Chop, Chop (Chop, Chop Series - Book 1) Read online

  “You mean who did I ask!”

  “You already asked someone?”

  He nodded.

  I was impressed. Maybe I should invite Samantha after all.

  “Who?”

  “Laci.”

  “You and Laci are going to the dance?” This didn’t surprise me; ever since the carwash it had seemed to me as if they’d been spending a lot of time together.

  “No,” he said. “She doesn’t want to go with me.”

  That did surprise me, but it also reaffirmed my decision to not ask Sam – there was too much danger of being shot down.

  “Why not?”

  “She likes somebody else.”

  “Oh,” I said, unsure what to say.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “We’re still friends.”

  “Well,” I said, sighing, “that’s a lot more than I am with Sam.”

  We left on the first day of winter break to go skiing. The lodge was supposed to look rustic, but it was the nicest place I’d ever been to in my entire life. In addition to antique powder horns and wooden sleds, huge framed black and white photos of men standing on logs with pike poles decorated the thick paneled walls of the dining room, lobby and our individual rooms. All of the bathrooms had marble floors and the deck around the pool was tile instead of concrete. On either side of the pool were two enormous hot tubs that could easily hold a dozen people each. The dining room had linen table clothes and napkins and the chandeliers were made of real elk antlers. All of the ski run names had something to do with logging, like Cold Deck, The Log Jam, and The Sluice.

  We had already eaten lunch at a fast-food place on the way up, so as soon as we dumped our stuff in our rooms we bought our lift tickets and rented skis. Everybody except for Greg had been skiing before, so Matthew and I helped him figure out how to put his ski boots on and we started walking outside.

  “It’s really hard to walk in these things,” Greg said.

  “Loosen your boot at the top and it’ll be easier,” Matthew suggested.

  “Just don’t forget to tighten it up again when you get your skis on,” I said.

  Matthew and I stepped into our skis. Matthew dropped his sunglasses onto his face and took off toward Nick and Evan who were waiting in line with their snowboards for the lift up to the Choker.

  I looked at Greg, standing there holding his skis and his poles. I really wanted to hit the slopes, but I found myself thinking about how he’d been the only one to wait for me while I had recovered from my roller coaster incident.

  “You want me to teach you?” I asked him.

  “Naw,” he said. “You don’t have to do that. My dad should be out here pretty quick and he can show me what to do.”

  “Well,” I said, “I’ll at least help you get started while you’re waiting.”

  By the time Mr. White found us, Greg could turn and stop pretty good. I said goodbye and headed off toward The Choker. When I returned to the lodge to get changed for dinner, Greg had been down The Log Jam three times and Cold Deck twice.

  “Don’t be surprised if you’re really sore tomorrow,” I told Greg. We were sitting in the hot tub. Nick and Evan and Matthew had just left to join the girls who were swimming in the pool.

  “Great,” he said, sinking deeper into the water.

  I started fiddling with the knobs on the side of the hot tub.

  “I think you’re supposed to be able to adjust the pressure of these jets,” I said, twisting one of them until it came off in my hand. “Oops.”

  “I saw this thing on TV one time where someone was trying to drown somebody in a Jacuzzi,” Greg said.

  “Should I be scared?” I asked, trying to screw the nozzle back on. He laughed.

  “Maybe. Anyway, she survived because she breathed in air from the jets while her head was underwater, but she pretended to be dead.”

  I furrowed my brow at him. “I don’t think you could really do that . . . could you?”

  A few minutes later when Laci got in the hot tub with us we were both coughing and sputtering.

  “What in the world are you two doing?” she asked.

  “Trying to see if you can survive by breathing in air from the jets underwater,” I explained.

  “You can’t,” Greg added as she sat down.

  “Here.” I handed her the nozzle and pointed to where it had come from. “Why don’t you see if you can get this thing back on . . . it fell off.”

  She twisted it right back into place.

  “That figures,” I muttered.

  “What does?” she asked.

  “Oh, just the way you act, that’s all.”

  “What are you talking about?” she said.

  “You just always act like you’re so perfect all the time.”

  “I do not!” she said. “What’s your problem? You asked me to put it back on and I did!”

  “Whatever,” I mumbled, laying my head back and closing my eyes. I opened them again just in time to see Greg holding one hand up with his fingers in a circle for Laci to see. I had noticed him giving Laci this signal before, just like I’d seen him putting his forefinger and thumb together as if he were pinching a grain of salt and holding it up for Tanner to see. Tanner would always shake his head and laugh, but when I asked Tanner what it meant, he wouldn’t tell me.

  “What’s that mean?” I asked them.

  “Nothing!” Laci said quickly.

  “Oh, come on! I won’t tell anyone. Tell me what it means.”

  “NO!” Laci said, glancing at Greg.

  “Sorry,” Greg shook his head at me.

  “Well, what about this?” I pinched my forefinger and thumb together.

  “Nope. All my hand signals are secret! You wouldn’t want me to share your secrets . . . would you?”

  “You mean ‘chop, chop’? Sure . . . knock yourself out. I’m not the one who’s turning into a long-haired, hippie-freak.”

