Stealing Air

by Trent Reedy

“Just the hot chocolate is fine, thanks,” Wendy said.

  He let out a little breath of relief as he slid his dollar over the counter, then took the drinks and handed one to Wendy.

  “Thank you.” She smiled. “I’ll buy next time.”

  Did that mean there would be a next time? Brian grinned at the thought, even as the first sip of scalding hot cocoa burned his tongue. They walked slowly on the way back to let their steaming drinks cool.

  “I love football Fridays,” Wendy said after a long quiet. “I don’t even really care who wins. I hardly watch the game. It’s just fun to hang out with friends, you know?”

  “Yeah,” he said. Who was she talking about? Did she mean the Wolf Pack or was she talking about him? He hoped she was talking about the girls so maybe he could be more than friends with Wendy. Hadn’t she asked him to walk with her to the treat stand? It probably didn’t mean anything, but he thought he might actually have a chance with her as long as he didn’t do anything too stupid.

  “Brian! Catch!”

  A football slammed into his hot chocolate, crushing the foam cup and thumping him in the chest. The hot liquid splashed all over his chest and hands. It didn’t quite burn him, but his shirt was soaked. Brian waved his hands to cool them.

  “Are you okay?” Wendy tried brushing the cocoa off Brian’s chest and arms. She spun around and shouted, “Knock it off, Frankie!”

  Frankie laughed. He shouted to the guys, “Did you see that? Nailed the cup! Awesome!”

  “Why do you have to be such an idiot?” Wendy yelled.

  “I said ‘catch’!” Frankie said. “It’s not my fault he’s so clumsy!”

  “I think I better go home and get cleaned up,” Brian said. So much for not doing anything too stupid.

  Wendy followed him toward the gate by the school. “Brian, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Brian said. They were away from the lights of the field, in the shadows closer to the high school.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go,” she said.

  Maybe it was the pain in his hands, his anger over yet another humiliating incident with Frankie, or the disappointment of a great night being ruined, but Brian didn’t think about what he said. He just said what was on his mind. “Why?”

  “Why don’t I want …” Wendy twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “I just … You’re not like all the others, and I think … Just … I’m sorry about the cocoa. Have a good night, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You too.”

  Brian walked home, more confused than he’d been in a long time.

  A week later, Alex, Brian, and Max were in the hayloft in Brian’s grandfather’s barn. Alex swooped out on the rope.

  “You know, we actually have a lot of work to do,” Max said as he sat down on a bale. “I thought you said you knew where we could find some more steel cable.”

  When Brian and Alex had opened the flyer’s starboard wing, they found that one of the pulleys inside was damaged. Worse, the cable that operated the aileron had been cut when the wing tore.

  “Relax. We’ll get the cables.” Alex swung in for a skidding landing on the hay. “Brian’s grandpa tore down an old building a long time ago, and he saved a whole garage-door kit somewhere in the back of the barn. I remember seeing a bunch of cables and stuff.”

  “We can’t go through the barn without taking a timeout to swing,” Brian said. “Come on and try this for once.”

  Alex flopped down on his back on the hay, laughing. “Yeah, right. Mad Max would never get on the rope like that.”

  Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Brian was pretty sure he didn’t appreciate being called Mad Max. “I just think we should concentrate on repairs,” Max said.

  “Max, come on,” Brian said. “It took forever to figure out how to pull the broken cable out of the flyer, and now we have the whole front part of the wing and the cable and pulley system to reconstruct. We deserve a break.” He held the rope out toward Max. He wanted Max to swing, not just for the fun of it, but also to do something completely un–Mad Max. “Just try this once.”

  Max stood up and folded his arms over his chest. “If I swing one time, can we go find those cables and then return to the Eagle’s Nest?”

  “I promise,” Brian said.

  “Oh yeah, man!” Alex said. Max took the rope from Brian. Alex sat up. “This I gotta see. It’s about time you had some fun, Max.”

  Max took off his glasses and handed them to Brian. He shook his head, took a deep breath, and then ran out to leap off the bales, gliding out into the open space below. Unlike Brian and Alex who kicked their legs at the far reach of the swing, Max wrapped his legs around the rope. He didn’t shout either, but simply swung back and landed on the hay.

