Snow Day: a Novella by Dan Maurer Read Free Book Online Page B

just slightly. Then I waited.
    After a few seconds, I saw Frank and the others cross to the far side of the street, but nothing happened. The driver just sat there, the Grandville’s engine idling, its exhaust pipe blowing a small plume of hot air and carbon monoxide into the cold. Nothing. I was getting nervous. Had the driver seen me get in position? Was he about to get out of the car and kick my ass?
    Suddenly, the driver, who had been waiting for another car to cross Woodlawn Avenue, slammed his foot hard on the gas pedal. The V8 roared and the rear tires began to spin and whine on the snow and ice. Giant rooster tails of filthy slush jetted into the sky. My heart was pounding and my mind was racing.
    Oh, God. Oh, God. Is this supposed to happen?
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Frank whip his head around in surprise at the whining cry of the Grandville’s tires. The fear in his eyes was clear. I was screwed. Just let go – that was the answer. Had I let go, the car would have pulled away without me. But I panicked, and in my panic I squeezed my fingers even tighter around the lip of the bumper and sealed my fate. It seemed like forever, but in only the span of a few heartbeats the Grandville’s tires traded slush for blacktop, and the three-ton sedan took off like a Saturn V with my ragged ass in tow. It became official; I had broken my mother’s cardinal rule.
    I was off the block.



6
    P AIN RACED UP MY ARMS AND INTO MY SHOULDERS , but still I didn’t let go. Soon, I was racing down the street attached to the Grandville’s bumper. The bottoms of my boots dragged across the surface of the icy road, behaving like downhill skis, bumping and jumping on the uneven, exhaust-stained snow. I was a bit wobbly at first and nearly pitched forward; that would have left me dragging painfully from the bumper on my belly and balls, but I managed to shift my weight back and hold my balance. The Grandville picked up even more speed as the road sloped downhill in the direction of Broad Street. My heart was a jackhammer, the icy wind stung my face, but damn it I was flying. I was a rocket. I was Johnny fuckin’ Rocket!
    Eat your heart out, Franz Klammer!
    But then something didn’t seem right. From somewhere there came another sound, soft at first, then more insistent and cutting through the wind that raced against my ears. It was the deep growl of a diesel engine.
    Beeeeeeeep! Beeeep, Beeeep, Beeeeeeeeeeep!
    A piercing horn wailed in my ears. I was startled. My shoulders jerked as if shocked by a cattle prod and I nearly lost my grip on the bumper. My head swiveled in ways and directions I didn’t think possible while looking for the source of the horn. Still holding onto the Grandville, still skiing down the road on my boot bottoms, I finally managed to look over my shoulder and saw it. A city bus trailed just behind the Grandville and it was bearing down on me.
    My stomach churned and I nearly shit on the spot. God knows I was in the position for it. For a second, I could see through the bus windshield, it was that close. The bus driver was shouting. His words were silenced by the glass and steel cocoon he piloted, but there was no mistaking the motion of his lips as they screamed their silent scream: What the fuck!
    After the Grandville had peeled out from the Stop sign, the bus must have turned off of Persimmons and onto Woodlawn right behind it. The bus driver, who probably gave more attention to his side view mirrors to avoid clipping any parked cars as he turned the corner in his lumbering vehicle, must not have seen me at first. Not until both vehicles had picked up speed did he see a ten-year-old idiot dangling like a turd from the rear of the car in front of him. But by then it was too late; by then both vehicles were rushing downhill toward the Broad Street intersection and picking up speed on a road covered with inches of hard-packed snow and ice.
    Beeeeeeeep! Beeeep, Beeeep, Beeeeeeeeeeep!
    The driver had one