Stealing Air

by Trent Reedy

  “Did either of you actually take the time to read the story of Icarus and Daedalus?”

  Brian shook his head.

  “The end of the Icarus story is that he flies too close to the sun, his wings melt and burn, and he crashes and drowns in the ocean.”

  “So the flyer needs a new name,” Brian said. “And a new takeoff plan.”

  The next morning, Brian’s mouth watered at the smell and sound of hot sizzling bacon. But he stopped when he entered the kitchen, surprised to find Grandpa and not Dad at the stove.

  “Morning, sport!” Grandpa said. “You’re just in time. Got some bacon and home-fried potatoes for you. I remember how you hate eggs.” He placed a plate on the table and pulled out a chair. “Have a seat.”

  Brian sat down. It was true. He couldn’t stand eggs. Something about that whole gooey glob of yellow pre-baby-chicken slime thing made him want to throw up. He just wished Grandpa had made this awesome breakfast another day when he didn’t have this huge bruise on his face. He tried to keep Grandpa from getting a good look at him.

  Brian ate in silence while Grandpa cleaned up the kitchen. It was a much better breakfast than his usual cereal. “What are you doing here?” he finally said, finishing up the last of his food.

  Grandpa groaned as he sat down across the table with a mug of steaming coffee in hand. “Truck’s in the shop and I got a doctor’s appointment at the V.A. in Iowa City. Your mother’s going to drive me there on …” He peered closely at Brian. “Her way to … work.”

  Grandpa put his coffee down. The thud of the mug on the table echoed in the quiet kitchen. “Let me see your face.”

  Caught. He couldn’t hide it now. Brian showed him as directed. “It’s no big deal, really.”

  “No big deal.” Grandpa’s chair scraped the floor as he pushed it back. “I think you better come with me.”

  Brian wondered why adults bothered to say things like, “I think you better” as if it mattered if he thought differently. They really just meant, “Do whatever I’m about to tell you to do.” He followed his grandfather out onto the back porch.

  It was a cool morning, but sunny and bright. Grandpa reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brown cigar. Then he opened the top on his metal lighter and flicked the flame to life. He lit the cigar, and after a few puffs, he lowered it and tapped some ashes to the ground. “Brian, you may think I’m too ancient to understand much about what you’re going through, but this old man is sharper than you know.” His shoes clomped as he crossed the wooden floor. He took another drag on his cigar. “You’ve been into some trouble after school. Coming home with all these scrapes and bruises. I know what you’ve been up to.”

  Brian felt cold. Grandpa must have seen them bringing the flyer back to the Eagle’s Nest last night. Now he’d tell Mom and Dad, and everybody would know about the stolen Plastisteel. He’d be grounded for the rest of his life and he’d never get the chance to fly. “I’m sorry,” Brian said.

  “Hold on.” Grandpa had been smoking and looking out over the yard. Now he faced Brian again. “I know I made you promise to stay out of trouble, and I’m sure you tried.” He pointed his cigar at Brian. “But sometimes trouble finds you, and it’s not your fault.”

  What? How could working on the flyer in the Eagle’s Nest possibly not be his fault?

  “You got some guy thinks he’s tough. Coming around making life hard, picking on you.” Grandpa took a long drag. Brian felt relieved that he hadn’t discovered the Eagle’s Nest. A moment later Grandpa blew out smoke. “And I appreciate you trying to be good like I asked you to, but Brian, sometimes the only thing these tough guys understand is toughness. You sock him a good one” — he punched the air — “be amazed at how quick this so-called tough guy will fall. How quick he’ll leave you be.” He stabbed his cigar into the dirt in a flowerpot, then he waved his hand back and forth to shoo away the smoke. “Don’t tell your mother I’ve been smoking out here. Okay, sport?”

  Grandpa had his secrets too. “No problem,” said Brian.

  “And you think about what I told you,” Grandpa said. He patted Brian on the shoulder as he went back inside.

