52 - How I Learned to Fly (5 page)

I kept my eyes locked on Morty. I tried to aim my body in his direction.

“Whooooa!” I did a somersault in the air. I whirled over and over. And
stopped—with my head pointed down and my feet sticking up.

The wind pulled me higher. I couldn’t flip around. My feet were still
straight up. All the blood was rushing down to my head!

I floated higher. Up through a cloud.

I gasped for air. I struggled to turn. Suddenly, I felt faint.

Superheroes don’t fly feet first!
I scolded myself.
Do something!

I brought my knees to my chest—and my body spun around.

It worked. I was right-side up.

But now Morty was behind me.

I twisted in the air—struggling to turn, struggling to catch sight of him.

Yes! I could see Morty—floating even higher.

I floated up, up—toward him.

Closer… closer.

“Hold on, Morty,” I called. “I’m almost there!”

I felt a rush of wind in my face.

Two robins soared past, swooping out of my path.

I peered down. My house and garage looked like toys—so tiny. Wilson’s house
looked even smaller than mine. Ha!

I was flying! I couldn’t believe it! I was really, really flying.

I floated up. Close to Morty. He stared at me, whimpering, his whole body
trembling as he floated.

“Hold on, boy.” I stretched out my hands. But I couldn’t reach him.

I floated closer. I tried to pick up speed, but I didn’t know how. All I
could do was float on the air currents. Float in the direction they carried me.

I grabbed for the dog again. Missed.

He floated two or three feet from my grasp.

I’m going to lose Morty forever! I thought.

A stiff breeze picked me up.

I shot ahead on it. But so did Morty.

I could hear his terrified whimpers as he floated up toward the blazing sun.

I floated closer… closer. I stretched out my hands again. I could almost
touch him now. Almost.

It was so hot up here. I felt as if I were burning up. And poor Morty. His
little body heaved in the heat.

His head drooped limply. His tongue sagged out.

He wasn’t going to make it!

I floated closer. I reached out again… and… GOT HIM!

I pulled Morty into my arms. His entire body shook. I held him snugly against
my chest—and gazed down as I floated higher… higher.

HIGHER.

Oh, no!

A terrifying thought suddenly gripped me.

I’m just going to keep floating higher. And higher. I don’t know how to get
down!

I drifted higher.

My temples pounded.

The world beneath me began to shrink—smaller and smaller.

I could barely make out my house now—it looked as if it could fit in the
palm of my hand. In the distance, the ocean stretched like a blue carpet. The
beach was a slender yellow ribbon.

I felt dizzy. Sick.

Morty gazed down and whimpered.

“It’s okay, boy,” I told him. “We’re going home now.”

But how? HOW?

I shifted Morty into one arm. I stretched out my other arm. Pointed it to my
right.

I swerved to the right!

Hey—not bad!

I pointed to my left—and flew to the left!

This was great!

I pointed my arm down.

Whoaaa! I started to dive.

I brought my arm up quickly—and soared straight ahead.

If I held my feet tightly together, I picked up speed. When I separated them
slightly—I slowed down.

Awesome!

I sailed through the sky. I floated. Glided. Drifted. Soared. I even flew on
my back!

I let the breeze gently lift me up. Then I lowered my arm and swooped down,
then up again.

I gazed at the hills below. At the houses that nested in them.

The houses seemed to dot the hills in a perfect pattern—right down to the
beach front.

I could see Mrs. Green’s pool—the size of a postage stamp from up here. A
sparkling blue postage stamp.

And the ocean—the ocean! I flew low over the waves, holding Morty tightly,
feeling the cold, refreshing spray on my face.

Then I soared back up to the hills. Funny, I thought. Gazing at the world
from way up here should seem scary. But it isn’t scary at all.

In fact, it feels safer. Calmer. Not as confusing as when you’re in it, down
below.

I held my feet tightly together and soared over my school.

“Hey! Morty! Look who’s on the playground! There’s Ray and Ethan! Shooting
baskets.”

I swooped low behind some treetops, then flew toward home. I didn’t want Ray
and Ethan to see me. I didn’t want to show them that I could fly—not yet.

