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GINGER AND BENNY SCREAM down the hill. Ginger squints against the wind, and Benny’s ears flick and flap in the air. The squeaky wheels on their billycart turn so fast on the dirt track that they could melt at any moment. It’s the fastest the two best mates have ever been. The fastest anyone’s ever been. Probably, Ginger grips the rope tight. He can feel benny, in the backseat, gripping him tight. Their knuckles are white. But they’re doing it. They’re really doing it.

‘Coogan’s not the only one who can survive Dead Man’s Hill!’ Ginger calls to Benny.

Eddie Coogan – the sneakiest, cunningest, possibly richest kid in town. He said he rose all the way down Dead Man’s Hill last Sunday, but he has no proof. So Ginger and Benny built their own billycart out of stuff from Ginger’s backyard. The frame is made of recycled wood from Mike’s kennel. Back wheels borrowed from his little brother Dudley’s pram. Steering rope from Mum’s clothes line. Front wheels from the wheelie bin, which Ginger can’t imagine Dad being too happy about. But here they are, speeding towards their destiny as local as local celebrities. Ginger can already imagine the look on Coogan’s face when he hears the news.

‘You still filming?’ he calls to Benny, his voice trembling from the rough, rocky hill.

‘Yep!’ Benny shouts into Ginger’s ear. ‘Hey, Ginge.’

‘Yeah, Benny?’

‘POTHOLE!’

Ginger sees it just in time. He tugs the rope with his left hand and steers around the hole like an expert.

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