  Later, as he skated to school, Brian considered Grandpa’s words. There were just two problems with the whole fight-back-against-Frankie thing. First, for a tough guy, Frankie was really tough. Sometimes in gym class, before Mr. Darndall even had them do anything, Frankie would knock out push-ups for no reason, sometimes over a hundred.

  The second problem rolled up next to him just as his iPod switched to the Beatles’ song “Getting Better.” Brian popped out his earbuds, careful to keep the bruised side of his face away from her. “Hey, Wendy,” he said.

  “What? No half-pipe this morning?” she said.

  “I don’t think I could handle it today.”

  “Oh.” She was quiet for a moment. “Hey, do you think you could give me a few pointers sometime?”

  “Um, I don’t know. Maybe.” He sounded like an idiot.

  “We could meet at the skate park tonight.” She kicked up her speed a little. “Or, you know, we could get ice cream too.”

  One thing Brian knew about his life in Iowa so far was that everything could change very quickly. Last night he was miserable after crashing the flyer into the muck again. Now he almost felt like he could fly all on his own. He smiled so much that it hurt his bruised face. Without thinking, he reached up to touch his swollen eye.

  “Wait. Are you okay?” Wendy asked.

  Oh no. He kicked the ground to speed away from her.

  “Brian,” she said, “let me see your face.”

  “It’s cool. Don’t worry about it,” said Brian.

  “Come on. Show me. You can’t hide all day.”

  “Fine.” He looked at her.

  Wendy gasped. “Oh my gosh. What happened?”

  What could he say? Even if he could tell her about the flyer, she’d never believe him. “It’s, um … hard to explain.”

  “It was Frankie, wasn’t it?”

  “No!” Brian objected so forcefully that he almost fell off Spitfire.

  “Don’t try to cover for him, Brian. I know he’s been giving you crap.”

  The one time Frankie was innocent was when Wendy had to drag him into the situation. “It’s nothing.”

  “It is not nothing!” Wendy shouted. They were starting down the Lincoln Street hill to the school, speeding up. It was usually a fun slope, but today she just stood straight up on her board with her arms folded. “I will kill him!”

  “No, Wendy. Please. Trust me on this. He didn’t do anything this time! It would be better if you didn’t —”

  “It would be better if my stupid brother left people alone!” Wendy kicked up a wicked ollie off the street onto the sidewalk in front of the school. Brian went to follow, but was distracted enough to hook his wheels on the curb. He stumbled, but caught himself just in time. Picking up Spitfire, he watched Wendy vanish into the school.

  There were still twenty minutes until the first bell, but kids were already hanging out in the hallway or in groups around their desks. After stowing Spitfire in his locker and getting his books, Brian went to his seat between Alex and Max in homeroom.

  Alex turned around and bit his lower lip. “I hurt everywhere. Who knew water could be so painful?”

  Max spoke quietly. “I’m very pleased that you and Alex made it through last night’s malfunction safely.”

  “I wouldn’t call it safe,” Brian said. “But at least we weren’t killed.”

  Max smiled. “I have heard the expression, ‘Any landing you can walk away from is a good landing.’”

  “Any landing you can swim away from,” Brian said.

  Alex laughed a little. “Max, tell him.”

  “I remained in the Eagle’s Nest late last night, checking over the damage. The flyer held together perfectly. The engine will have to be flushed and cleaned, but other than that, it should be as functional as it was before.”
>
  Which wasn’t that great, Brian thought.

  “What he means is that we’re still in business,” Alex said. “But just like before, we need to work on fixing up the engine and figuring out a new takeoff plan. So, Eagle’s Nest. After school.”

  Brian shrugged. If Wendy hadn’t freaked out about his bruises, they could be skating together after school. He tried not to think about it.

  It was almost a relief when Ms. Gilbert started class — that is, until she started them on their group projects. He’d had about all he could handle of stupid Icarus.

  Frankie slammed Brian with the usual shoulder bumps after class. He left him alone the rest of the day, but Brian didn’t want to take any chances with him after school. “Max,” he said as they gathered up their books after the last bell, “do you want to go to the Eagle’s Nest now? We could take the other way out of here.”

  Max nodded.

