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.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, not really planning to.
“You have to try his skating ramp,” Mia said. “He built it himself, and it’s
really awesome. It really sends you flying through the air.”
I watched them cross the street.
Flying through the air —Mia’s words repeated in my mind. I shook my
head.
I’ll show you how to fly through the air, Wilson. Just wait.
18
The next afternoon, I ran all the way home from school. I told Mia and Jack
to meet me in front of my house. They thought we were going to Rollerblade.
Ha! I had something much better in mind for today.
Today was the day I was going to show them that I could fly!
I dropped my backpack in the hall and ran outside. I glanced up—at the
dark, heavy clouds rolling in over the hills.
By the time Mia and Jack showed up, it started to rain—really hard. A bolt
of lightning snaked through the sky.
“We’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” Mia said.
“I guess,” I mumbled as I watched them hurry away.
It rained the next day. And the day after that. And the day after that.
No flying.
No chance to show Wilson what a loser he is. I sat at the window, staring out
at the falling raindrops. Was I ever going to get my chance to fly?
On Friday, Mia had to go to the dentist after school.
And on Saturday and Sunday, we couldn’t get together. I had to work on my
term paper. It was due on Monday—and I hadn’t even started it.
I wasn’t worried about it. I knew exactly what I was going to write about—the history of comic books in the United States.
It was going to be excellent. I knew it.
I got up early Saturday morning and started working on it right away. I sat
at my computer for hours. It took me all day to write. Then, on Sunday, I set
out my pens and inks and began to illustrate it.
Superman. Spider-Man. Sub-Mariner. The X-Men. All my favorite superheroes.
As I drew the big S on Superman’s costume, I thought about flying.
About how awesome it felt when I soared on a strong current. Or sailed on a
gentle breeze.
I pictured myself zooming up from the ground and streaking over the trees.
Then slowing down. Drifting lazily among the clouds. Then blasting off again,
into the stratosphere—like Superman.
I pictured myself performing all kinds of fancy feats—spirals, nosedives,
back flips in the air. I pictured myself doing all these things—for Mia. And for Wilson…
We handed in our term papers on Monday. A rainy Monday.
No flying today either. I sighed. Who ever heard of so much rain in
California?
The rest of the week remained gray and stormy. The whole week—a total
washout.
On Friday, the teacher handed back our term papers.
Yes!
I got a 97! And she wrote “Good job!” across the top.
“Hey, Wilson. Look—ninety-seven!” I held up my paper for him to see.
“Pretty good, huh!”
“That is pretty good,” Wilson agreed. “But it’s not excellent!” Wilson
smiled gleefully.
He held up his paper.
It had a big, fat 98 written on it.
And the words, “Excellent job!”
I could feel my cheeks begin to burn. Stay calm, I
Legs McNeil, Jennifer Osborne, Peter Pavia