I wanted to show Mia first. Mia. Wait till she sees this, I thought, soaring
higher.

And wait till Wilson sees me fly. HA! This will shut him up—FOREVER!

I floated through the air, dreaming about all the things I would do—now
that I could fly.

I gazed down at my house.

And saw our car roll up the driveway. “Oh no, Morty! Mom and Dad are home!”

Did they see me?

If they did, I was doomed.

They would think it was way too dangerous up here.

They would never let me fly.

Please, please—don’t let them see me! I prayed.

“Hey—look up there!” I heard Dad cry.

I swooped down behind the garage.

I placed Morty gently on the ground.

“What did you see?” I heard Mom ask Dad.

“A bird on the garage roof,” Dad replied. “I thought it was a condor.”

“They’re so rare,” Mom commented, slamming the car door.

Whew! I breathed a sigh of relief. They hadn’t seen me.

“Hey—!” I gasped when I realized that Morty had started to rise up again.
“Down, boy! Down!” I cried. I tied the end of his leash to a small rock.

He took a few wobbly steps. He didn’t have any trouble walking with the rock.
And it was just the right size to keep him grounded. He headed straight for his
doghouse.

I charged into the kitchen.

What a mess.

Powdery trails of yeast and flour stained the kitchen floor. Cracked
eggshells sat in a slimy puddle of yolk on the table. And globs of the horrible green dough stuck to
the kitchen chairs, the counters—everywhere.

I could hear Mom and Dad unlocking the front door.

No time to clean up.

I tucked the small black envelope into the flying book. And I ran out the
back door with the book. I tore out to the garage and slid the book back into
the folds of the old mattress.

“Jack! We’re home!” Dad shouted through the house.

“Where are yoooou?” I heard Mom call.

“Hi, Mom! Hi, Dad!” I burst through the back door, into the kitchen.

“Whoa! What happened in here?” Dad gazed around the room, wide-eyed.

Mom sniffed the air. “What is that horrible smell?”

“In here?” I stalled, trying to come up with a good excuse.

Mom and Dad nodded, staring at me. Waiting for an explanation.

“Oooh, you mean in here,” I said, sweeping an arm through the air. “Uh…
just a science experiment. For school. It didn’t quite work out.”

I woke up really early the next morning. I wanted to try to fly again. Before
school. Before Mom and Dad woke up.

I dressed quickly. I walked silently into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jack! You’re up early!” Dad sat at the kitchen table, eating breakfast.
“It’s only five a.m.!”

“I—I couldn’t sleep,” I said, shocked to find him there. “What are
you
doing up?”

“The phone woke me up. It was a guy who said he had an act I
had
to
see—‘ Nelson and His Amazing Needles’.”

“Amazing Needles.” I gulped. “What does this guy do?”

“Well, Nelson is not a guy,” Dad started to explain. “Nelson is a chimpanzee.
And his needles are knitting needles. His owner says Nelson can knit a sweater
in ten minutes. Sleeves and all.”

A monkey that knits? I let out a long sigh.

Dad sighed, too.

“Well, the phone call wasn’t a total waste. At least I’ll get an early start
today,” Dad said, finishing his breakfast.

By the time he left, Mom was out of bed. Too late to try to fly now.

I’ll have to wait till after school. Mom will be at work. Dad won’t be home
either. That’s when I’ll fly for Mia, I decided.

I couldn’t wait!

When the last bell rang, I charged out of school before Mia and Wilson could
catch up.

I didn’t talk to them all day. I didn’t want to talk to them now. I was afraid I might give away my secret. Afraid I might
tell them that I could fly. And I didn’t want to do that.

I wanted to show them!

I ran all the way home. I threw down my backpack. Poured myself a tall glass
of orange juice. For strength.

Then I phoned Mia.

No answer. She wasn’t home yet.

I’ll give her ten more minutes, I thought, heading into my bedroom. Then I’ll
call again.

I sat down at my desk and started sketching my newest superhero—ME! I drew
myself soaring high over the Hollywood Hills. Sailing way above the big
HOLLYWOOD sign.

Maybe I should tell Mom and Dad I can fly, I thought as I sketched. That way
I won’t have to hide. That way I can fly whenever I want.

