52 - How I Learned to Fly (4 page)

There, on the next page, the book told
exactly
what you needed to do
to fly.

It gave some exercises to practice. And a magical mixture you had to eat.

Learn the Motion, Eat the Potion
—that’s what it said.

Finally it gave an ancient chant to recite.

And that was it. The secret of flying—right there.

Yeah, right. I rolled my eyes.

I scanned the list of ingredients I would need to make the potion. The main
ingredient was yeast—“because yeast rises.”

Hmmm. Yeast
does
rise. Maybe this really would work. Maybe I really
could learn to fly.

If I could—it would be awesome. I would soar through the sky—just like my
superheroes.

I could fly,
I thought dreamily as I searched the pantry for the yeast.
Something Wilson couldn’t do in a million years!

And, boy, would Mia be impressed.

I could hear her now. “Oh, wow! Oh, wow! Oh, wow!” she would scream as I flew
into the sky, leaving Wilson down on the ground—like a bug.

I’m going to do it right now! I’m going to learn how to fly!

Of course I knew it was crazy. But what if it worked? What if it really
worked?

I turned to the page with the exercises. “Step One,” I read out loud. “Hold
your arms straight out in front of you. Bend your knees slightly. Now take fifty
little hops in this position.”

I did it. I felt like an idiot, but I did it.

“Step Two. Sit on the floor. Place your left foot on your right shoulder.
Then lift your right leg and tuck it behind your head.”

This was harder to do. A lot harder. I tugged my left foot up until it
reached my shoulder. A sharp pain shot down my side. But I wasn’t giving up.

I lifted my right leg up, up, up to my chin—then I lost my balance and
rolled onto my back!

I tried it again. This time I rolled to the side.

Learning to fly wasn’t going to be as easy as I thought.

I tried one more time—and got it.

But now I was stuck—all twisted up. My left foot perched on my right
shoulder, with my toes jammed in my ears. My other foot pressed against the back of my head—shoving my face into my chest.

I struggled to untangle myself.

I stopped struggling when I heard someone laugh.

And realized I wasn’t alone.

“What… are… you… doing?”

“Ray, is that you?” I tried to look up, but I couldn’t. My chin was slammed
tight against my chest.

“Yes, it’s me. Ethan is here, too.
What
are you doing?” he repeated.

“He must be practicing for Twister,” Ethan suggested.

They both laughed.

“Very funny, guys,” I said. “Can you pull me apart? I think I’m stuck.”

Ray and Ethan untangled me. “Whoa, that feels better,” I said, stretching out
my arms and legs.

“So—what
were
you doing?” Ethan asked the question this time.

“Exercising,” I mumbled. “I was exercising. To… uh… improve my tennis
game.”

“Whoa. Those were pretty weird exercises.” Ethan’s eyebrows arched way up.

“He wasn’t exercising for tennis!” Ray exclaimed. “He doesn’t even play
tennis!”

“I’m thinking of taking it up,” I said quickly.

Ray narrowed his eyes at me. He didn’t believe me. But he didn’t ask any more
questions.

“Want to shoot some hoops in the playground?” Ethan asked.

I didn’t want to go anywhere.

I wanted to stay home. Alone. And see if I could fly.

“No, I have to stay home with Morty,” I lied. “He’s not feeling well.”

Morty heard his name and charged full speed into the kitchen. He leaped on
Ray and licked his face.

“He looks okay to me,” Ray said, narrowing his eyes at me again.

“No problem. We can stay here,” Ethan suggested. “Toss a football around or
something.”

Ethan glanced around the kitchen. His eyes fell on the book.

“No. Sorry. I really can’t hang out,” I said, tossing the book in the trash
can. “I have to clean up the kitchen.” I turned to the counter and wiped it with
a sponge. Then I began lining up the spices in the spice rack—labels facing
out.

“And I have to stay inside anyway. To wait for Mom and Dad to call. They’re
away. They said to sit by the phone.”

“Why?” Ethan asked. “What’s so important?”

“They wouldn’t tell me. They said it’s a surprise.” I shrugged my shoulders.

