by Trent Reedy
“What’s this all about?” Brian’s father asked once again. Even with Max and Alex at his side, Brian felt his courage slipping away.
“Yes, I’d like to know too,” said Alex’s mom. “Alex, if you wanted us to meet your new friends, you could have —”
“I’ll handle this,” said Mr. Mackenzie. “Alex, you said this was important business and —”
“Can I have your attention please?” Brian spoke loudly. If this was going to work out right, they would have to be the ones to lead the discussion. “We have to tell you something that is probably going to surprise you.”
“But it’s good!” Alex cut in.
How did Dad know how to run meetings like this? Brian smiled. Dad made it up. “That’s right! It is good. So just, please, listen to the whole presentation before you make judgments.”
“Oh no,” Brian’s mom said. “What’s wrong?”
Brian shot a questioning look at Max, who shrugged. No help there. Alex was fiddling with his iPhone.
Brian took a deep breath. There was no delicate way to put this. “Max built an airplane, and we flew it.”
“You built a toy airplane?” said Alex’s dad. “Like radio controlled? There’s no way you could have built a real plane.” He rubbed his hand over his bald spot.
“Why doesn’t anyone ever believe me?” Max whispered.
“Blackbird is totally real,” Alex said. “Brian and I flew it, flew on it, yesterday.”
He finished messing with his iPhone and held it up, showing the video of Blackbird in action. Everyone went still and quiet as they watched, except for little Katie, who kept smiling at Brian.
As the video ended, the adults all seemed to erupt into conversation at once.
“You could have been hurt flying around on that thing!” Brian’s mom said.
Mrs. Mackenzie leaned forward in her seat. “You didn’t even wear a helmet?”
“Were you working from a kit or plans you found online?” Dr. Warrender asked.
Max cut in, “Actually, I designed Blackbird myself.”
Mr. Warrender raised an eyebrow. “The results are remarkable.”
“Even if the methods are a bit unorthodox,” Dr. Warrender added. Max’s parents were the only ones smiling, though his mom looked like she was trying to conceal it. Max made no effort to hide his big grin.
“You were supposed to be grounded, Brian,” Mom said. “Am I going to have to send you to your grandfather’s house after school to make sure you don’t go running off before I get home?”
Brian risked eye contact with Grandpa. The old man seemed very serious, but there was a little gleam in his eye. He only nodded.
Alex’s father stood up, still rubbing his bald spot. “You boys will be in junior high next year. It’s time for you to start being serious and thinking about your reputations and your futures. This kind of … cowboy stuff won’t help you.”
Brian thought he heard Alex laugh just a little bit. Cowboy stuff? Futures? Fixing the future of Synthtech was what the whole flyer thing was all about. At least, that was how it started. He looked over at Max and Alex. The Blackbird project had become a lot more than just a cool experiment or a way to help Dad’s company.
Dr. Warrender frowned. “The material of that plane looked rather familiar. What is it made from?”
“Yeah.” Brian kept up that business smile until his cheeks hurt. “It’s Plastisteel.” He held up his hand against the outburst from his dad and Dr. Warrender.
“I’m sorry,” said Mrs. Mackenzie. “Plasti-what?”
“It’s my invention,” said Dr. Warrender. She explained Plastisteel and Synthtech to Alex’s family. Alex’s dad raised his eyebrows, and his mom looked similarly impressed. Dad’s face was bright red as he glared at Brian. Instead of being angry, Brian’s mother turned away and wiped tears from her eyes.
“Just wait a second,” Brian cut in. Alex elbowed him, and he remembered his manners. “Please.” He tried to act casual. “When we borrowed … stole the materials for the flyer, we didn’t realize how difficult it would be for you all to make more.”
“Brian, we needed that Plastisteel,” Dr. Warrender said. “Do you have any idea how important it was?”
“As regards the theft,” said Max. “I was the one who actually —”
“Who actually was mad at me for stealing —” Brian started, trying to keep Max from taking all the blame.
“We were all in on that part together,” Alex said. “We are very sorry.”
