Free The Big Dip by Melanie Jackson

Chapter One
    It was coming up—the big dip.
    The cars rattled to the crest of the rickety roller coaster. Usually Skip and I got the first seat. But tonight a grizzled old man had dodged in ahead of us. As the train creaked higher, the old man twisted around to grin at us. One eyelid, missing its eyeball, was squinted almost shut. With his working eye he studied me.
    â€œI know you. You’re that speedy feller, Mojo Lumby!” the old man exclaimed with a loud cackle.
    It was true. I’d nailed the regional and the provincial track championships. The Vancouver Sun had done a story on me just last week. Joe Lumby, Age 15: On the Track, Just Call Him Mojo , the headline said. There had been photos of me zooming around the school field.
    The old guy probably recognized me from the photos. “Yeah, well,” I shrugged. I hoped he wasn’t going to ask me about my times, not with the big dip coming up.
    Besides, the name Mojo was a sore point with me. I was fast on my feet, all right. For me, running was everything. I was almost always training or at meets. The downside was, my grades were tanking. While everyone else got to go away for the summer, I was stuck in Vancouver taking a math course. There was no mojo, no luck, about that.
    But for now, I didn’t care. The train was edging over the crest. It crashed down the big dip.
    At fifty years old, the roller coaster at Vancouver’s Pacific National Exhibition is the only wooden one left in Canada. It’s also one of the few anywhere that just has dinky metal bars. Most roller coasters have shoulder clamps to hold you in. When you drop in this one, you lurch over the metal bars.
    Skip and I leaned forward so we could stretch over the bars. In a whirl of blue sky and rushing air, we lunged, our hands reaching to the tracks.
    We always did this. It was as if we were the ride, not the riders.
    â€œStay still, you idiots!” screeched a woman behind us.
    We ignored her. There were shrieks of laughter, and somebody popped the tab off a soda can. I thought that was weird— breaking out refreshments as you plunged down the big dip.
    In front of us, the old man leaned forward too. I thought it was cool, being that old and still into roller coasters. On the other hand, I hoped the excitement didn’t give him a heart attack.
    Slam! The train hit the valley. Skip and I sat back and high-fived each other. Nothing beat the big dip.
    The train zoomed up the next hill. The PNE coaster is engine-powered only up to the first big dip. After that, it spools around the twists and turns on its own momentum. Roller coaster nuts from all over the world come here to ride the coaster because it’s such a museum piece.
    I decided that the old guy in front must be one of those nuts. He was still leaning forward, ready to catch the next dip.
    I forgot about the old guy as Skip and I lunged again. Whoa! The grounds of the PNE, with their bright rides and concession stands, swirled around us. The merry-go-round was upside down. And there was the Ferris wheel, spinning straight at us…
    Seconds later, or so it seemed, the train sputtered to a stop. Skip scrambled onto the platform. He helped out the passenger behind us, a stocky woman with a large boxy purse.
    The old guy in the first seat was still leaning forward.
    â€œHey, buddy,” I said. “Ride’s over.”
    He didn’t reply—didn’t move.
    â€œC’mon, Joe,” Skip called from the platform. “Let’s get outta here. We need our junk-food ration for the day!”
    The old man moaned. Maybe he did have a heart attack, I thought, alarmed.
    I touched his shoulder. “Hey, buddy…”
    He straightened up, gasping. His lean face was as gray as concrete. He tried to clutch my arms, but he was too weak. His hands slipped to the sides of my jacket and clenched the fabric.
    The stocky woman pushed Skip aside. “I’m a nurse,” she said. “Let