  He took his glasses back and put them on. “Now, can we please get the hardware the flyer requires and then return to our repair efforts?”

  Brian held out a hand to help Alex up. “A deal’s a deal.”

  “I just can’t believe we finally got him to try it. Welcome to the club.” Alex lightly slapped Max on the back. “That wasn’t bad for your first try.”

  Max led the way down the ladder to the floor of the barn. “I fail to understand why these sorts of initiation rituals always have to involve some sort of risky physical stunt.”

  “Risky like flying an experimental aircraft?” Alex asked.

  Brian laughed out loud at that.

  “I mean, who decided the only way to be cool is to swing on a rope like this or do a skateboard jump?” Max said. “Why doesn’t anyone ever say, ‘Prove you’re one of us by solving this complex mathematical equation,’ or ‘All the cool kids know the atomic weight of plutonium’? Why doesn’t anyone ever say, ‘Wow, that is so awesome that you understand the entire warp propulsion system for the U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701-D from Star Trek: The Next Generation’?”

  Brian couldn’t figure out why people thought Star Trek was uncool. It was an awesome show. But he also wasn’t surprised when Alex shot him a look that said, This guy is such a nerd.

  “I don’t know,” Brian said. “But that was a good swing.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. “That was really cool, man.”

  Max didn’t say anything else, but Brian swore he caught just the hint of a smile.

  They skipped that night’s football game, spending the whole afternoon and evening opening up more of the wing to get the new pulley and cable in place. The trickiest part was hooking the cable from the aileron to the yoke. Brian couldn’t quite get his hands in the small space to make the connections.

  They met again the next day to keep working. Brian squeezed the pliers so tightly his hands shook, trying to attach the cable to the yoke mechanism. Finally, he let go. “That should do it. Pull it,” he said to Alex.

  The yoke moved to the left when Alex pulled the cable. “Seems secure.”

  Brian wiped the sweat from his brow. “Now we just have to attach the other end to the aileron and then we can start to close it back up.”

  “Chips first,” said Alex, reaching for the Doritos.

  “Chips first,” Brian said.

  Alex and Brian both took a handful. Max watched them from behind the engine, or rather from behind the pile of parts that used to be an engine before he had disassembled it. He had pored over diagrams in a dozen different books and from a bunch of websites, trying to determine how to improve its efficiency and speed, but it looked like he hadn’t gotten anywhere yet.

  “Doritos, Max?” Brian asked.

  “No, thank you. I’m quite busy and my hands are covered in engine oil.”

  Alex climbed up on the table. “Then I’ll just pour some in your mouth. You won’t need to use your hands at all.”

  “No, thank you. I’d really rather not.”

  “Dude, I’m pouring these out whether or not you eat ’em. They’ll get into your engine if you don’t open wide right …”

  Max groaned but put his head under the b
ag as Alex shook some chips into his mouth. “Shgoo,” he said. Pieces of chips fell out of his mouth. “’Sgood,” he said. Then he burst out with a laugh and bits of chips flew everywhere.

  They all laughed. Alex picked out a single chip with just his orange fingertips. “You are a pig, Mr. Warrender.” He chomped down on the lone Dorito. Everyone laughed again.

  Brian heard a buzzing sound. Alex wiped his hands on his pants, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and checked the screen before he started typing something back.

  “To whom are you sending a text message?” Max asked.

  “Hang on.” Alex kept pressing the screen. “There,” he said. “Just had to answer.”

  Brian wished he had a phone. Then maybe he would get texts too. “Who texted you?”

  “Oh, nobody. Just Red.” Alex checked the cable connection to the rudder. Then he went to the engine and looked over all the pieces, nodding as if confirming they were all still there. “Hey, you know what, guys?” He slapped his forehead. “I totally forgot. My parents … they have this thing … like, a dinner thing, and I have to go.”

  “Right now?” Brian said.

  Max’s face was completely emotionless. “On a Saturday afternoon?”

  Alex checked his phone again. “Yeah …” he said slowly, obviously reading another text. “Well, not right now. But it’s a big dress-up thing with their friends.”

  Max checked his calculator watch. “It’s only two forty-five.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Alex headed for the tunnel. “I have to start getting ready. This is going to be so lame. Like wearing a tie. My sister Katie will be in some dumb dress.” He crawled down into the tunnel. “Well, awesome work today. Check you later.”

