52 - How I Learned to Fly (8 page)

“Jack?” Dad called from the living room.

Why was Dad home in the middle of the afternoon?

I walked in to the living room—and found both my parents waiting for me.

Dad stood with his hands shoved deep into his pants pockets. “Jack, our phone
has been ringing all afternoon,” he said sternly. “We heard about you. About
what you did in school today.”

I glanced over at Mom. She gave a solemn nod.

“You are in a lot of trouble.” Dad sounded really angry now.

I gulped. “Why? What—what are you going to do?”

“What do you think we should do, Jack?” Dad paced back and forth in front of
me. “We can’t believe you didn’t tell us sooner.”

“Sorry…” I muttered. “I mean, I wanted to tell you I could fly. But…”

Dad’s expression changed. His eyes flashed with excitement. “If you really
can fly, you’re going to be the hottest act in the country. You’re going to be a
superstar, Jack. You’re going to make millions!”

Mom’s face broke into a wide smile.

“We finally found it!” Dad said to her. “I can’t believe it. All this time
we’ve been searching everywhere—and it was right under our own roof. We
finally found the BIG act!”

“Step right up, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the grand opening of Marv’s
Malibu Motors!” Marvin Milstein stood on a towering platform.

He shouted into a bullhorn, gathering a huge crowd in front of his new car
lot.

I stood inside the showroom. I peeked outside—watching the crowd grow.
Hundreds of people jammed into the parking lot. Hundreds more tried to shove
their way in.

They crammed in tightly. Shoulder to shoulder under the hot sun. And waited.

Waited for me.

The Amazing Flying Boy.

“YES!” Marv continued to shout. “The Amazing Flying Boy is here! In just a
moment, you will see him fly over our new shipment of Silver Hawks.

“The Silver Hawk!” Marv pointed across the lot to a shiny, silver car turning
slowly on a revolving platform. “The car that soars so smoothly, you’ll swear
the wheels never touch the ground.”

The people packed themselves in tighter—every inch of ground taken up by
the crowd.

I could hear the buzz of the crowd over Marv’s bullhorn.

“Where is The Flying Boy? Can he really fly?” I heard a little kid cry.

A lump formed in my throat.

Mom came up behind me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You look great,
Jack!”

I stared down at the costume Mom had made for me. A silvery superhero
costume. Metallic sneakers. And a shiny silver cape.

“Can you believe this crowd?” Dad exclaimed. “Ten TV stations are out there
with their news crews. And tons of reporters—from every newspaper in the
state. They’re all here to see you, Jack!”

“I don’t know, Dad.” I stared out at the growing crowd. “Are you sure this is
a good idea?”

“A good idea? No. I don’t think this is a good idea. It’s a
great
idea! It’s an
unbelievable
idea!” he cried. “And it’s just the start,
Jack. Soon you’ll have your own TV show. Your own movies. Your own action
figures!”

The mob outside grew impatient.

“ARE… YOU… READY?” Malibu Marv shouted into the bullhorn, pumping up
the crowd.

“YES!” Their reply thundered in my ears.

“It’s time, Jack!” Dad’s eyes lit up with excitement.

I was supposed to fly over the car lot, carrying an advertising banner. Dad
handed it to me. It read: FLY WITH THE SILVER HAWK, ONLY AT MALIBU MARV’S.

I stepped outside and climbed the platform steps to take my place next to
Marv.

I stared down at the crowd. At their waiting faces. At the doubt in their
eyes.

Then I took off.

And the crowd let out a startled gasp.

I flew around the lot carrying the banner, staring down at the people as they
gaped up at me.

“He’s flying! He’s really flying!” I heard someone shout.

I searched the faces below—trying to find Mia, Ethan, or Ray. I hadn’t seen
them in days. I soared around the entire car lot, but I couldn’t spot them in
the crowd.

“You’re seeing a miracle, folks!” Marv’s amplified voice floated up to me.
“And our Silver Hawk prices are a miracle, too!”

The next morning, Dad brought in reporters from
Time
and
Newsweek
to interview me. The reporters asked me tons of questions: When did you
learn to fly? Can you teach other kids how to do it? What was in the secret
recipe you ate? What were the magic words you chanted? Then their photographers
snapped pictures of me flying around the backyard.