  Laci laughed.

  “No,” he said, smiling. “I mean any kind of secrets,” and I knew he was talking about Samantha so I shut up quick.

  The rest of the kids climbed out of the pool and walked over to the hot tub.

  “Hey!” Natalie grinned. “Let’s join the Polar Bear Club!”

  Laci furrowed her brow at her. “The what?”

  “You know,” Evan said. “The Polar Bear Club!”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “You mean when people go jumping into an icy lake in the middle of winter?” Greg asked and they nodded their heads.

  “Oh yeah!” Laci replied. “I’ve seen that on TV!”

  “I’ve seen it too,” I said, “but it’s usually a bunch of old men in swim caps.”

  “Let’s do it!” Greg said. “It’ll be fun!”

  “Get back to me when I’m an old man,” I told them, but Laci and Greg were already climbing out of the hot tub and I felt another roller coaster ride coming on.

  We snuck down to the little pond that the ski resort used for making artificial snow. We were already hopping up and down in bare feet, rubbing our arms.

  “This is stupid,” I said.

  “On the count of three,” Nick said, ignoring me. “One . . . Two . . . Three!” they yelled as we all dashed forward.

  I was the only one who didn’t stop.

  It was a good thing that nobody else jumped in because the breath was absolutely sucked from my lungs and I couldn’t move. They all had to pull me out and practically carry me back to the swim complex, apologizing the whole time, promising me they’d meant to jump too and saying that they were really, really sorry. I couldn’t say anything back – my teeth were clattering so hard that I honestly thought I was going to crack a tooth. They probably thought I was being grumpy again, but if my mouth had been working properly they would have actually seen a smile.

  I was the only person I knew who was in the Polar Bear Club.

  Bolstered by my bravery (or stupidity) the night before, I screwed up the courage to try The Sluice
the next day. It was the hardest run at the resort and I was quite proud of myself by the time I made it to the bottom without falling.

  “I could do it too if I made turns that wide,” Greg said. He’d been watching me.

  “Yeah, right!”

  “I could,” he insisted. “I just don’t want to right now.”

  “I’ll bet you wouldn’t even get on the lift!”

  “Oh, I would too,” he said.

  “I’ll bet you ten dollars you won’t try it!”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yup,” I nodded. “Ten bucks.”

  He bit his lip and looked up at the top.

  “I just have to try it?” he asked. “I don’t have to actually succeed?”

  “It’ll be worth ten bucks to watch you take off your skis at the top and scoot all the way down on your butt!”

  He stuck his gloved hand out.

  “Deal,” he said, and we shook.

  I think the ride up took a lot longer than he expected because he seemed pretty nervous by the time we got off the lift. I was actually feeling a bit sorry for him as he pushed himself back and forth at the top of the hill – “warming up” is what he said. He finally adjusted his goggles and pushed himself forward, shooting straight down the hill. I knew right away that he was going way too fast.

  “Turn!” I yelled. “TURN!”

  He turned. He headed straight toward the edge of the narrow run. After that he shot through a stand of trees and soared off the edge of a rocky crag, disappearing from sight.

  Oh crap. I jammed my pole into the ski release, having to try about five times before I finally hit it right and popped my ski off. Then I stepped on the release of the other one and scrambled down the slope, falling and sliding toward where I had seen him go off. The entire way down I kept wondering how I could best alert the ski patrol, what I was going to tell his dad, and why I had goaded him into doing this.

  I spotted his red parka first. He was lying on his back, about twenty yards into the woods. His skis were gone, but his poles were still strapped to his wrists.

  He wasn’t moving.

  “Greg!” I shouted, “are you okay?”

  No response.

  Oh crap.

  “Greg!” I was close enough now to tell that his eyes were closed.

  “Oh, man . . . Greg! Greg!” I wanted to jostle him to wake him up but I was thinking about neck injuries and I knew I shouldn’t move him.

  “I gotta go get help . . .” I said under my breath, not wanting to leave him alone. I started to turn away and I thought I heard him groan.

  “Greg?”

  “David . . .” he said, so softly that I could barely hear him.

  He was alive! Thank God he was alive!

  “Greg!” I shouted. He still hadn’t opened his eyes. “You’re going to be okay! I’m going to go get help.”

  “David . . .” he whispered again.

  “What?”

  He opened his eyes, propped himself up on his elbows, and smiled at me broadly.

  “YOU owe ME ten bucks!”

  I paid Greg his ten dollars at lunch and he held up ten fingers to me every time he caught my eye for the rest of the trip.

  “What’s that mean?” Laci asked us when she saw him do it at dinner.

  “Nothing,” I said. “All his hand signals are secret, remember?”

  Greg smiled and shrugged and she walked off.

  “Don’t worry,” he said in a hushed voice. “I won’t tell anyone how scared you were.”

  “I was not scared,” I said. “I couldn’t care less what happens to you.”

  “Uh-huh,” he smiled.

  “Oh, shut-up.”

  We had one last evening of fun that night at the swim complex, racing against each other in the pool, making cannonballs, and building pyramids with the girls standing on our shoulders. I spent a lot of time in the hot tub and I decided that when I was out on my own I was going to have one in my house.

