52 - How I Learned to Fly Page 7

  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.

  27

  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!”

  Shouts from other cars now. People pointing. Cheering. Waving. From almost every car that drove by.

  I walked faster. With my head down.

  “Malibu Motors Flying Boy! Marv’s flying kid!” More shouts. “The flying Johnson kid!”

  I heard footsteps behind me.

  I glanced back. A group of kids were following me. I started to jog.

  “Flying Boy! Slow down!” They began chasing me. “Fly for us! Come on, take off. Fly around the block!”

  I broke into a run. I ducked behind some bushes until they passed. Then I walked some more—keeping in the shadows.

  I am going to be the most famous kid on earth, I thought, trying to cheer myself up.

  I am going to race in front of two billion people—and then my life will never be the same again. I am going to be rich and famous.

  Rich and famous.

  My stomach tightened. All my muscles tensed.

  Can I do it?

  Can I race in front of two billion people?

  And most important—can I finally beat Wilson?

  28

  The day of the big race.

  Mom, Dad, and I rode to the bottom of the Hollywood Hills. That’s where the race would begin.

  Wilson and I would take off from there. Then fly up to the HOLLYWOOD sign. Then back down again.

  Dad inched our car up to the grandstand.

  Thousands of people had turned out to watch Wilson and me fly.

  Thousands of people watched as our car drove up.

  Their hands pressed against the car. Their staring eyes gawked at me through the windows. A mass of bodies and faces inching along with us. So many people, they blocked out the sunlight.

  I sat in the back seat in darkness.

  Staring at the faces gaping in at me.

  Listening to their shouts.

  That’s him! He’s here!

  Are you nervous?

  Can we talk to you before the race?

  What did you eat for breakfast?

  What are you going to do with all the money?

  Will you come to our school and fly?

  Are you from another planet?

  “Hey!” Someone banged on the window—and I jumped. “Can I have your autograph?” He banged again. I shrank back in my seat.

  “Pretty exciting, huh?” Dad smiled in the rearview mirror.

  Jack, we love you! Jack, you’re amazing! Jack—teach me how to fly! Cries rang out all around me.

  Dad parked the car.

 
The crowd pressed against the doors. Sealing us in. The car started to rock under their weight.

  My heart began to pound.

  I grabbed onto the seat so tightly my knuckles turned white.

  “Coming through. Stand aside.” A troop of policemen cleared a path to the car.

  The officers opened the door.

  I didn’t move.

  “Let’s go, Jack. It’s time!” Dad said.

  On shaky legs, I stepped out of the car. A deafening roar rose up from the crowd.

  “Jack. Jack. Jack.” The chant thundered in my ears.

  The policemen formed a barricade, holding the shouting, cheering, chanting people back. I made my way to a big concrete platform built especially for the race.

  Arms reached out—reached out to touch me. Hands grabbed at my sleeves. Grabbed at my cape. Grabbed. Grabbed frantically. Pulled me toward them.

  I struggled to walk. To pull free of the grasping hands.

  The policemen tried to hold the crowd back—but people surged forward in a heavy wave.

  They broke through the policemen’s barrier.

  Pressed against me.

  Started to crush me.

  I was drowning. Drowning in hands and legs and talking faces. A wave of panic washed over me.

  I lost Mom and Dad in the sea of bodies.

  The crowd swept over me. Carried me with it.

  Jack! Jack! Jack! They shouted my name over and over.

  “Mom! Dad!” I tried to cry out over the roar of the mob.

  I couldn’t see.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  I gasped for air.

  I—I’m not going to make it, I realized.

  The crowd—it’s swallowing me. Swallowing me up…

  29

  Then I felt someone grab me under my shoulders. “This way, Jack.” Two policemen guided me up the platform steps. Four other dark-uniformed officers surrounded me.

  When I reached the top, I took a deep breath—and gazed out at the people. Thousands of people—stretching out for miles and miles.

  “Jack!” Someone shoved a microphone in my face.

  “Jack! Over here.” Another microphone.

  Jack! Jack! Jack! Hundreds of microphones suddenly appeared before me.

  Cameras clicked. “Do you think you can win?” a reporter demanded.

  “I—”

  “When did you learn to fly?” Another reporter. “Three months—”

  “What was in the secret recipe?” Another reporter.

  Everyone asking questions—all at once. Cameras clicking.

  JACK! JACK! JACK! Everyone calling to me.

  I broke into a heavy, cold sweat.