No. No way! I decided. They’ll think it’s way too dangerous. They’ll probably
think I’m weird, that there is something
wrong
with me. And they won’t
let me do it. I definitely cannot tell them. I have to keep this a secret.

I held my drawing up and studied it. It needed one last thing. Then it would
be perfect. A superhero cape. As I sketched in the cape, I thought about Wilson.

Wilson—and the sick look on his face when he realized that our competition
was over for all time.

When he realized that he could never win against me again—ever!

When he saw me flying!

I jumped up from my desk and phoned Mia.

Still no answer.

I wandered over to my bedroom window and peered outside.

Hey! There she was! In front of Wilson’s house. With Wilson.

Wilson was skating down his driveway on his fancy, new in-line skates. At the
end of the driveway, he had set up a small ramp—and he was rolling full-speed
straight for it.

He flew up the ramp—and soared into the air. “Yahoo!” he shouted, shooting
his fists up as he swooped down for a perfect landing.

Mia applauded.

Ha! You think that’s flying, Wilson? I thought. Your days of showing off are
over. Watch this!

I opened my window as high as I could.

I marched across my room—through the bedroom doorway and out into the hall.

I inhaled deeply—and took a running start.

I charged through my bedroom.

I leaped out my bedroom window.

I spread my arms wide.

And fell like a rock.

“Oooof!”

I landed on my back in the soft hedges below my window.

The fall knocked the breath out of me. I lay there dazed for about a minute,
my chest aching, struggling to breathe.

I moved my arms and legs. They seemed to be okay. Nothing broken.

What went wrong? Can I still fly? I wondered.

Maybe the secret recipe lasts for only one flight.

Or maybe I have to take off from the ground. That could be it. Maybe I’m not
supposed to
leap
into flight.

“Jack! Are you okay?” Mia ran over to me. “What happened? Did you
fall
out of the window?”

“Nobody falls out a bedroom window—nobody, but Jack!” Wilson hooted. “How
klutzy do you have to be to fall out a window?”

“I did not fall out my bedroom window,” I protested. I didn’t know what else
to say.

“Yes, you did, Jack. We saw you. We saw the whole thing.” Wilson snickered.
He turned to Mia with a smirk on his face. “Bet Jack was practicing Twister
again.”

I climbed to my feet. I stared down as I brushed myself off. Stared down so I
wouldn’t have to look at either one of them.

“Jack, come with me.” Wilson tugged my arm. “I want to show you something.
Something really important. It could save your life one day. It’s called a
door.”

Mia giggled.

I knocked Wilson’s hand away.

I could feel the blood rushing to my face.

Okay, Wilson. That’s it! I’ve had enough of you—you and your bragging and
your stupid jokes.

I took a deep breath.

“I want to show
you
both something,” I announced.

I placed my feet close together.

I lifted my arms and pointed them in the air.

I hope this works,
I prayed.
I hope I don’t look like a total jerk.

I raised myself up on my toes.

Here goes…

I bent my knees.

I took a deep breath. I shut my eyes.

Prepared to take off…

“Jack? Jack? Where
are
you?” a voice called.

“Huh?” I opened my eyes. I lowered my arms slowly.

“Jack?” It was Mom. Home early from work. She poked her head out my bedroom
window.

I let out a long sigh. “What is it, Mom?”

“Jack, I meant to catch you before you went out. This spring cleaning is too
much for one person. I need some help cleaning Dad’s closet. Can you come in and
give me a hand?”

“Okay, Mom. Be right there.”

Mom ducked back inside. “Jack?” Mom popped her head back out.

“Yeah?”

“Is Morty okay? He hasn’t left his doghouse since yesterday.”

“Don’t worry, Mom. He’s okay. He got a lot of exercise yesterday. He’s just
kind of pooped.”

Actually, I
tried
to get Morty to come out of his doghouse this
morning. But he wouldn’t budge. The poor dog was probably afraid he’d float away
again.

Wilson headed back to his house. Mia followed. She turned back to me. “Meet
us after you’re finished helping your mom,” she suggested. “Over at Wilson’s.”