“Okay, see you later—maybe,” Ray said. Both guys were shaking their heads
as they left.

I grabbed the book out of the garbage and flipped back to the exercise page.

I read the flapping and leaping exercises next. I did them all.

Now it was time to say the magic words.

I read them to myself first. To make sure I got them right. Then I recited
them out loud, slowly.

Hishram hishmar shah shahrom shom.

I climbed up on the kitchen chair—and jumped off. To see if I felt
different. Lighter. Floaty.

I landed with a hard
thud.

Guess I need to eat the special flying food for the full effect, I decided. I
turned back to the book.

It was time to start mixing.

In a cabinet next to the refrigerator, I found our good mixing bowl. I dumped
all the ingredients into it: 10 egg yolks, 1 tablespoon of maple syrup, 2 cups
of flour, 1/2 cup of seltzer, and 4 tablespoons of yeast.

I stirred. A lumpy yellow blob of dough started to form.

I turned the page to read the next step.

“You are about to embark on the most glorious adventure in the history of time,” I read out loud. “You alone will fly with
the falcons. You alone will sail toward the sun. Are you ready?”

I nodded yes.

“You say, yes?”

I nodded yes again.

“You are wrong. You are not ready. Turn the page.”

I turned the page—to the last page in the book.

“Empty one quarter of contents of envelope into bowl. Mix well.”

Envelope! What envelope?

The rest of the page was blank—except for a tiny spot of dried glue.

I ran my finger over the glue spot. That’s where the envelope had been.

But where was it now?

I shook the book frantically.

Nothing fell out.

“Oh, no,” I groaned. “No envelope… no envelope…”

Wait! I know!

I ran over to the trash can.

There it was!

A small black envelope. It must have fallen out when I tossed the book into
the trash.

I opened it up. Measured one quarter of the bright blue powder inside—and
dropped it into the bowl.

I mixed well.

The yellow blob of dough turned green. Then it began to grow and bubble.
Small bubbles at first—popping lightly on the surface. Then larger ones—growing from deep inside the dough. Rising to the surface. Bursting open with a
loud
PLOP.

PLOP. PLOP. PLOP.

Yuck!

I stood back.

The dough began to throb—like a beating heart.

I watched in horror as it started to gurgle.

I gulped.

What was in that envelope? Maybe it was some kind of poison!

Forget about flying. No way am I eating this gross garbage! I decided.

No way.

I grabbed the sides of the bowl—to dump the mixture into the trash. But I
snatched my hands back when the dough flopped over, all by itself.

It flopped again and again, each time making a sickening sucking sound.

My stomach lurched.

I reached out again—and the phone rang.

“We’re on our way home, Jack.” Dad was calling from the car. He sounded
disappointed.

“So soon?” I asked. “What happened?”

“The band members had a big fight. They called us in the car. They said don’t
bother coming to Anaheim. They broke up the act.” I heard Dad sigh.

“Wow, Dad. I don’t know what to say.”

“Not to worry, Jack. I still feel lucky. Don’t know why. But I do. The BIG
one is coming. I can feel it. We’re on the freeway. Should be home in half an
hour,” he said. Then he hung up.

Ugh. I better dump this stuff before they get back, I told myself.

I turned to the kitchen table—and shrieked in horror. “Morty—no! NO! What
have you done?”

“Morty! DOWN!” I screamed.

Morty stood on the kitchen chair.

His front paws rested on the table.

His head dipped into the mixing bowl—as he swallowed a big glob of green
dough.

“NO, Morty! DOWN!” I screamed again.

Morty lifted his head.

He licked his chops.

Then dove into the bowl for another bite.

I sprang across the room.

I peered down into the bowl.

“Oh, noooo!” I howled. Almost half the dough was gone!

“Morty! What did you do!” I pulled his head out of the bowl.

Morty stared up at me—his eyes wide with guilt. His ears drooped low.

He whimpered softly. Then he dipped his head back into the bowl for another
bite.

I scooped him off the chair.

Carried him into the living room—and gasped as he floated up out of my
hands.

I stared in disbelief as Morty floated through the room. Back into the
kitchen.