People
and
TV Guide
showed up next. They asked the same questions.
Took the same pictures.

Mia called. She asked me to go skating with her that afternoon. I wanted to
go, but I couldn’t. Someone from the
Wall Street Journal
was coming to
interview me.

I wanted to tell them to talk to
TV Guide
—get the answers from them.
But I knew Mom and Dad wouldn’t like that. They were working really hard to get
me all these interviews.

“See you later!” I called to Mom and Dad the next morning. I was going to the park to shoot some hoops with Ray and Ethan.

“Whoa! Wait up!” Dad charged in to the kitchen. “Where are you going?”

“To play basketball with my friends. I won’t be home late,” I told him.

“Sorry, Jack. But you can’t go.”

“Why not?” I asked, confused. “I don’t have any interviews today.”

“Because basketball isn’t the right kind of exercise for a flying superhero!”
Dad patted me on the back. “You have to do sit-ups, push-ups, run some laps—build up your strength and stamina to fly your best!”

He pushed me toward the door. “You have to work out every day, Jack. Every
day. Now, let’s get started. I’ll work with you in the backyard.”

I didn’t see Ray or Ethan or Mia that whole week. I had more interviews to
do. And exercises. And costume fittings. And I did a flying appearance at the
opening of a new restaurant in Santa Monica.

Finally Saturday arrived. Mom and Dad said it was my day off. No interviews.
No exercises. No jobs. I could do whatever I wanted.

I got up early to go Rollerblading with Mia. As I headed out the door, Mom
stopped me. “Jack, you can’t go out like
that!
”

“Like what?” I asked, staring down at my T-shirt and cutoff jeans.

“Like that,” she said, pointing to my clothes. “You’re a superstar now. You
have to wear your flying costume when you go out. So your fans won’t be
disappointed.”

“But, Mom!” I protested. “I can’t wear my cape to go skating. No way I’m
going to wear silver tights in the park!”

I called Mia and told her I couldn’t go. I shuffled glumly into the living
room and turned on the TV.

I knew that flying in front of the whole school was a big mistake.

I knew it would ruin my life. I knew it!

I hadn’t seen my friends in weeks. I’d probably never see them again!

I’m going to spend my whole life flying around in a dumb costume, never
having any fun! I realized.

I flipped aimlessly through the channels.

I flipped and flipped, watching the programs flash by on the screen.

And then I stopped—when I saw Wilson.

Wilson on TV!

Wilson—wearing a really cool superhero costume that sparkled with neon
glitter.

My eyes grew wide as I watched him. He soared around a mountaintop, rescuing
people off its steep cliffs.

“We will return to
Wonder Wilson and His Amazing Rescues
in just a moment!” the TV announcer said.

Huh?
Wonder Wilson and His Amazing Rescues?

I shook my head.

“I’m doing restaurant openings—and Wilson already has his own TV show!” I
wailed.

Can’t I EVER beat Wilson? EVER?

I heard a knock on the door. I was glad to leave the room before
Wonder
Wilson
came back on TV.

I opened the door—and saw three serious-looking men in green uniforms
standing there. Army uniforms.

“Jack Johnson?” one of them asked sternly.

I nodded yes.

“Good.” He reached out his hand. “You’ll have to come with us.”

I stood in the middle of a drab green room.

An army lab.

With no windows.

The room smelled like a doctor’s office. You know. That heavy alcohol smell.

I glanced over at the door. A solid steel bolt sealed it shut.

A chair with suction cups stuck all over the back and seat stood in one
corner of the room. Electrical wires streamed from each cup.

I imagined that was what a prison electric chair looked like. No way I’d ever
sit on it!

My heart began to pound as a group of army scientists in white lab coats
circled me. They stared at me, their eyes moving up and down my body. They wrote
on clipboards they held in their hands. Then they stared at me some more.

“Okay, Jack. We are going to perform a few tests. Are you ready?” one of the
scientists asked.

“No!” I shouted. “I am not ready. I want to go home!”

