Free The Big Dip by Melanie Jackson Page A

me have a look at him.”
    Her face shoved up to mine. Her teeth, small and pointy, looked out of place in her large square face.
    â€œI’m a nurse,” she repeated.
    I started to move out of the way.
    But the old man kept clutching my jacket. His lips were twitching. He wanted to speak.
    I leaned closer, blocking the stocky woman.
    The old man whispered, “A plant…the Margaret rose…Get it to the police…”
    He slumped sideways. His single eye stared up at me, unblinking.
    And unseeing.
    He was dead.
    By now the next train had rolled in behind us. An attendant hurried over to see what the delay was. “C’mon,” he urged, glancing at the people waiting to get on. “Gotta move!”
    Then he saw the old man. “Jeez,” the attendant said, turning pale.
    â€œHe must’ve had a heart attack,” I said. I was thinking of how the old guy had stretched forward for every dip. I had assumed he was doing it for fun.
    The attendant unclipped a cell phone from his belt and started barking into it about an emergency. His voice broke partway through.
    The passengers from our train and from the train behind us crowded around. There were some gasps, but nobody said anything. They just stared.
    I realized I was still holding the old man’s shoulder. I let go.
    The sides of his jacket fell back. That’s when I saw it.
    The small black hole at the back of his neck. Blood spread from it like a red scarf.
    â€œNot a heart attack,” I breathed. “ This guy was shot. ”

Chapter Two
    That popping sound I’d heard on the roller coaster—it hadn’t been someone opening a can. It had been a bullet.
    Skip’s eyes widened. The terror in them mirrored mine. I could tell he was having the same thought. While we were leaning over the bar, the bullet had skimmed right over our heads.
    People around us were screaming. They started running away, shoving at each other in their desperation to get out. There were all kinds of people, all ages, shapes and sizes, all scared out of their minds.
    The stocky woman caught the fear too. Changing her mind about helping the old man, she used her big purse to push people aside. Behind her was a lean guy with a blue and white Vancouver Canadians baseball cap. He said something to the woman and pointed over the crowd. She kept bashing her way through.
    â€œThere’s a shooter around here,” Skip said in my ear. His voice was choked. It was the first time I’d ever heard Skip sound frightened. Usually he was so confident, so sunny. Nothing fazed him.
    â€œLet’s get outta here,” he urged.
    The attendant looked like he wanted to run too. He bit his lower lip. His freckles stood out against his skin like Frisbees.
    I didn’t want to leave the attendant alone. It didn’t seem right.
    Skip gripped my elbow. “Have you forgotten, Joe? You’re breaking curfew. You’re not supposed to be here.”
    I was supposed to be home studying. I had a math test tomorrow. But my parents were visiting friends in Whistler over the next two days, and my kid sister Ellie was at a sleepover.
    Plus, in the morning Skip was heading out with his folks to their cottage in the Okanagan. The PNE would be over when he got back. Tonight had been our last chance to ride the big dip together until next year.
    Skip had free passes to the whole fair. We could take all the rides we wanted. His dad was on the PNE board of directors.
    So, I’d snuck out.
    Skip was going to tutor me when we got back to my place. Skip sailed through math. He sailed through everything. In September, he was going into an advanced class. Regular schoolwork didn’t challenge him enough.
    Mr. Too-Perfect, I called him sometimes, and he’d laugh. Privately I wasn’t sure I was joking. Skip’s being a whiz kind of got to me. I had to sweat most of my subjects just to pass.
    I should listen to Skip now, I thought. But my