Stealing Air

by Trent Reedy

  “And no Pig-Out Contest for me. I’ll just have the Piglet Dinner.”

  She stopped and faced him. “Anything else?”

  Alex shook his head. When she started toward the kitchen again, he elbowed Brian. “Check this out,” he whispered. “Oh, and Kendra?” he said in a normal voice.

  “What?” Kendra said impatiently.

  “You have to be the only girl in the universe who can look pretty while being forced to wear that stupid pig nose.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Children,” she said. But before she went away, Brian could see the hint of a smile on her face. Did Alex’s line actually work? On a high school girl?

  “Did you see that?” Alex said. “She totally likes me.”

  Maybe she did and maybe she didn’t, but Brian never would have had the guts to do that. “Isn’t she a little old for you?”

  Alex shrugged. “She’ll be a senior when we’re freshmen. It could work. The secret to girls is confidence. That may be the secret to eating contests too.”

  Brian nodded. Why couldn’t he have Alex’s confidence? Why couldn’t he always know the right thing to do? Instead, he always felt like he was making it up as he went along.

  More people were coming in now. The tables in the contest section filled up mostly with kids, but there was also one guy who looked to be in his thirties. David and Red from their class sat down at their table, and so did Big Aaron Pineeda. “Dad said I could be in the contest, but if I win, the balloon will go to the second-place guy,” said B.A. “He wants to get rid of it. It’s getting old. A few weeks ago, one of the little metal rings that connects to the tie-down ropes actually broke. Mr. Piggly almost rolled right off the roof.”

  Brian thought it was good that B.A. couldn’t win the balloon. Judging from his size, he would be tough to beat.

  Jason Cooper showed up next. “I took money out of my car fund for this. If I win the pig balloon, I’m going to sell it on eBay. Probably enough to buy a whole set of tires, depending on what kind of car I get.”

  “Yeah, right, Cooper!” Frankie stepped over the rope into the contest area. “You’ll be riding your sister’s bike until you’re twenty-five, because I’m going to win this contest tonight!”

  Great, Brian thought. Just when he had a chance to hang out and have fun, here came the meanest tough guy in America to mess it all up.

  Frankie caught sight of him. “Ah, the new boy is here. Good. I can beat him in something else.”

  Mr. Pineeda joined them. Kendra was right behind him, along with a man wearing a stained apron. They all carried big plastic trays filled with Big Porker Specials. “Okay, gentlemen, here’s how the Pig-Out Contest works,” Mr. Pineeda said. “Nobody can touch his plate until I say ‘Go.’ After that, the rules are simple. The first contestant to eat the entire one-pound dee-licious Big Porker sandwich” — Red raised his hand. Mr. Pineeda pointed at him — “bun included” — Red put his hand back down — “and finish all of his Pig Tails, will be the next proud owner of Mr. Piggly. He’s twenty-five feet from snout to tail. Twenty feet across his midsection. Good for a parade or something, eh, boys?” Mr. Pineeda laughed.

  Kendra and the cook began placing a plate in front of each contestant. She also put a plate with a much smaller sandwich in front of Alex. He might have said something flirty to her again, but Brian wasn’t paying attention. He saw only the platter in front of him. The Big Porker looked as big around as a basketball and at least five inches high from bun to bun. Just the pile of shredded meat inside was probably as big as Alex’s entire little Piglet. Could he even pick the sandwich up? How could he take a bite? The mountain of golden, steaming Pig Tails stood almost as high as the sandwich itself. How would he ever finish all of that?

  “All right, boys. The plates are in position.” Mr. Pineeda looked up and down the tables, checking for cheaters. “Nobody touch their food.” Red held his hands inches above his sandwich. Frankie cracked his knuckles. Mr. Pineeda moved to the middle of the group of contest tables. He raised his hand up above his head. “Ready. Set. Go!”

  He dropped his arm, and the contest was on. Brian tried to get his hands around the Big Porker and pick it up, but he kept getting SSSBS on them.

  “Dude, there’s no way you’re going to be able to eat that thing and stay clean. Can’t be done,” Alex said. “Just go for it. Remember” — he lowered his voice to a whisper — “we need this.”

  Brian finally got ahold of the sandwich and took a big bite. He closed his eyes as he chewed. Mr. Pineeda was right. Piggly’s served the best barbecue pork in the world. He added a bit of salt to the Pig Tails and crammed a curl in his mouth. After every bite he remembered Max’s advice to chew a lot.

