

  “Oh no! Now you want to steal this? I already told you, it belongs to my family!” the girl shouted, scrambling to her feet and clutching her bowl tighter. She was breathing heavily; she was panicked. “You can’t just . . . where on God’s green earth have I—”

  “Careful. Easy now,” said Edge, who had stepped on the ice. He, too, was skating toward her.

  “No! No! I won’t let anyone—” cried the girl as she slid away from them, backing up toward the centre line.

  “What’s she holding?” asked Bond.

  As the girl’s skirt tails crossed the red line, they seemed to fade into the reflection of the rink lights. Or become invisible? It was as though they were being pulled into the wormhole.

  A second later, the girl was feeling it, too. She looked frightened. She was fighting against the force, but she didn’t seem to be winning.

  Is she being pulled back to where she came from? Edge wondered. He was worried for her.

  “Whaaaaa—AHHHH!” she screamed, looking at the three Ice Chips. As her arms reached toward the kids for help, she let go of her precious bowl and it went flying across the ice. Her eyes grew wider as she realized what she’d done—and that’s when the kids heard a loud slurping sound. There was a flash of light as the girl was sucked completely over the rink’s red line.

  She’d vanished!

  All that was left was the silver bowl, spinning on the ice in front of the Chips.

  Spinning and spinning toward the boards!

  “Catch it! Stop it!” yelled Bond, but Edge was already diving across the ice, sliding toward the shiny silver bowl with his gloves stretched out in front of him.

  * * *

  When Lucas arrived home, he was more nervous than he’d ever been in his life. He was barely able to turn the door handle, he was shaking so badly. He’d kicked off his shoes, rushed past the dining room (where his father was cleaning up), and raced up to his bedroom as quick
ly as he could. He was desperate to stay out of his parents’ sight.

  “You’re back late. How was doing homework at Swift’s?” Lucas’s mom called over from Connor’s room, where she was reading Lucas’s little brother a story.

  “Great!” Lucas yelled back from the glowing dome that his bed sheets had become. His room was dark, but under his sheets he had a flashlight. “We learned a ton of history. Tell you tomorrow. I already brushed my teeth! Goodnight!”

  Of course, Lucas had no intention of telling his parents what had really happened: that he’d snuck into the arena, seen the dismantling of a flooding machine, been knocked flat on his butt by a girl from the past, and somehow walked home with her prized possession.

  One large silver bowl.

  Lucas was tracing the grooves around the silver object with his flashlight when Swift called.

  “Top Shelf, I asked you to read it! What does it say?” Swift yelled through her comm-band, the watch-like walkie-talkie worn by every kid on the Ice Chips team. She’d buzzed Lucas once she arrived home from her track-and-field practice, and now she was buzzing again. Lucas had already told her about Crunch taking Scratch apart, and about the girl who’d appeared and then been inhaled back into the past like dust into a vacuum cleaner. (Did that wormhole really take her home?)

  “Dominion . . . Hockey . . . Challenge Cup,” Lucas read carefully. “It looks like some kind of award or a prize. Or I guess it could be even be a flowerpot.”

  “Do you think it’s valuable?” Swift asked, feeling sad that she’d missed all the action. “If it’s not, you could probably just recycle it with that chain Crunch pulled off your bike. Or drop it off at the Salvation Army. We can’t give it back, can we?”

  “Crunch forced me to take a new chain from his ‘fix-it’ supplies—otherwise, I’d have kept the old one,” said Lucas, offended.

  He and Edge were mad at Crunch, but they’d still needed his help to get home. Outside the arena, Crunch and his screwdriver had done wonders on Lucas’s bike (yet another item inherited from Lucas’s cousin Speedy). That’s where they’d come up with their plan to hide the silver bowl from Quiet Dave, their parents, and the rest of the Chips until they could figure out how to send it back into the past.