“Brian, the least you could have done was think about the future of your family’s business,” Dad said. “If you hadn’t stolen the Plastisteel, we might have had some compelling demonstration for Mrs. Douglas or even —”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Brian said. “We contacted Mrs. Douglas and showed her video footage of our flight. She was so impressed that she agreed to —”
“What!” Brian’s dad yelled. “You had no right to contact my business associate!”
“Oh, relax, Jack!” Mrs. Douglas herself stood in the entryway to the living room. “The door was open. Hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.”
Brian whispered to Alex, “It’s about time she showed up.”
Dad clapped his hands together and grinned. “Not at all, Mrs. Douglas. What an unexpected pleasure.”
“Not unexpected at all! These fine young gentlemen in their sharp ties invited me.”
Brian’s dad wiped his forehead. “We were just discussing —”
“I know. I could hear your discussion all the way out in the street.” She noticed Alex’s dad. “Hello, Josh. How’s business?”
“Helen. Great to see you again. Business is … um … great.”
Mrs. Douglas looked unimpressed. “I’ll bet.”
“How’s your car running?” Mr. Mackenzie asked.
“Perfectly, of course. If not, you’d be hearing from me.”
“Happy to help!” Mr. Mackenzie said with a big fake grin. “Anything for you.”
Was there no end to the kissing up to Mrs. Douglas? Brian wondered.
“Incredible machine,” Mrs. Douglas said.
“Well, Lexus builds the best, I always say,” said Mr. Mackenzie.
“I’m sure you say that, especially since you sell them,” said Mrs. Douglas. “But I was talking about a different incredible machine.” She reached into her purse and pulled out an iPad. “Craziest thing. I received this video clip in my e-mail last night.” She touched the screen a couple times and showed them the video of Blackbird swooping around Riverside. “Ding-dangedest thing I ever saw. Look at her go! Oh, watch this part where she flies right between those towers. Woo!” She smiled. “I love that. Then I laughed and laughed so hard at the part coming up where they poop-bomb some kid in the park. A poop bomb! That’s funny!”
She glared at everyone else in the room. Dad laughed first, and then the rest of the adults joined in.
Brian watched Frankie getting splattered on the video. “I thought you were taking that part out,” he whispered to Alex. Alex shrugged.
“I saw the video of this amazing aircraft, and I could almost hear my mama talking to me.” Mrs. Douglas held up her right hand and looked up. “She said, ‘Angel, I know you don’t need any more money. You’re richer than fling fiddle! But look at that plane fly! Made out of crazy magic plastic. You’re over sixty and your fourth husband bores you to tears. Have a little fun. You deserve it!’” She put her hand down and looked at the others. “Don’t I deserve it?”
“Absolutely!” Dad said.
“Of course,” said Mr. Mackenzie.
“I think so,” said Mom.
“That’s what I thought,” said Mrs. Douglas. “So I decided I’d come down here today and see if there was anything my money and I could do to help you whoop up this magic plastic faster.” She tapped her iPad screen a few times and then handed the device to Brian’s father. “And we’ll have to hurry, because I took the liberty of talkin
g to some friends of mine who work in engineering and manufacturing, and they just might be interested in making some very substantial purchases.”
Dad’s business smile disappeared when he saw whatever was on the screen. His mouth fell open. “Um … Are you serious about these numbers?”
“Sweetheart,” Mrs. Douglas said, “with dollar amounts that large, I’m always serious. So why don’t you let the kiddies here go play so we can talk real business?”
“Mrs. Douglas,” Mom said, “they’ve done something that requires they be disciplined.”
“What?” Mrs. Douglas acted like this was the most outrageous news she’d ever heard. “These perfect little angels in trouble? What? You afraid they’re going to get hurt with their little airplane?”
“Where is this airplane now?” Max’s dad asked.
“Yes, let’s make sure there are no more of these dangerous flights,” said Mom.