  Across the table, Red’s face was almost as red as his hair. He had barbecue sauce all over his mouth and cheeks. He’d taken off the bun and was forking huge clumps of meat into his mouth. “Itsh goo,” he said, his mouth completely stuffed with pork.

  “You still have to eat that bun,” Alex said.

  When Red could finally swallow, he spoke loudly with sauce still on his face. “I saw this video about a guy in Japan who wins hot-dog eating contests by dipping the bun in water. I figure Mountain Dew should do it too.”

  Brian kept eating, focusing on fries, while Red picked up the top bun, rolled and squished it into a sort of cigar shape, and then dipped it halfway down into his soda. Brian shook his head. Red slipped the soggy bun into his mouth and sort of slurped off the wet end, swallowing a second later.

  “Easy,” Red said. “Tastes pretty good too.”

  “You might have to try that trick,” Alex whispered to Brian.

  Brian tried not to gag at the thought. He took another big bite of his sandwich.

  After about forty-five minutes, the guys were slowing down. David leaned forward, his face low to the table. Over half of his Big Porker was left. He looked at Red. “How did I let you talk me into this?”

  “You’re the one who said it would be easy. You love the barbecue pork here.” Red frowned. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me tonight. I usually eat, like, two sandwiches like this for supper.”

  Alex laughed. “Red said!”

  “Red said!” David moaned. He did not look up.

  “Re shaid?” Brian mumbled while chewing. About half of his sandwich remained.

  “It’s something we say, usually at lunch, whenever Red feeds us another one of his crazy stories,” Alex said.

  “It’s true!” Red said. “Either two sandwiches like this, or a big buffalo steak.”

  Brian watched Frankie. He had maybe a quarter of his sandwich left and only a few Pig Tails. He let out a huge belch. “You sissies are going to have bad stomachaches for no reason when you see me walk out of here with the big prize.” He caught Brian’s gaze and flashed a sick grin, then held a Pig Tail up above his head, tilted his head back, and lowered the curly fry into his mouth.

  No way. Not this time. Frankie was not going to beat him. Brian took the top bun off his sandwich, rolled it like Red had done, and dipped it in his water. Then he squished the soggy mass in his mouth. He didn’t chew much. It sort of tasted pre-chewed anyway. He did the same thing with the bottom bun, then grabbed his fork and started shoving food in his mouth. Fries and pork together, it didn’t matter. Food was food, and Brian had some catching up to do.

  Alex had finished his tiny meal a long time ago, so he was going around the tables, confirming bets on his iPhone. Most of the high school guys seemed to have given up. They joked with one another, messed around on their phones, and took their time eating. The few guys who were still trying poked at their plates, maybe eating a fry once in a while. The old guy had left long ago. Brian stayed focused on his own plate. There were only four or five more forkfuls left. He stabbed the last of his Pig Tails and brought the food to his mouth —

  “Done!” Frankie shouted. He stood up, holding the empty plate above his head with both hands like a trophy. “I’m done. Who else is done? Nob
ody. I’m the winner!”

  Seeing Frankie celebrate was enough to make Brian sick, and as full as he was, he didn’t need much help.

  “We have a winner!” Mr. Pineeda shouted. Everyone clapped, except for Brian, and David, who just moaned again.

  Brian looked at the little bit of food he had left. He had taken a risk in this contest. A chance for greatness. A chance to fly. Now he had failed. Worse, he had let Dad down. They’d never get the flyer’s engine fixed up enough to take off, not without extra parts. Mr. Piggly had been their only chance.

  “You tried your best,” Alex said quietly. “Maybe Frankie will just sell us the balloon. If not, we’ll find another way to fly.”

  “There is no other way,” Brian whispered.

  “Well, what can we do about it?”

  Frankie held his hand over his stomach as Mr. Pineeda told him how to handle Mr. Piggly.

  That hand on the stomach. That was the giveaway.

  “Hey, Frankie,” Brian shouted. Frankie and Mr. Pineeda looked at him. “Bet you can’t eat two!”

  “What are you talking about?” Frankie snapped.

  “Yeah, dude, what are you talking about?” Alex whispered.

  “I bet you can’t eat another Big Porker sandwich before I do,” Brian said.