  When he was gone, Brian and Max stared at the tunnel for a moment. Max had the same look on his face that he wore whenever Brian made up a pathetic excuse to ditch him at lunch.

  “I’m glad I don’t have to go to some lame dinner with my parents’ friends.” Brian forced a little laugh. “He probably feels like a total loser right now, don’t you think?”

  Max didn’t answer.

  The next Wednesday, Brian came home after working in the Eagle’s Nest. As usual, he went to the fridge to find something to eat. He wondered if either of his parents would be home for dinner tonight. Since their arrival in Riverside, Dad had worked late in Iowa City with Dr. Warrender most evenings, while just Brian and Mom had supper. Those beat the nights Dad worked into the night and Mom had to stay late at the office. Then Brian just had microwaved leftovers or made a sandwich.

  “Hey, buddy,” Dad said behind him. Brian jumped and spun around. Dad held his hands up. “Whoa. Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. Where were you this afternoon?”

  “Nowhere.” He backed up against the fridge. “Hanging out with Alex and Max.”

  “Mom is working late, so it’s just you and me for supper.” Dad rubbed his bloodshot eyes. “I’ve been crunching numbers since noon. I need to get out. You heard of this Piggly’s restaurant?”

  Brian nodded. “Big” Aaron Pineeda talked about it all the time, since his dad owned the place.

  Dad put his arm around Brian’s shoulders and pulled him along. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  A little cyclone of dust spun in the wind as Dad pulled the car into the gravel lot at Piggly’s. The building had been painted a bright shade of pink, and the sign by the road, lit by pink neon lights, read Piggly’s: Home of the Legendary Big Porker Sandwich. An enormous pink pig balloon sat up on the roof, twenty-five feet across with a smile six feet wide. It looked like it was dancing as it jiggled in the breeze. Dad parked and they got out.

  Brian opened the front door of the restaurant, and immediately an oink-oink, oink-oink sounded from a speaker on the wall. A bald man with a big belly spun away from the front counter where he had been talking to a bored-looking high school girl. He flashed a huge grin and held out his arms, looking a little like the grinning pig on the front of his apron. “Welcome! Welcome! Welcome to Piggly’s, gentlemen! I’m Ed Pineeda. Who might you be?”

  Dad held out his hand. “Hi, I’m Jack Roberts.”

  Mr. Pineeda shook Dad’s hand so hard that Dad’s whole body jiggled. “Nice to meet you, Jack! How can I please your palate tonight? Some slow-roasted succulent ribs with Piggly’s SSSBS?”

  Dad gave Brian a look like Is this guy for real? Brian had to ask. “What’s that?”

  “Piggly’s Super Secret Special Barbecue Sauce!” Mr. Pineeda pinched together his thumb and forefinger, held them to his lips, and kissed them. “It’s so sweet, so tangy. Just a little kick. Mmmm. You’ll think you’re in hog heaven — wait! You are in hog heaven! Ha! It’ll make your mouth sing for joy! I’ll maybe start you with one of my noodle salads what comes with olives shipped in on a special armored truck from a secret supplier out of Des Moines!”

  “It all sounds great,” said Dad. “Maybe we could just see a menu?”

  “Certainly! Come right this way. I’ll get you a table and a couple menus. Lists of all the heavenly dee-lights that you’ll find here at Piggly’s.” Mr. Pineeda led them to a table and clapped his hands. “I’ll leave you gentlemen to the agony of choosing just a few treats from our broad selection, and the lovely Miss Kendra Hanson will be over in a bit to take care of you.”

  They looked over the menus. Eventually, the high school girl came over, wearing a pink plastic pig snout on her nose. Dad put his fist over his mouth, trying to hide his laughter, but if this made the girl mad, she didn’t show it. “Hi welcome to Piggly’s home of the Big Porker I’m Kendra I’ll be your waitress tonight may I take your order?” she said all in one breath, without really looking at either of them. Brian sometimes felt bored when going over fractions in math class, but he’d never been as bored as this girl had just sounded.

