Stealing Air (11 page)

“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? Nobody. 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 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:

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

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:

Max's reply popped up quickly.

Brian texted back.

The answer came back:

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.

Brian saw Ms. Gilbert watching him from her desk. She raised an eyebrow. He hated lying to Wendy. Things would get better once they were flying. They had to.

 

That night, both Mom and Dad were home, so Dad made pork chops and potatoes. It was pretty tasty, and Brian would usually have eaten three or four chops and at least two scoops of potatoes, except that after the battle for Mr. Piggly last Saturday, Brian wasn't too crazy about pork just yet. More than that, by the time they sat down to eat, he was an hour late for the meeting at the Eagle's Nest.

“Brian, would you please relax and eat? It's still early. You can go play with your friends when you're done with supper.”

Play? Why did adults call spending time with friends “playing”? He didn't have many friends, but he wouldn't make any more if anyone heard his mother treating him like a little kid. He tried to slow down and eat right so Mom wouldn't complain. Maybe he could divert their attention. “How's Synthtech, Dad?”

Dad offered a short smile. “Storm knocked the power out for a bit in Iowa City last night, but our security system kicked over to batteries and kept running.” He chuckled. “I'd like to see anyone try to get their hands on the Plastisteel now.”

Brian was grateful when the phone rang. Mom answered and then handed it to Brian.

“Hello?” Brian said.

“Dude, where are you?” Alex said. “We've been waiting for you.”

“I'm almost done with supper. Then I'll be right over.”

“Don't bother going to the Nest now. Max and I about killed ourselves, but we have everything set up at the place we used the first time. Hurry and get down here.”

“I'll do my best,” Brian said. He hung up the phone and went back to eating, speeding up a bit and hoping Mom wouldn't notice.

“Can I go now?” he asked when he'd finished.

“Is your homework done?” Mom said.

“Yes.”

“What are you going to be doing?”

Brian sighed. “Skateboarding.” It was sort of true. There were skateboards on the flyer.

Mom took a drink of water. “Just with Max and this Alex boy?”

“Oh, let him go already, Diane,” Dad said. “Let him be with his friends. While he still can,” he added quietly.

Mom closed her eyes for a moment, then waved Brian away from the table. Part of him felt bad for ditching them, but another part didn't want to stay around for the rest of a tense meal. He grabbed his backpack and headed out, dropping
Spitfire
to the pavement and kick-starting down the street. He was rolling close to the ground now, but soon he'd be flying.

 

“It's about time,” Alex said when Brian reached the grain elevators. The enormous form of Mr. Piggly floated eight feet overhead, with two ropes staked in the ground holding it in place. Beneath the balloon, the flyer looked like it was ready for action.

“I said I was sorry,” Brian said. “What's up?”

“Hopefully the flyer, in just a moment.” Max said with a laugh. Alex shook his head. “Yes, well … Here's the plan.” Max took his toy
Star Trek
phaser out of his pocket and pointed the red laser dot at a metal ring on the flyer's engine. “You see how the cable from Mr. Piggly attaches to the flyer at this ring. Brian, at the right moment, you must pull the pin, which will release the ring and cut the flyer loose from the balloon.” Max used the phaser to point out two more rings on the skateboards below Alex's seat. “At the exact same moment, Alex, you must kick out both of these pins. Releasing all three metal rings at the same time is key to keeping the flyer balanced when you're breaking away from Mr. Piggly.”

“So I start the engine when we're how high?” Brian asked.

“I'd say when you're over five thousand feet.”

Brian frowned. “How do we know when we've over five thousand feet?”

“Chill, dude.” Alex pulled a gadget about the size of his iPhone from his pocket. “I bought this altimeter online for about ten bucks. I figured we'd need it, since part of what we're doing tonight involves dropping from the bottom of the balloon.”

“How do you order online?” Brian asked. “You have a credit card?”

Alex waved away the question. “Please. I know everything about money. I just buy Visa gift cards at the gas station.” He shook the altimeter. “Anyway, this baby will tell us how high up we are.”

“That's … actually incredibly helpful, Alex. Thank you,” Max said.

Everything was set. Mr. Piggly smiled big above them. Brian put his hand to his stomach.

“How did you ever get enough hydrogen to fill this thing?” he asked. “And why not helium, anyway?”

“Ah, that's another issue.” Max looked up at Mr. Piggly. “Helium is too expensive to buy in such large quantities. Hydrogen, on the other hand, floats even better, and can be produced through a process called electrolysis.”

“Electrolysis?” Brian said.

“He rigged up this device to capture the gas,” Alex said, “and then he ran an electric charge through water.”

“Which separated the water's oxygen and hydrogen atoms,” Max explained. “Hydrogen is flammable, but that won't be a problem. It's not as if we're exposing the balloon to any open flames.”

Brian climbed into the pilot's seat. Alex sat down behind him. Brian went over the controls again, checking that it all worked.

“We've already checked the ailerons, rudder, and everything,” Alex said. “Systems are all go.”

Max stood at the front. “When the flyer is up to top speed, it should be pulling Mr. Piggly through the air like a ship dragging its anchor. That's when you separate. Remember, right after you're released, you should expect the flyer to fall a little bit. Keep her level and open the throttle. Once it gets up to speed, it should fly.”

Brian took a deep breath. “Okay, Max. Release Mr. Piggly.”

“Good luck, guys,” Max said. He tugged on the stakes anchoring the balloon to the ground, but he couldn't get the ropes loose.

“Come on, Max!” Alex shouted. “You can do it! Be like Captain Kirk. He could pull those stakes up.”

Max bit his lip and yanked hard again. The ropes fell away from Mr. Piggly and the flyer began to rise straight up into the air.

“Woo-hoo!” Alex yelled. “We have liftoff!”

“Yeah!” Max said. “Warp speed!”

The engine was off, so all was silent, but they were rising steadily. Everything on the ground seemed to shrink away beneath them. Max became smaller and smaller, then they cleared the treetops and kept going. To their left, they could see all of Riverside, the Catholic church steeple lit up brightly as always.

“Dude, this rocks!” Alex said.

Brian laughed. “We're really doing it! We're flying. Well … we're floating.”

“You know what we need?” Alex said. “We need a name for this machine. We can't keep calling it ‘the flyer.' You're supposed to give boats and bikes and planes and things cool girls' names, like Annabel or Suzie. Something like that. She needs a good name for good luck.”

They reached the top of the grain elevators. Brian was sure that nobody had looked down on the tops of the giant cement cylinders in many years. They weren't quite as cool as the Space Needle back in Seattle, but still a good five or six stories high. The flyer floated above them now.

“What do you think?” Alex asked.

“It's awesome up here,” Brian said.

“It is,” said Alex. “But I mean about the name for the flyer.”

“Oh. Well, you know how Ms. Gilbert was telling us about all the things named after Greek mythology? I was thinking about how the mission that took the astronauts to the moon was called
Apollo
. Maybe we could find a cool mythology name like that.”

“Like Apollo? But that's already been taken.”

“I know, but you know how we're going to do our project on this Icarus kid? Ms. Gilbert told me a little about him. He and his dad built these cool wings and then flew out of a maze.”

“Icarus?” Alex said.

“Yeah. I looked online a little bit tonight before supper, and I couldn't find any spaceships or planes or anything named after Icarus.”

“I guess it sounds cool, but I still think a girl's name would be better.”

“Naw,” Brian said. “Girls' names are no good for flying. You never hear about girl pilots. Just that one woman, what was her name? Amelia Earhart.”