“We don’t have it anymore,” Brian said almost without thinking. All eyes were on him. Mrs. Douglas smiled at him, tapping her lower lip. “Because …” He risked a quick glance at Max and Alex. “Because we sold it to Mrs. Douglas. For her … you know …”
Mrs. Douglas narrowed her eyes at Brian, but it was clear she was amused. “You’ve been yelling at these boys so much, you didn’t even give them the chance to tell you that I done bought the plane already! It’s on display in my little showroom in Iowa City, along with my Jet Ski, my snowmobile, my motorcycles, and my Corvette. So you don’t have to worry about any more trouble from that. Besides, I’m sure you’re much more interested in discussing how to get your Plastisteel operation up and running.”
Dad showed the iPad to Mom. Her eyebrows went up a little. “Well, that’s … um … certainly very generous of you, Mrs. Douglas.” She handed back the iPad, and her eyes found Dad’s. They couldn’t hide their happiness. Dad even reached out and took Mom’s hand.
Mrs. Douglas smiled and waved her comment away. “Oh, baby doll, that’s not generous at all. For me, that’s cheap! Now.” She secretly winked at Brian, Max, and Alex. “Should we talk a little business?”
A short time later, the boys scrambled through the tunnel into the Eagle’s Nest. Alex had stopped by his kitchen at home across the street and brought back sodas and a bag of cheese puffs.
Alex fired up Max’s computer to check the Blackbird video online. He rubbed his knuckles under his chin. “Over ten thousand views already! If it keeps up like this, the TV and magazine people will be begging to tell our story.”
Max frowned. “While I appreciate your single-minded devotion to profit, I still don’t understand why Mrs. Douglas lied to get us out of trouble. Clearly we didn’t sell Blackbird to her or anyone else.” He looked at Alex. “Right?”
“Give me a little credit, Max. If we sold the flyer today, we’d make only a tenth of what it will be worth a few weeks from now.”
“I made all that up,” Brian said. “That stuff about selling Blackbird. I took a chance that Mrs. Douglas was on our side. She’s rich and bored and just wants to have fun with her money. What’s more fun than watching guys like us zip around on an experimental aircraft?”
“So our parents believe we no longer have Blackbird. We’ll have to work on it in secret again,” Max said.
“Yeah, starting with its brakes.” Alex handed sodas to Brian and Max. “I can’t afford to keep buying new shoes if our future landings go like our first one.”
Brian took a drink of Mountain Dew. “I was thinking we should work on her engine. You know, with some more parts, maybe we could rebuild it so Blackbird could take off on her own.”
“But I thought we needed more Plastisteel for all that,” said Alex.
“Yeah, but maybe Mrs. Douglas —”
“Could help us get more Plastisteel.” Max finished Brian’s sentence and laughed.
Alex sat down on a stool and looked around the Eagle’s Nest. “Right back where we started.”
“Not back where we started,” said Brian. “Things are better now. A lot better.” He looked at his two best friends standing next to Blackbird. “And the best is yet to come.”
I had the good fortune of living in Riverside, Iowa, for nine wonderful years. It is a nice, clean, safe town full of kind people. When I knew I wanted Stealing Air to be a small-town story, a story of the Midwest, set in Iowa, I knew Riverside would be the perfect place.
Although the Riverside in this novel is based on the real town of the same name, I have fictionalized many of its attributes and included different aspects of several Iowa towns I’ve known. The real town is smaller than the one in this novel. I’ve added several streets, naming some of them after streets in Dysart, Iowa, where I grew up. I also enriched Riverside by moving the beautiful town square from Washington, Iowa, seventeen miles north, and the large grain elevators from Dysart eighty miles southeast, placing the big cement towers near the English River so that Brian and Alex could fly Blackbird between them. The Riverside high school and junior high came back inside the city limits and gained a new mascot. I then had fun allowing the Riverside Roughriders to play the Trojans, the old mascot for the school district that used to serve Dysart. Thus, no real team’s pride was hurt in the writing of this novel.
In real life and in this story, the English River does run along the south edge of Riverside, but for fictional purposes, I have significantly widened and deepened the river. I added a large railroad bridge across the river and borrowed the name “Runaway Bridge” from a railroad bridge that my friends and I used to explore when we were in fifth and sixth grade. Sadly, the real Runaway Bridge has been destroyed, but I have a piece of its limestone on my bookshelf, a reminder of that time of adventure and exploration.