  I tugged at the collar of my silver costume. Choking, I thought. It’s… choking me.

  The mob of people continued to call out my name.

  And Wilson’s name.

  I glanced over to the other side of the platform.

  There he was. Wilson—in his glittering superhero outfit. Hands planted on his hips. Chest puffed out. Laughing with the newspaper reporters. Smiling for the magazine writers. Boasting to the TV cameras.

  He LOVES this! I realized. How could he? How could anyone like this?

  “We are about to begin,” the announcer said to me as he waved Wilson over.

  “This is it.” Wilson clapped me on the back. “I’m really sorry, Jackie.”

  “Sorry for what?” I asked.

  “Sorry to have to beat you in front of two billion people!” he hooted. “Good luck, Jackie. You’ll need it.”

  A striped-shirted referee asked us to shake hands before the race.

  I shook Wilson’s hand—and tried to crush his fingers. But Wilson just grinned his horrible Wilson grin.

  “The race is about to begin!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the enormous loudspeaker.

  The crowd had been roaring. But now the roar faded to a whisper of hushed voices.

  The referee lifted a starter’s pistol.

  I took a deep breath—and held it.

  I shut my eyes—and waited to hear the blast from the gun.

  BANG!

  30

  The gunshot echoed in my ears.

  I opened my eyes in time to watch Wilson take off. His cape swirled behind him as he lifted toward the sky.

  I raised my arms.

  I leaped into the air.

  And landed hard on my feet.

  A shocked gasp rose up from the crowd.

  I raised my arms again. They trembled as I pointed them to the sky.

  I bent my knees. Then took a strong leap.

  And landed with a loud thud on the concrete platform.

  I could hear the gasps of the crowd. I could see their open mouths, their wide eyes. Stunned. They were all stunned.

  I tried again.

  Nothing.

  I glanced up to see Wilson soaring high, nearing the big HOLLYWOOD sign.

  “I—I can’t fly!” I cried out. “I can’t fly anymore. I’ve lost it! It’s gone!”

  Dad jumped onto the stage. His face was frantic. “Try again! Try, Jack! Keep trying!”

  I took a long, deep breath.

  I planted my feet together.

  I bent my knees and with all my might—I sprang up.

  And came down.

  Nothing.

  No use.

  “I’ve lost it!” I cried. “I can’t fly anymore! I can’t fly!”

  I gazed up and saw Wilson soar over the HOLLYWOOD sign, turn, and start back.

  Wilson wins again, I told myself. Wilson wins again.

  31

  As the summer passed, we didn’t see much of Wilson. He was busy flying all the time. His TV show was on every week. And he made dozens of flying appearances all over the country.

  In the fall, he had to leave Malibu Middle School because he was always traveling. Always making flying appearances. Always working, working. On the run.

  I saw on the TV news that the army follows him wherever he goes, doing experiments on him. Trying to figure out how to get other people to fly.

  When Wilson is home, he’s too tired to see his old friends. Mia says it doesn’t matter. She says hanging out with me is much more fun.

  I’m back to my old normal life. Morty is too. He finally came out of his doghouse. And he doesn’t float off the ground anymore—not since I tied a two-pound dog tag to his collar.

  Ethan and Ray and I are going to a Lakers game tonight. And tomorrow, Mia invited me to go to a Purple Rose concert with her. Next weekend we’re taking tennis lessons together.

  We never talk about the big race and how Wilson won.

  We never talk about flying at all.

  I’ve kept my secret from Mia. I’ve kept my secret from everyone.

  I’ve never told anyone that I can still fly.

  And I’ve never told anyone that I only pretended to lose my flying ability that morning of the race.

  Yes. You heard me. I only pretended.

  I let Wilson win the race.

  Why?

  Because I knew that was the only way I could win.

  That was the only way I could get all those thousands of people out of my life. It was the only way I could get my friends back. The only way I could get my normal life back. The only way I could be happy.

  I told you. I’m not the kind of kid who likes to enter contests. I don’t like to compete. I don’t care about winning.

  So, I’m really lucky. Because even though I don’t care about winning—I won after all.

  Sometimes, very late at night, I sneak out of the house. And I fly over Malibu, high over the ocean. I gaze down on the waves sparkling in the moonlight. I soar with the winds and sail up toward the moon, feeling the cool ocean breezes on my face.

  And I think about how lucky I am.

  And how smart.

  And I wish Wonder Wilson a lot of luck.

  Really….

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