“Sorry, Jack,” the scientist said. “We can’t let you go just yet. Now—please come with us.”

They led me outside to a wide courtyard. The courtyard was covered with
canvas. I felt as if I were in an enormous circus tent.

As soon as we were closed in, the scientists began shouting commands at me:

Fly on your back.

Fly on your belly.

Fly with your eyes closed.

Fly with your legs crossed.

Hold your breath and fly.

Hold your ears and fly.

Hold your thoughts and fly.

They ordered me to fly a thousand different ways.

They wouldn’t stop.

They wouldn’t let me rest until I was panting like a dog.

One scientist handed me a bottle of cold water. He motioned for me to sit
down on the ground. They formed a circle around me.

“Okay, Jack,” another scientist said. “Time for some questions. First tell us—how long have you been flying?”

Same questions—all over again.

“Only for a few weeks,” I replied.

All the scientists scribbled down my answer.

“How did you learn to fly?” he asked.

“Didn’t you guys read
Time
or
Newsweek
or
TV Guide
?” I
asked.

“Just answer the question, Jack,” the scientist said sternly.

“I ate a special formula,” I answered, rolling my eyes impatiently.

The scientists’heads jerked up from their clipboards. “What was in the
special formula?”

“I don’t remember,” I replied.

“Yes, you do, Jack.” The scientist stepped closer to me. He stared hard into
my eyes. “Now tell us.”

I thought hard, trying to recall what was in the recipe. But I couldn’t. “I—I really don’t remember,” I stammered.

“Think harder, Jack,” he demanded. “You know what was in it. Tell us.”

My heart pounded in my chest. “I—I don’t remember. I’m telling you the
truth. I really don’t remember.”

The scientists didn’t believe me. They waited. Stared at me with unblinking
eyes. Waiting for my answer.

I peered down at my sneakers to escape their hard stares.

Where were my parents? Did they know I was here?

I could feel a bead of sweat trickle down my back.

“Please, let me go!” I begged.

“Sorry, Jack,” one of the scientists said. “First you have to answer the
question.”

“But I can’t! I told you—I don’t remember!” I cried.

“Okay. Then we’ll move on,” the scientist said. The others nodded in
agreement.

I let out a sigh of relief.

“Jack—we’re going back in there.” The scientist led me to the little room.
“Now—sit in that chair.”

“Huh? What are you going to do to me?” I asked.

More questions.

Then more flying demonstrations.

Then they hooked me up to the suction cups on the chair. That was the worst.

It measured how fast my heart beat. How fast my pulse raced. How fast my eyes
blinked. Hours and hours of measuring the slightest movements in my body. Down
to a slight twitch.

Then they shut me up in a metal tank and took some kind of laser pictures of
me.

Then they asked more questions.

Ten hours later, Dad sat next to me on the living room couch, apologizing.
“I’m really sorry, Jack. They gave us no choice. They said you had to go with
them. But they didn’t tell us it would take so long.”

Dad sighed. “I was so busy getting you flying jobs, I forgot to warn you they
were coming. But forget about all that, Jack. I have great news. I’ve set up the
race of a lifetime.”

“Race? What kind of a race?” I demanded.

“A race between you and Wilson!” Dad exclaimed. “The Amazing Flying Boy races
Wonder Wilson—your first appearance together! The winner will receive a
million dollars! Just think of it, Jack. ONE MILLION DOLLARS!”

“A million dollars?” I couldn’t believe it.

“The race will be on TV all around the world.” Dad stood and began pacing.
“Two billion people will be watching.”

Wow. A million dollars! And everyone in the world will see me fly like a
superhero. And Wilson and I will become the two most famous kids on earth!

This really was
awesome
!

“And if you win the race, son—it will be worth billions of dollars!” Dad’s
hands flew up in the air as he talked. “Think of the TV commercials you’ll make!
You’ll be a star all around the world!”

I slowly got up from the couch. “I—I have to go out for a walk, Dad. I need
some time to think about all of this.”

I walked down the block, thinking about everything Dad said.

“Hey, there’s The Amazing Flying Boy!” someone shouted from a passing car.

“That’s him! There he is! The kid who flies!”