Chapter 1

Jimmy sat on the end of his bed, his elbows resting on the windowsill as he looked up and down Laurie Ave.

It was just before breakfast and the smell of the waffles that his mom always made on Saturday morning drifted up from the kitchen into his room and was carried out past him by the warm, summer breeze. The street was mostly quiet. Off in the distance Jimmy could hear the sounds of the garbage truck. The revving of the engine as it moved from one house to another. The long squeal of the brakes as it came to a stop. The muffled rumble of the engine rose over the trees, growing slightly louder as it moved nearer. He sat there, hypnotized by the alternating sounds of the engine roaring and the brakes squealing, thinking about the big day ahead.

The noise often awoke Jimmy on Saturday mornings. Every other neighborhood’s trash sat out till 10 or 11 during the week, but Saturday morning was always disturbed at 7 sharp on his street. His dad would start every waffle breakfast by kissing Jimmy’s mom and then complaining about the garbage trucks between mouthfuls. He said the trucks came by early on the weekend because the trash men "wanted to be done by lunch so they could start playing cards on the city’s dime." When he was younger, Jimmy used to think that the trash men got paid a dime. His little brother, Nicky, still does much to Jimmy’s amusement.

Jimmy heard the voices of his dad and Nicky and then the sound of the screen door slamming. Jimmy looked down to see Nicky running from the front steps in his slippers and G.I. Joe pajamas. He headed to the end of the driveway to get the newspaper lying on the lawn near the street. Jimmy looked around his room for a tennis ball or something to throw at Nicky but couldn’t find anything. He looked out the window again and noticed the bushes across the street in the Carlson’s front yard moving. The bushes went still but Jimmy could still hear rustling. Jimmy’s stomach tightened as he kept his eye on the bushes. They started moving again, this time closer to the street. Jimmy looked over at Nicky. He was at the edge of the lawn, bending to pick up the paper.



“Look out!” Jimmy shouted as a dark figure sprang from the Carlson’s bushes and headed straight for Nicky. It was the Carlson’s dog. Everyone called him Carlson because no one in the neighborhood wanted to ask old man Carlson what the dog's name really was. He was as big as a wolf to Jimmy's 11-year-old eyes (as big as a bear to Nicky's 8-year-old eyes) and as black as tar. He was part Shepherd, part lab, part who-knows-what. He was the meanest dog Jimmy had ever seen. Carlson was always finding ways out of his backyard and popping up out of nowhere to chase whoever was unlucky enough to be outside at the time. Jimmy and Nicky had escaped from him many times. Barely

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!” Nicky screamed.

He threw the newspaper in the air, pages flying everywhere in the breeze, as he wheeled around and bolted towards the house. Carlson moved fast and closed on Nicky. He darted across the street and ran onto the lawn, taking an angle that would put him between Nicky and the front stairs. Jimmy yelled for his dad as he pressed his hands up against his window screen. Nicky was still screaming as he got to the walkway but the front stairs still looked miles away. He could hear Carlson’s growls getting closer

“Hurry!” Jimmy yelled, his voice breaking.

Nicky was just a few feet from the steps when Carlson cut in front of him, growling and snarling a tooth-filled snarl. Nicky stopped short and looked into the dog’s dark eyes. Jimmy yelled for his dad again. He looked down to see Carlson lunge towards Nicky. At that very moment a page from the newspaper flew into the dog's face. Blinded, Carlson stumbled to the ground, swiping at the page with his giant paws. Nicky took the opportunity and bolted for the steps just as his dad opened the screen door. Wooooosh. Nicky ran into the hallway and fell, breathless, to the floor. His dad slammed the door closed as Carlson shook the newspaper off his head and turned towards the steps.

"Get out of here!" his dad shouted and the old dog slinked away and back into the bushes in his yard. "Wait till I see Bill Carlson," Jimmy heard his Dad say. "He has to keep that beast tied up before he hurts someone." Jimmy grabbed his Bobby Orr hockey stick and ran to the top of the stairs. He peered over the railing and saw Nicky curled up next to the pile of sneakers and sports equipment in front of the hall closet. Nicky was sobbing into his baseball glove. Jimmy jumped on to the railing and slid down, leaping off at the end and landing next to Nicky, his stick at the ready in case Carlson should try to crash through the screen door.

"That was close," Jimmy said in a hushed voice. Nicky just whimpered. "I thought he had you at the stairs," Jimmy said. Nicky nodded and sobbed some more. "Did you see him running around with that paper on his head?" Jimmy asked, chuckling. Nicky blurted out a laugh and said "He looked pretty stupid."

Their dad went out and picked up the sections of the paper and came back in the house. "Breakfast time, boys," he said as he folded the sports section back together. "Nicky. Come get some breakfast. Escaping death can make one hungry."

They jumped up and headed into the kitchen, laughing with their dad, and grabbed their usual spots at the table. Jimmy to his dad's right, Nicky to the left. A plate of waffles and a large glass of cold milk was waiting at each of their seats. Jimmy and Nicky waited anxiously as their dad poured out the maple syrup onto their waffles. A few minutes later the boys' plates were empty.

"What's the rush?" their mom asked as she sat down to her breakfast. "What are you boys up to today?"

Jimmy and Nicky looked at each other with equally excited smiles.

"It's the big race," Nicky informed his parents while looking at Jimmy to make sure it was OK to tell them. "Jimmy and Wallace are going to beat the Curtin brothers."

"The Curtin boys?" their dad asked. "What are you racing? Bikes?"

"No. Go-karts," Nicky answered again. "They are racing down Ledgehill Road."

Jimmy's smile suddenly disappeared.

"Ledgehill," his mom said. "Oh no you are not. Ledgehill is too steep and runs right into Center Street which is very dangerous."

Nicky stopped talking. Jimmy gave him a quick glare.

"We're not doing it on Ledgehill anymore," Jimmy answered. "We're going to race down Baker Street instead. It's a dead end."

"Just be sure that's where you are doing it," his mom said. "I don't want to have to be rushing you to the hospital today. I have a lot of work to do getting the garden ready for spring and I can't be spending my day in the emergency room."

Jimmy's mother was always saying things like that. ("Be careful climbing that tree. I don't want to have to carry you to the car if you break your leg" or "Don't play street hockey near the corner where cars come around. I don't want to explain to the driver what you were doing in the middle of the road after he runs you over.")

"Did you hear me?" his mom asked. Jimmy nodded and then he and Nicky were excused from the breakfast table and ran upstairs to get dressed.

"Sorry Jimmy. I thought you and Wallace were still racing on Ledgehill," Nicky said when they got to the top of the stairs.

"We are Nicky," Jimmy said. "We are still racing on Ledgehill."