  Outside, they crossed the playground and reached the big maple in the corner by the back fence. “You go first and then I’ll toss our bags over,” Brian said to Max.

  Max went around the tree to the side with the low branch — then came flying back, landing on his butt. Frankie jumped out from behind the tree. He ran his hand through his curly black hair. “It took a little time to figure out how you two losers were always getting away after school, but I found your sissy escape path.” He cracked his knuckles. That twitch was back in his eye, now focused on Brian. “Wendy says you’ve been going around telling everyone I beat you up.”

  “I did not.”

  Frankie shrugged. “I told her she was crazy. I told her I barely touched you in a long time. She didn’t believe me.”

  Brian’s legs shook. Max stood up next to him, but there was no rocketbike for their escape today.

  Frankie gave Brian a quick shove in the chest. He was forced back a little. Grandpa wanted him to fight this guy? Maybe he could. Brian tightened his fist.

  Frankie stretched his neck to one side and then the other. “Now, I told you not to talk to my sister, but you wouldn’t listen.” He shrugged and took another step closer. “And I figure since she’s going to be mad at me for beating you up anyway, I might as well actually do it.”

  Max held up a hand. “There’s no reason for this —”

  Frankie shoved Max back. Brian rushed at Frankie, but he was too quick, slamming his fist into Brian’s stomach. Brian bent over in pain, the wind knocked out of him.

  “Just leave us alone!” Max shouted.

  Frankie planted one boot behind Max’s foot and pushed him back, dropping him on his butt. Brian tried to stand upright so he could punch Frankie in the face, but he couldn’t breathe. Frankie grabbed him by the shirt and slung him into the fence. He hit the wood face-first and fell to the ground.

  Frankie leaned down over him. He pounded his fist into his other hand. “See you tomorrow.”

  Then Brian and Max were alone on the quiet playground.

  A breeze blew over them, and from somewhere came the sound of the metal hook for the tetherball, clinking against the pole. Brian just stayed on the ground. He might never get up. Every time he tried, he came crashing back to the dirt again.

  Then Max was above him, holding out a hand. “Let me help you up.”

  When Brian was on his feet, brushing himself off and feeling his stinging eye and cheek, Max handed him his backpack. “Come on,” he said. “It makes no sense to take the secret way home now.”

  Neither of them spoke all the way across town to Grandpa’s farm.

  In the Eagle’s Nest, it didn’t take long for Max to disassemble the whole engine. He picked up a toothbrush and started scrubbing down some of the parts.

  “Think you can fix this?” Brian asked.

  “Most likely.” Max put one part down and picked up another. “I don’t think there is much damage. The engine parts will just have to be cleaned and lubricated.”

  “Anything I can do to help?” Brian looked over the mess of parts on the table.

  Max pointed to the engine parts, bottles of water, brushes, and clean rags. “You can scrub down the components that are dusty from where the muddy water dried on them.”

  “I have my iPod,” Brian said. “Music?” Max nodded, and Brian plugged his iPod into the speakers, putting on the Beatles’ White Album.

  They cleaned parts for a while, and nobody spoke. It was nice, just enjoying the music safe inside the Eagle’s Nest. Except for the sting in his face, Brian could almost forget about Frankie.

  After a long time, Max looked up from his work. “About this afternoon with Frankie … Thanks for trying to help. I’m sorry that —”

  “Guys!” Alex shouted from the hole in the floor. “Check this out! I ordered it a long time ago, but it finally came today.” He came up into the room and rushed to the table with a box so big it barely fit through the tunnel, but he stopped when he saw Brian’s eye. “Whoa. Is your face actually getting worse? What happened?”

  “Frankie,” Brian said.

  Alex stared at them both for a moment. “Yeah. Well … Hey! Check this out, check this out!” He put the box down on the east-side workbench and opened it. “Okay, so everybody’s a little down about our second crash. I get it, but I have something here that might cheer you up.”

  He pulled out a big green metal box. It was the size and shape of a video-game console, but instead of a disc slot on the front, it had a bunch of knobs. Alex took out a long, narrow, folding metal strap and screwed it into the end with the knobs. Then he plugged in what looked like an antique telephone handset.