  “This has been great!” I said as we were drying off before going back to our rooms. “I hope we get to come back here next year.”

  Everyone else nodded and murmured their agreement – everyone that is except for Laci. I barely noticed, but probably I should have sensed that something else would be in store for us the next year.

  ~ ~ ~

  IT WAS THE end of February and we had each just finished saying grace. Mom jumped up and ran into the kitchen because she had forgotten to put butter on the table.

  “Hey, Mom?”

  “What?”

  “Can you watch Charlotte next weekend?”

  She came back in and put the butter down in front of Dad.

  “Why?”

  “So Mrs. White can go ice fishing with us. We need a chaperone for Laci.”

  “Just Laci?” she asked, sitting down.

  “Yeah.” Apparently nobody else thought ice fishing was going to be all that much fun. Only Greg and Laci and I had signed up to go. Mr. White had already put down a deposit for two places at Cross Lake, but if we didn’t find a female chaperone he was going to cancel the whole trip.

  “I’d love to help,” she said, “but I can’t. Friday’s a teacher workday remember?”

  “Mr. White’s taking the day off . . .” (Mr. White taught chemistry and physics at the high school . . . my mom taught math.)

  “Mr. White asked for the day off a long time ago,” she said, “and Mr. White is not leading a teacher workshop at the elementary school.”

  “Couldn’t you take her to work with you?” I asked. I really wanted to go ice fishing.

  “That won’t work,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Why not?”

  “I just told you. I’m leading a workshop on Friday and I won’t be able to do that if I’m chasing Charlotte around all day.”

  “Please . . .” I begged.

  “No,” she said. “I’m really sorry David, but it just won’t work.”

  I sighed. I was never going to get to go ice fishing.

  “I could watch her on Friday while you’re at work,” Jessica suggested.

  I loved Jessica.

  “Now that,” Mom said, “might work.”

  “Why are you laughing at me?” Laci wanted to know.

  We had just met at the church parking lot and Greg and I were wearing our winter jackets, but they were unzipped. We had on sneakers, no gloves, and no hat. Laci showed up in her ski parka, ski pants, winter boots, ear muffs, insulated gloves and a scarf.

  “We aren’t going to the Arctic!” I said.

  “But we’re going ice fishing!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed, “but we’re going to be fishing on the ice, not in it!”

  She looked at me, uncertainly.

  “Laci,” I explained, “Cross Lake is about an hour from here. It’s going to be the same temperature there that it is here.”

  “Oh,” she said, looking a little disappointed as she unwound her scarf.

  I’d been to Cross Lake plenty in the summer, but it looked a lot different in the winter. When I’d been up there with my dad or Tanner’s dad, the marina had always been full of people playing video games and pool and ordering fried onion rings or snow cones. Now it was all but empty and a sign said it was only open Friday thru Sunday. The big field to the right of the marina had always been filled with little vacant shanties during the summer. Now the field was empty and the shanties were spread out all across the frozen lake.

  The little shanties, it turns out, were called fish houses. Each one had four cots, a cook stove, a lantern, and two holes drilled for ice fishing. Outside each fish house were two more holes.

  We went to the marina to pay the balance on the fish houses and to rent fishing equipment. The fishing poles were only about two feet long. Mr. White said that they didn’t need to be as long as regular poles because there was no casting involved with ice fishing. All you did was drop your baited hook down into the water and wait for the bobber to move.


  We sat around all Friday afternoon waiting for our bobbers to move.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Greg asked his dad after a couple of hours.

  “Yes,” he said. “Sometimes they just aren’t biting.”

  “Have you been ice fishing before?” Laci asked him.

  “Oh, sure,” he nodded. “I went to college at State. We used to go to Makasoi Lake and ice fish in the winter all the time.”

  “Hey!” I told him. “My parents went to State!”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Did you guys know each other?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Your parents graduated before Greg’s mom and I got there.”

  “Oh,” I said. “That’s where Jessica’s applying to go. I’m probably going to go there too.”

  “It’s a great school,” he replied. “What do you want to major in?”

  “I don’t have any idea.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” he said. “You’ve got plenty of time. Do you know where you want to go, Laci?”

  “Probably Collens College.”

  “My mother went there,” he told her.

  “Really?” she asked, and he nodded.

  “Where’s that?” I asked, making a face.

  “About another hour north of here,” she said.

  “I’ve never even heard of it.”

  “It’s a small, women’s college,” she explained.

  “They only let small women go there?” I asked.

  “Very funny,” she said, but Greg and Mr. White laughed.

  “Where do you want to go, Greg?” Laci asked.

  “State,” he replied without hesitation. “I’m going to be an engineer and they’ve got one of the best engineering programs in the country.”

  “You want to drive a train?” I asked.

  “No,” Greg said, seriously. “Not that kind of engineer . . .”

  “I know what kind of engineer you meant,” I said. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Are you sure?” Laci asked, and I smirked at her.

  “Well,” Mr. White said, standing up. “I’m going to walk around and talk to some of the other fishermen–”