The car was moving on its own, now. Most of the Owls had already let go as Mrs. Vanderhoof began gathering speed, the tires holding fairly well on the flat stretch.

“Go!” Nish called as he gave one last mighty push.

Travis was the last of them still hanging onto the car. He knew he, too, should push off. But he had to see what “hitching” felt like. He dropped down into a crouch, and grasped the bumper firmly.

He felt the ground rush under his feet; he was sliding along behind the car as if on air.

No wonder his father had compared it to waterskiing! Travis giggled as he felt the ice cobble of the road tickling the bottoms of his feet through his boot-soles. He was slipping along faster, now, the ground moving under him quickly and smoothly.

“TRAAA-VISSS! WHAT’RE YOU DOING?”

Travis giggled at the challenge in Nish’s voice, the near anger. For once, Travis was the one misbehaving and Nish was acting sensibly.

He let go again with his right hand and waved.

Mrs. Vanderhoof slowed for the turn into her parking lot, and Travis dug hard, using the edges of his winter boots against the ice. The moment he felt them bite, he let go and flew on down the street, while Mrs. Vanderhoof, completely unaware that she had had a “hitcher,” headed back into the safety of her parking lot.

Travis slid and slid, turning gracefully in his crouch as he travelled towards a waiting snowbank. He could hear the rest of the Owls, shouting and screaming as they chased after him.

“Traaaaa-visssss!”

“YAY, TRAA-VISS!”

There was no disapproval in Data’s voice, or Andy’s, or Jesse’s, or even Sarah’s. He could hear them all, running after him, as thrilled as he was by his father’s old game of “hitching.”

Nish was one of the first to reach Travis. Unlike the others, he seemed almost angry.

“What’re you doing?”

“Hitching.”

“What?”

“Hitching,” Travis repeated.

“What’s that?”

“My dad used to do it in the days before they salted and sanded the streets. He and his friends used to travel all over town that way.”

“They did?” squealed Jenny. “Neat!”

“Awesome,” said Simon.

“Some people do it on the country roads in Sweden,” said Lars. “But it’s against the law.”

“It probably is here, too,” said Travis. “Besides, you can’t do it once the streets are salted. Your feet would catch and you’d go down face first.”

“Sounds dangerous,” said Sarah.

“Sounds fun,” said Andy.

“Sounds stupid,” said Nish.

“You’re just jealous ’cause you weren’t first,” said Data, matter-of-factly.

No one else said anything. They all knew Data was right.

“Let’s go hitching!” shouted Wilson.

“Yeah!”

“There’s no other cars out,” said Nish in a voice that would dampen spirits at a birthday party.

“Yes there is!” said Andy. “There goes one!”

There was indeed another car out, crawling slowly along the next street. It, too, had just a small spyhole cleared through the snow on the windshield, and another small hole on the window of the driver’s side. Apart from that, the driver might as well have been in an army tank.

Before Travis could stop them, half of the Owls had broken away in a slipping, sliding run for the nearest intersection, where they waited for the car to ease down into a half stop and then “walk” through the turn onto River Street.

Andy was first to chase after the car and dip down to hitch onto the back bumper. Nish was second. The driver, his wing mirror caked in snow, his rear window buried, had no idea that they were there. They held tight, and the car swooshed them away over the frozen road.

The car turned again at Cedar Street, and both Andy and Nish let go, yelling and screaming as they used the turn to launch themselves off in a long, spinning freestyle ride farther down River Street. The others chased along, thrilled with their new game.

Travis felt a sudden burst of guilt. What if his father saw them? What if something happened?

But what could happen? The roads were smooth with ice, the banks were soft, enough snow had fallen to pad any falls, and the cars were barely creeping along.

 

They played past dark. They set up a system where a couple of Owls would struggle up the sliding hill by the school and spot cars daring to chance the slippery streets. A call that one was coming along Cedar would send a pack of Owls to the intersection, where they could hide until the driver–keeping his eyes fixed warily on the road ahead–had almost passed. Then they would scurry out, grab the bumper, and away. A call that a car was coming up River would send them in another direction.

“Cedar!” Andy called out from the hill.

Andy was doing hill duty with Travis, and in the sweep of headlights as the car turned onto Cedar and headed for the intersection, Travis could see Owls scurrying. Data with his head down, Nish jumping and rolling behind cover.

Nish wasn’t complaining now, Travis thought. Of course by now, Nish would believe he had invented the game. Soon he’d be claiming a “New World Record” for hanging on to bumpers.

The car slowed, and Nish and Data slipped out, grabbed the bumper, and were away down the street.

Travis was looking ahead of them up River. Headlights were approaching, bouncing from one bank to the other.

Another car was coming. And this one was out of control!

“River!” he shouted.

Andy immediately saw the danger.

“They better ditch!” Andy shouted.

“DITCH!” Travis yelled.

“BAIL OUT! BAIL OUT!” Andy called, cupping his hands around his mouth.

But it was no use; they couldn’t hear.

The car was coming too fast! It slipped from side to side, the headlights running up the nearest snowbank and splashing out for a moment over the schoolyard and up the hill to Travis and Andy.

Travis began running down the hill, slipping and calling at the same time.

“NISHHHHHH!” he called. “DITCH!”

The driver pulling the two “hitchers” swung to avoid the fishtailing vehicle, and his quick yank of the steering wheel sent the rear of his car sliding out over the centre of the road.

With the sudden movement Data lost his grip. He flew out across the road, rolling, with Nish hurtling right behind him.

“DAAAA-TA!” Travis called.

Travis and Andy watched helplessly as a terrible scene unfolded below them. Both cars jammed on their brakes, the wheels locking and sliding, hopelessly, on the ice. Data and Nish seemed to float at first, still unaware of the danger they were flying into. And then Data raised his arms to cover his face.

There was no crash, no screaming, no crunching of metal or glass or, for that matter, bones.

Just a whumphhhh! The sound of a pillow swung against a wall.

Not even a cry.

And a second later, another soft thud, the sound of Nish hitting next, farther down the side.

Then the sound of one car going up on the bank, the snow and ice crunching it to a halt. The sound of the other car finally catching, the wheels coming to a halt.

And the sound of Travis’s own voice, screaming, “nnnnoooooooooooo!!”