  “It’s a radio communication set,” Max said.

  “It’s not just any old radio!” Alex answered. “This is the PRC-77, a retired military radio. This sucker can take a hit and keep on rolling.” He reached into the box and pulled out another identical unit. “These things usually cost a fortune on eBay, but I’ve been looking all over the Internet and at military surplus stores and stuff, and you’ll never believe this. Both radios, with batteries, antennae, and handsets, and I got the whole thing for, like, two hundred bucks!”

  “You had two hundred dollars?” Brian asked.

  “I called in a lot of bets and used savings from my birthday and stuff.” Alex shrugged. “My point is, guys, now we can have a radio on the ground with Max and another up in the flyer. When the flyer is finally airborne, Max will be able to direct us around for all the cameras and stuff.”

  “If we can get this thing to fly,” Max said.

  Alex put his arm around Max’s shoulders. “Of course we can get it to fly! I just spent two hundred bucks on radio equipment that says we can fly. You guys each take a radio home. Test them out. You’ll love them. Now all we have to do is rework the engine. And we already have it all taken apart to do that.”

  Listening to him, Brian started to believe in the flyer again too. They had been close, after all. The first takeoff was almost a success, and the balloon plan might have worked if they had been able to have a controlled release.

  “Come on, Max,” Alex said. “You’re a genius. I know you got some magic left in you to fix up this engine.”

  Max looked doubtful. “I suppose I could —”

  “Yes! We’re back in business,” Alex said. “And you know what else the flyer needs? A name. A good name this time.”

  “How about Kendra?” Brian said. “You said it has to be a girl’s name.”

  Alex rubbed his knuckles on his chin. “Tempting, but I was thinking —” He slapped his hands down on the center table. “Guys! Seriously! Why do we always have to play this Stone Age music?” He pulled his own iPod from his bag and went toward the speakers.

  Max shook his head. “Just leave it! We always listen to what you want to hear. We do whatever you want to, just because you think you know what’s cool. What makes your stuff so great? So superior? Just because it came out in the last two weeks! And what will happen two weeks from now?” Alex opened his mouth to speak, but Max held his hand up. “I
’ll tell you! In two weeks the song you’re about to play right now will be old and everyone will say it’s crap. Why? Because it really is crap!”

  Nobody moved for a moment. Brian caught Alex’s glance. Alex put his iPod down. “Wow. Dude, chill. It’s okay. We can listen to —”

  “He’s right,” Brian said.

  In the silence, the song on the White Album changed to “Blackbird.”

  “I know you guys are upset about whatever Frankie did tonight, but don’t take it out on me. What did I —”

  “This is it!” Brian said.

  “What is?” Alex asked.

  Brian smiled. “Oh, it’s perfect. ‘Blackbird.’” He restarted the song so they could listen to the words.

  Blackbird singing in the dead of night

  Take these broken wings and learn to fly

  All your life

  You were only waiting for this moment to arise

  Blackbird singing in the dead of night

  Take these sunken eyes and learn to see

  All your life

  You were only waiting for this moment to be free.

  Brian looked at Alex. “You said the flyer needs a new name. It’s right in this song. All that stuff about waiting for this moment. About being free. About flying! Don’t you see?”

  “About fixing broken wings.” Max took off his glasses and chewed on the earpiece.

  Brian nodded. “We’ll call her Blackbird.”

  Alex patted the wing. “There’s nothing black about it. It’s bright white.”

  “I believe that’s what they call irony,” Max said.

  “And the song is on the White Album, get it?” Brian said.

  “No,” Alex said. “I don’t get it.”

  “Who votes to call her Blackbird?” Brian said. He raised his hand. Max raised his too.

  Alex shrugged. “Okay. You win. Blackbird it is. It’ll fly soon enough.”

  They worked for a long time that night, listening to some more Beatles for Brian, and even some Weird Al after Max asked for it. They drank soda until the twenty-four pack was nearly empty. By the time they were done, the engine was perfectly clean and reassembled.