Flight by Neil Hetzner Read Free Book Online

Bissell. She had hesitated to accept until
she learned that Joe was not going to the ceremonies so that he
could play his last hockey game for Dutton. After she had failed to
tell Joe what she was going to do, Prissi had squirmed an
invitation for Nasty Nancy to come along to ease her guilt.
    Prissi nodded her head back toward the new
building as she asked Jack, “Does your grandfather like his
legacy?”
    When Jack shook his head, waves of Peking
duck-colored hair bounced attractively.
    “He hasn’t seen it much lately. He used to
come up here a lot to check things out, and take me to dinner. But,
not lately. He doesn’t get out much. He was supposed to be rejuved
six months ago, but then there was an organ match problem. And then
this thing,” Jack swept his arms toward the new building, “got
delayed. He really wanted to be here, so he just decided to put
things off until after the dedication. But as he waited, things got
worse. After he finishes up here today, he goes right to the
Juvenal Institute.”
    Nasty Nancy offered her caustic opinion, “I
can’t see hurting my health so a bunch of bored kids can clap for
me.”
    A furious Jack enunciated each word, “I don’t
think he is here for the acclaim. He loves Bissell. He thinks that
if it weren’t for the education he got here as a student, a
scholarship student, none of the other things would have
happened.”
    “Like becoming the richest man in the
world.”
    Nasty Nancy’s tone caused both Prissi and
Jack to step back from where they had been leaning against the
black granite perches in front of Hoch Hall.
    “Need a breather, Nance,” said a mortified
Prissi. Jack said nothing. He just flew away.
     

CHAPTER FIVE
    GEE Whiz
    Joshua Fflowers felt as old as time as he
smiled and scrabbled with another hand. Some unconscious, but
meticulous, portion of his brain recorded it as the one hundred
forty-first hand-shake. Despite the pain in his finger joints,
Fflowers squeezed firmly and dryly. He held back a sigh, smiled and
reached out to the next well-wisher while pushing back his own wish
just to be done with the circus in which he was starring.
    Fflowers had been excited when he first had
the idea of giving Bissell a new science center, but, now, almost
four years later, he was far beyond the point of regret. He didn’t
begrudge the money he had spent on building and equipping a
facility that put Andover and Exeter, Eton and Harrow, even Toin,
to shame. The money was nothing, not even one tenth of one percent
of his worth. If his commitment had been no more than the transfer
of funds, things would have been fine. But, of course, it could not
be that simple. Nothing ever was, except in physics. He had to be
toadied to, fawned over, and feted by the school’s administration
and trustees. He had to be consulted with on the architecture and
artwork—not that anyone particularly listened. He had to be
commended and thanked…by everyone from Headmaster Binny Dowdahl to
the Board of Trustees to the alumni association to the parents’
committee and student council to the little fellow who folded
towels in the field house. He had to be lauded and applauded at the
just finished dedication ceremonies where he had given a speech
that was more coughs and growls than subjects and verbs.
    And, now… now, he was in a receiving line
that snaked to infinity, acquiring a zoo of germs from squeezing
the greedy hands of envious wishers and obsequious well-wishers
leaning over his wheel chair, coveting his wealth, pitying his
health, all while whispering, bellowing platitudes, gratitude and
good cheer.
    The benign benefactor in Fflowers fought the
rebel’s urge to power up the wheelchair and plow through the crowd
to safety. Away from the parade of stifling people with their
mid-body noises and smells as they hulked and hovered over him.
Away from the stream of sycophancy slowly wending its way past him.
Away to the roto. To relief. In three hours he could be through