Free Danger Guys on Ice by Tony Abbott

ONE
    It all happened in a flash.
    It was my best friend Zeek’s birthday. I was standing on his doorstep, trying to ring the doorbell.
    Under one arm was some of my skiing gear. Skis, poles, and boots. Under the other arm was the rest of my skiing gear. Gloves, goggles, and ski hat.
    In my teeth was a half-eaten Gold Bar Waffle Deluxe ice cream bar. The kind wrapped in gold foil.
    I love waffles in any form. From plain waffles to waffle sandwiches to waffle cookies to waffle chips, waffles are my absolute favorite food.
    Anyway, I was just working loose some fingers to press the doorbell.
    Then it happened.
    KA-FLOOOM!
    The door blasted open, and I was suddenly on my back. Some bug-faced thing all dressed in ski gear flew right across my legs, out the door, and onto the front lawn. Snow sprayed up behind it.
    â€œMom!” called Zeek’s sister, Emily, from the living room. “Zeek’s being dangerous again!”
    Ah, so it was Zeek! Yeah, he’s dangerous. Well, I am, too. We have this danger thing. It just takes over, and we start doing incredible action stuff. It’s the way we are.
    â€œHe almost killed Noodle!” she added.
    Well, yeah, that’s true, too. I looked down at the black ski marks across my jeans and the ice cream smear on my jacket.
    But when you love danger as much as Zeek and I do, nearly getting killed is all part of it—part of being an official Danger Guy.
    â€œZeek-eek-eek! Pilinsky-insky!” he yelled across the lawn. “Gold-old medal-edal-edal!”
    That’s Zeekie. Amazing sports guy.
    I scraped myself off the doorstep, picked up my stuff, and limped over to him.
    He pulled up his bug-face ski mask. “Yaaaah!” he shouted, like a crowd cheering.
    I finished what was left of my ice cream bar and folded the foil wrapper into a circle. I gave it to him. “Gold medal,” I said. “Happy birthday.”
    â€œThanks, Nood.” He smiled big and popped it into the pocket of his Danger Guy jacket.
    â€œCheck out what my mom and dad got me,” he said. “Aren’t these skis cool? And this mask?” He pulled the green mask over his face, flexed his arms, and posed like somebody from a comic book. “I look like a superhero, don’t I?”
    â€œYeah,” I said, “Bug Boy.” I laughed.
    Zeek pushed the mask up to his forehead again, looked straight at me, and made a face.
    That’s another thing about Zeek. His faces crack me up. He can do this tiny smile that no one else can see. He does it in class a lot when our teacher, Mr. Strunk, isn’t looking. It’s like a secret code.
    He was doing one of those smiles now.
    Then he pointed up over the trees at the big purple-and-white mountain in the distance. “Look, Noodle. Snow. Lots of it. That’s where my birthday ski party is going to be. My parents tried to keep it a surprise, but I figured it out.”
    â€œOf course you did,” I said. “You can’t surprise Danger Guys. We’re ready for anything.”
    â€œYeah,” he said. “We save the surprises for bad guys!”
    Zeek nodded at the skis under my arm. “Are you planning to build something, Noodle?”
    I looked down at the chipped, brown boards I was holding. “These were my dad’s skis when he was a kid,” I explained.
    â€œYour dad is that old? They look like scrap lumber! And those boots have laces ! Wow, are those, like, the first ski boots ever made?”
    â€œSkiing is a very ancient sport,” I said. “Remember what Mr. Vazny used to say?”
    Zeek froze. “ Mr. Vazny! You mean our old science teacher? Before he sneezed his brain loose and tried to blow up our school?”
    I nodded. “He said that people have been skiing since prehistoric times.”
    I shivered, remembering how we found our teacher’s secret laboratory under Mayville School and how he made us call him Dr. Morbius. When he tried to