Max and Brian are both fans of the classic TV show Star Trek, and they live in the perfect place for such fandom. Years ago, the Riverside City Council obtained permission from Star Trek creator Gene Roddenberry to declare Riverside the official future birthplace of Captain James T. Kirk. Now, a stone monument proclaims that the captain will be born on that site on March 22, 2228. A large model starship very like the iconic U.S.S. Enterprise is usually on display out by the highway. Since Riverside has this Star Trek tradition, I thought that Max and Brian would be just the kind of guys to share my enthusiasm for the show.
All other aspects of Stealing Air are purely fictional, and I hope they are fun.
If you are like Brian, Alex, Max, and me and find flying fascinating, I encourage you to check out the many photos, videos, and links to airplane websites in the Stealing Air section of www.trentreedy.com.
I’ve been periodically working on this novel for many years, and so I am indebted to many people who have helped with this story’s long path to publication. Deepest thanks and heartfelt gratitude:
To all the teachers who helped shape my writing and me as a writer. To my sixth grade English teacher, Gail Gerber, for her patience with me and for assigning our class to write a story about “Freaky Frankie.” To all my other teachers. Thank you for putting up with me and for making me learn in spite of my occasional resistance.
To all good teachers everywhere. You can never be thanked enough!
To those who encouraged this novel in its earliest form. To Larry and Debbie Marshall for their kindness and for saying all the right things after reading a very early version of this novel. To Melanie Harkness for an early read and for the priceless gift of her friendship.
To Jean Harmston for sending me photographs of Riverside, Iowa, that were helpful with the cover art.
To those who offered technical advice about rockets, airplanes, skateboards, and large balloons. To Jason Harkness, whose knowledge of very large and powerful model rockets is unparalleled. To Ralph Brendler for advice about the flyer’s wingspan and whose mathematical skills helped me figure out the plan for the Mr. Piggly balloon. To Lee Boekelheide for taking me flying in his Cardinal and for familiarizing me with basic flight principles and airplane controls. Brian and Alex woul
d not have flown without you!
To my family. To my brother, Tyler, for wonderful long discussions about this story and about everything else. To my sister, Tiffany, for her encouragement and inspiration, as well as for her hospitality when book business brought me to New York. To my mother, Lu Ann, for, well, being my mother, but also for buying me books and taking me to the Dysart Public Library when I was young.
To librarians everywhere! You are our greatest champions for peace, hope, and freedom.
To my Vermont College of Fine Arts family for their generous support. I am very honored to be a part of the VCFA community. The great connections I’ve made there are too numerous to name here, but I’m grateful for each of them. Thanks especially to my graduating class, the Cliffhangers, in particular Patti Brown, Jill Santopolo, Carol Brendler, Carol Williams, and Marianna Baer for their help with manuscripts or other challenges in the writing life.
To the good folks at Arthur A. Levine Books and Scholastic. To Sue Flynn, Chris Satterlund, Terribeth Smith, Charles Young, and the rest of the stellar sales team. To Antonio Gonzalez, Emma Brockway, Candace Greene, Emily Clement, Paul Gagne, John Mason, Elizabeth Parisi, Lizette Serrano, and Tracy van Straaten. Thank you for all your amazing work! To Charisse Meloto, the world’s greatest publicist, who brings hope and works pure magic to get the word out on my books. To Arthur Levine for a fantastic imprint. To all the other great people at Scholastic. You are incredible at what you do, and it is always an absolute pleasure to work with you.
To John and Katherine Paterson for their friendship and hospitality. To Katherine in particular for all the advice and encouragement both in the pursuit of my first publication and in helping me understand what it really means to be a writer.
To my stellar agent, Ammi-Joan Paquette, who gave me my first acceptance letter as a writer. I cherish your friendship and your spot-on advice. I’m with you all the way!
To my editor and friend, Cheryl Klein. The more I work with you, the more I believe your name also belongs on the cover of the book. Thank you for your patience with me, for working so incredibly hard, and for your brilliant ideas and guidance. You have all the best ideas about story and kidlit. I salute you.