“Morty—you’re flying!” I cried.

It worked! I couldn’t believe it! My cocker spaniel was FLYING!

I followed him—in a daze.

Followed him as he floated over the kitchen table.

Watched in amazement as he flew out the open window.

“Morty!” I cried, jolted back to reality. “Wait!”

Morty let out a sharp yelp—then sailed up, up into the sky.

I ran outside—and gazed up.

Morty soared above the house.

Floating higher and higher.

“Morty—no! Morty!” I screamed. “Morty—come back!”

His legs thrashed as he floated over the treetops. He started barking,
shrill, sharp yelps of terror.

“Morty—! Morty—!”

I watched him sail up, his body rocked by the wind, his legs scrambling as if
trying to grab hold of something.

“Oh, nooooo!” I wailed, staring helplessly.

I’ve got to get him back! I’ve got to rescue Morty!

But how?

I knew how.

I knew how to rescue my dog. And I knew I had no choice.

I ran in to the house.

I plunged my hand into the bowl. Grabbed up a big chunk of the disgusting
mixture.

Yuck! I can’t eat this! IT FEELS SO SLIMY!

You have to eat it, I ordered myself. You have to save Morty. It’s the only
way!

The dough throbbed and gurgled in my palm.

A thin mist of steam rose up from my fingers.

“Ohhh,” I groaned as I shoved a fistful of the stuff into my mouth.

I clutched my throat. I started to gag.

It tasted sour and hot. It scorched my tongue.

I choked it down.

And grabbed up another glob.

Shoved it into my mouth. Swallowed hard.

My mouth and tongue swelled. Swelled with the horrible, bitter taste.

I shoved in another handful. I had to make sure I could fly like Morty.

I could feel the mixture throbbing as it slid down my throat.

Gagging, I ran back outside.

I gazed up into the sky.

Morty flew high over the trees. His cries drifted down to the ground.

I could see his legs still flailing wildly as he floated higher and higher.

He looked so small up there.

Just a dark speck in the sky now.

“I’m coming, Morty!” I cupped my hands around my mouth and yelled. “Don’t
worry, boy. I’ll save you!”

I raised my arms up to the sky.

“I WILL FLY!” I cried out. “FLY!”

I took a strong leap.

Nothing happened.

Speed.

That’s it.

I need to build up speed.

I ran around my backyard. I circled it three times.

Faster and faster.

My sneakers ripped the grass. I ran hard, as hard as I could.

Sweat poured down my face.

I’m ready. I’m definitely ready now, I thought, gasping for air.

I raised my arms over my head.

I leaped high.

And came down.

Nothing.

“I don’t get it!” I wailed. “Why can’t I—”

I know! The exercises!

The hopping exercises. That must be it!

I stretched my arms straight in front of me.

Then I took off—hopping around the backyard on both feet at super warp
speed.

HOP. HOP. HOP.

HOP. HOP. HOP.

I hopped around the backyard like a crazed bunny.

This is it. I’m ready. I know it, I thought, hopping frantically.

“Morty! I’m coming!”

Still hopping, I bent my knees to lower myself.

Still hopping, I lifted my arms up over my head.

Then, with one mighty hop, I launched myself off the ground.

And came back down.

“What’s wrong?” I struggled to breathe. “Why can’t I fly like Morty?”

Morty!

I gazed up. Morty drifted in front of a cloud—a tiny black speck now.

“Oooh, Morty! Come back!” I cried—and a horrible taste flooded my mouth.
The bitter taste of the dough.

I could feel it throbbing in my stomach. Churning.

I could hear it gurgling in there.

Bubbling up. Up through my chest. Into my throat. Into my mouth.

I burped—

—and took off!

My feet blasted off the ground—and I shot high into the air.

I was flying!

“I can’t believe it! I’m flying. I’m really flying! Like a superhero.”

“Whooooa!” I thrashed my arms and legs wildly. I rose up and up—out of
control!

I floated over my house.

Over the trees.

Over the hills of Malibu. I could see the blue ocean, sparkling far below.

Morty continued to sail up. Up and away from me.

“Morty, I’m coming!” I shouted.