  “Forget it. You lost. You’re a loser.” Frankie held his stomach and burped. “You’re always a loser.”

  “Yeah? Hey, Frankie, maybe you’d rather order a chicken sandwich,” Jason said.

  Frankie glared at him. Mr. Pineeda laughed so hard he shook. “Uh-oh, Frankie. I think there’s a challenge here … though nobody in the proud history of Piggly’s has ever eaten two Big Porkers in one night.”

  “I can do it.” Brian stood up. He was glad that he had the table there to steady him. He stared at Frankie. “Can you? If I win, I get the Mr. Piggly balloon. If you win, you get the balloon, plus I’ll pay you ten bucks.”

  The high school guys started to chant, “Fran-kie! Frankie! Fran-kie!”

  Brian could see the hatred in Frankie’s eyes and knew he had him now. He sat back down and finished the food on his first plate.

  “Fine!” Frankie held up his hands with his arms spread wide. “You guys want to see a new eating record. That’s cool.” He pointed at Brian. “Just the sandwich?”

  “Just the sandwich,” Brian said.

  “This is amazing!” Mr. Pineeda said. “I’ll be right back with two more Big Porkers!”

  “Okay, okay!” Alex shouted. “It’s Brian versus Frankie in the ultimate eating smackdown challenge.” He held his iPhone above his head. “This contest is so hot, I’m going to take action on this. I got ten bucks on Brian right now! Any takers?”

  Frankie slumped down in his seat. “Alex, my man! You gotta be kidding me! You don’t think I can beat this guy?”

  “Just business, Frankie,” Alex said.

  The other guys chimed in with their bets. The only one who didn’t gamble on Frankie was David, who seemed to be in some sort of barbecue-pork coma and didn’t bet at all.

  The sandwiches were brought out. As soon as the new one was set down in front of Brian, everything else faded away. In all the world there was only Brian, his stomach, and the Big Porker.

  He attacked the sandwich, forgetting all about the scientific methods he had studied. Slurping down another wet bun would have probably made him throw up anyway. Instead he forced down one bite while only partially chewing the next. Barbecue sauce glopped all over his mouth, cheeks, and fingers.

  Finally, there was just one small blob of barbecue pork left. Brian wadded the meat up and held it in his hands, risking a look up at Frankie. Frankie was chewing furiously, trying to cram more and more into his mouth, but he had well over a quarter of his sandwich left. Brian had it. There was no way Frankie could win now.

  He pushed the last of the food into his mouth and chewed the best he could, using his fingers to hold it all in until he could swallow. Slowly, he stood up. The light in the room seemed a bit blurred. “I win,” he said. “Mr. Piggly is mine!”

  Frankie slammed his fist down on the table.

  Maybe some of the guys were clapping or whistling. With his painfully full stomach, Brian couldn’t focus on them. Mr. Pineeda appeared next to him with a camera. “No, no,” he said when Brian went for the napkins. “Leave the SSSBS on your face and wave with it on your fingers. Smile so everyone can see how happy you are after eating so much good food! I’ll put this photo up on Piggly’s Wall of Champions! You’re our very first Double Big Porker Survivor!”

  Alex collected a bunch of money. Someone, maybe Red, said something to Brian. Brian staggered out the door into the cool night air. The stars twinkled above in the night sky. “I won,” he said to them.

  Then he bent over and barfed until his throat felt raw.

  On Monday morning, Ms. Gilbert stood in front of the class. “I am handing out the paper that describes your Greek mythology group assignment,” she said. She quickly touched her thumb to her tongue so that she could separate the papers more easily, then peeled off enough for each row of students. Brian wished she wouldn’t do the whole licking-the-thumb thing. It always left this gross glob of spit on the corner of the paper. It wasn’t as bad for him in the fourth seat back, but he pitied the front-row people.

  Starting in Wendy’s corner, Ms. Gilbert counted off the students. “One, two, three. You’re a group.” She directed the next three into a group. Everyone looked around, trying to figure out who they’d be with. The first two people in Brian’s row fell into a group with someone from the one before. That meant Alex, Brian, and Max would be working together.

  “When I have given you permission to speak, and not a moment before then, you will form your groups,” Ms. Gilbert said. Her shoes made that scary teacher clip-clop sound on the tile floor. “You will not drag your desks into position. You will lift them up off the floor and place them where you want them. Do you understand?”