  They ordered a couple of sodas and their food, then a silence fell over the table. Brian and his father used to talk all the time. Tonight, though, neither seemed to have much to say. He looked around the restaurant. A number of plaques hung on the walls for things like Riverside’s Best Restaurant and Best Barbecue with the years of the awards. There were a few red and white Riverside Roughriders pennants. A shelf on another wall held bowling trophies and some pictures of Little League baseball teams wearing Piggly’s-sponsored uniforms.

  A big pink pig on a poster on the wall behind Dad shouted in huge letters, PIGGLY’S PIG-OUT CONTEST. Brian read the details. The first contestant to eat a one-pound barbecue pork sandwich — the Big Porker — plus a side of Pig Tails, otherwise known as curly fries, would win Mr. Piggly, the huge, grinning pink balloon up on the roof. A whole pound of barbecue pork? That sounded awesome.

  Dad’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You know, I don’t really know anything about what you’ve been up to lately,” he said. Kendra brought the sodas over and thumped them down on the table. Dad switched his Pepsi with Brian’s Mountain Dew, which had been placed in front of him. He ran his fingers back through his hair. “I’m sorry I’ve been so … well … distant lately. It’s just … work, you know.”

  Brian did know. Lately, when Dad talked, that was all he talked about.

  “And I’ve been tense and no fun. I’m sorry. It’s just that we’re having trouble finding the money we need to make more Plastisteel and to make it faster. I thought Mrs. Douglas was going to come through, but she won’t accept just a simple demonstration. No, she’s like a kid playing with her money, and she wants us to build her some toys. She wants us to make her a Plastisteel car or robot or airplane or …”

  Brian looked up sharply. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he said. “Things will work out.”

  “We’re running out of time. There’s just no way we can synthesize enough Plastisteel for an effective demonstration that fast! If we don’t get a cash infusion soon …” Dad noticed Brian staring at him. “Sorry, buddy. You don’t want to hear about any of this stuff. Remember how I talked about taking a risk in order to achieve something
great? Well, the thing about risk is that it can bring great success.” He took a drink of soda, but coughed. “Or it can bring failure.”

  Brian couldn’t remember seeing his father like this before. He looked terrible, all shabby and worn down. There were dark circles under his eyes, and was that gray hair above his ears? If Dad needed money so badly, maybe Brian could convince Alex and Max to just hand the flyer over to Synthtech now so Dad and Dr. Warrender would have something to show Mrs. Douglas. He wanted to tell Dad about it, but he’d made a promise to the guys. He couldn’t betray them by ruining the whole secret.

  “You’re not going to fail, Dad,” Brian said. “I really think your Plastisteel will impress that lady.” The flyer would make sure of that.

  “I never give up, Brian,” Dad said quietly. “We’re exploring all options, but I think you should prepare for some tough times. I’m … I’m sorry I brought you to Iowa. I took you away from everything in Seattle….”

  “No, Dad. It’s really great here. I’m having fun,” Brian said. It wasn’t a total lie. “I’ve been hanging out with Alex and Max. I can skateboard right in the street. And there’s the cool skate park.” Plus Wendy, as long as Frankie wasn’t around.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yeah,” Brian said. “And here there’s a waitress who has to wear a pig snout.”

  Dad laughed. Brian had never heard a better sound. “Well, thanks for that. Knowing you’re getting along okay here makes me feel a lot better. Listen, don’t worry about my business problems, all right? You just focus on school and making friends. All that normal stuff sixth grade boys are supposed to do. Okay?”

  Brian nodded as the waitress brought their food. Sure, he should focus on the normal stuff — like secret workshops and homemade airplanes. But he couldn’t ignore Dad’s problems with the Plastisteel business, and it was time to do something about it.

  That night after supper, Brian called Alex and Max for an emergency meeting in the Eagle’s Nest.

  “No way!” Alex said as soon as Brian suggested they give up the flyer. “This is really what you called us here for? We’ve worked too hard on this thing. If the grown-ups get the plane, we’ll never get to fly it, and then we’ve lost all those publicity opportunities and the chance for big money.” He looked around as if worried someone else besides Brian and Max might be listening. When he spoke again, he was quieter. “Plus, our car dealership — it isn’t doing too good. My dad acts like everything’s fine, but our credit won’t hold out forever.”