  Why did she always ask that? Brian wondered. Did she expect anyone to answer her? Whenever grown-ups asked, “Do you understand?” it seemed more like they were saying, “Do you understand how much trouble you’ll be in if you don’t do what I say?”

  Ms. Gilbert continued. “Each group will choose one of the myths from the list on the paper. You will all read and study the story of the myth. Then you will do research online and in the library to find out how this myth appears in or affects our culture. You’ll find advertisements, films, TV shows, novels, words, and …”

  Something blinked on the screen of Brian’s graphing calculator. It was an old model, one that his dad wasn’t using anymore. He’d thought it was off. It blinked again and he looked more closely at it.

  BRIAN, ARE YOU RECEIVING THIS MESSAGE?

  THIS IS MAX. PLEASE RESPOND AND PRESS THE ZOOM BUTTON TO SEND.

  Brian did his best to look like he was paying attention to Ms. Gilbert. He slid the calculator back behind his language arts book, hit the ALPHA LOCK key, and typed back:

  HOW R U TXTING ME

  He hit ZOOM. A moment later, another message appeared.

  I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT TELLING YOU ABOUT THIS EARLIER, BUT I WASN’T SURE IF IT WOULD WORK. I INSTALLED TRANSMITTERS INTO BOTH OF OUR GRAPHING CALCULATORS, SO WE NOW HAVE TEXT MESSAGE CAPABILITY. HOWEVER, THE TRANSMISSION RANGE ON THE CALCULATORS IS LIMITED TO ABOUT ONE HUNDRED FEET.

  No wonder he hadn’t been able to find his calculator over the weekend. It was cool that he could text in class, but really lame that it was on an old calculator. He wrote back:

  WATS UP

  Max’s reply popped up quickly.

  YOU MAY BE PLEASED TO KNOW THAT PREFLIGHT CHECKS ON THE REBUILT FLYER ARE COMPLETE, AND THE STARBOARD WING IS FULLY FUNCTIONAL. FURTHERMORE, ENGINE REASSEMBLY IS FINISHED. I HAVE PRODUCED A SUFFICIENT QUANTITY OF HYDROGEN TO INFLATE MR. PIGGLY. THE FORECAST TONIGHT CALLS FOR CLEAR AND CALM. I BELIEVE WE SHOULD ATTEMPT A FLIGHT THIS EVENING.

  Brian texted back.

 
YES FLY 2NITE Y NOT HELIUM

  The answer came back:

  IT’S GOOD THAT YOU ARE READY TO FLY TONIGHT. I AM REASONABLY CONFIDENT THAT THE FLIGHT WILL BE A SUCCESS. AS REGARDS MY CHOICE TO USE HYDROGEN RATHER THAN HELIUM, BASICALLY IT IS A MATTER OF HIT THE CLEAR BUTTON RIGHT NOW!

  Brian tapped the CLEAR button, erasing the messages. He looked up just in time to see Ms. Gilbert a few paces away.

  “What’s so interesting back here, Brian?” she said. She picked up his calculator and frowned, then put it back down on his desk. “What myth do you suppose you’d like to work on with your group?”

  Brian licked his lips. The secret seemed to be safe. “I think the Daedalus and Icarus story you told me about looks pretty cool.”

  “Have you read it yet?”

  “I started it.” He swallowed. “A long time ago.”

  “Ah, it’s so cool that you haven’t managed to finish reading it yet.”

  “Sorry. I’ll read it now.”

  Ms. Gilbert tapped Brian’s desk. “Stop fiddling with your calculator and pay attention.” She clip-clopped back to the front of the room. Brian sat back in his desk and released a quiet sigh.

  Later, as the class prepared to go to Mr. Carlson’s room for science, Wendy put her hand on Brian’s arm to stop him. “Hey, it’s been a long time since we talked,” she said.

  He could have sworn her fingers were electrically charged. It tingled where she touched him, even after she took her hand away. “Yeah, um, I’m … sorry about that,” Brian said.

  Wendy leaned closer. “You want to skate tonight? We could carve it up on the half-pipe.”

  He wanted to more than anything, but he and the guys planned to fly that night. “I can’t. Well, not tonight. I … um … I’ve got to help my grandpa on the farm. Otherwise, yeah, tonight would be awesome.”

  Wendy frowned a little. “Oh. You’re busy a lot,” she said. “That’s too bad. Well, see you around.” She headed out the door.