Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

“Oh, this?” Brian touched his injury. “I, um… I fell down.”

“And landed on your face?”

They both heard the rumble of skateboard on pavement getting louder and louder behind them. Frankie was skating up on a fast approach. Brian gripped Spitfire ’s truck. He could use his board as a club if Frankie wanted a fight.

Instead, the tough guy just rolled right past them. His eyes were cold and hateful as he stared at Brian, his fists tightly clenched. Frankie might try to hide the mean things he did from his sister, but Brian knew there would be trouble with him later.

“Forget him,” Wendy said after a moment. “Come on.” Her hand gently touched Brian’s elbow, and a tingling shiver went all through him. They walked together in silence for a while, then Wendy finally spoke. “I’m sorry my brother is acting like this. I know you don’t believe me, but he really is a good guy. He’s just having a tough time with…” Her voice trailed off.

With being a jerk? With threatening people? With making Brian miserable? “What?” he said.

“Nothing,” said Wendy. She took off her helmet and ran her fingers through her long dark hair. She looked at him. Her eyes were such a deep green. “It’s like lately he’s always looking for trouble. Just promise me you won’t fight him?”

Sure, Brian could agree not to fight Frankie — but what if Frankie fought him? It didn’t matter. Wendy looked so sad, he couldn’t help but agree. “Sure,” he said. “I promise.”

She smiled and looked like she was about to say something, but instead she just gave Brian a slow-motion punch to the shoulder. “Thank you.” She went inside, where she was immediately snatched away by the Wolf Pack.

Brian couldn’t stop thinking about Wendy as he stopped by the office and picked up his locker information. Her face was still in his mind as he struggled to open his new locker. Max stood three lockers away.

Then an elbow crunched into Brian’s back and his face slammed into his locker. Frankie spoke in almost a growl right near his ear. “Twelve minutes. That’s how long it took you and my sister to get here this morning. Figure fifteen from yesterday. And I’m going to make you pay for every minute of it.” He chuckled. Brian wanted to shove him away or punch him, but Frankie had his arm gripped tight around Brian’s shoulders like they were buddies. “This little locker slam was good for one minute.” He gave Brian a quick, hard slap to the face. “That’s another. Thirty minutes to go.”

That wasn’t right. “Twenty… Twenty-six,” Brian said.

“Well, golly,” Frankie said in an exaggerated hick tone. “I guess you’re right. I ain’t never been no good at figuring them there numbers.” He started walking away, but stopped long enough to crush Max up against the lockers, his hand gripping Max’s shirt. “Sorry I haven’t been around to thump on you in a few days, Mad Max. I’ve been busy with this new guy.” He grinned. “I’ll get to you soon, though. I promise.”

Brian put his skateboard and backpack in the locker and acted like he was shuffling around on the shelf for some books. He heard people laughing, but when he sneaked a peek, David, Red, and even Jess O’Claire just looked away, snickering and whispering to one another.

The morning classes went the same as the day before, except the teachers started up with lessons and homework. At midday, while everyone else charged to the lunchroom when Ms. Gilbert dismissed them, Brian held back.

“Are you heading to the cafeteria, Brian?” Max said quietly from the desk behind his as the last of their classmates left the room.

“Um…” Brian started. He should just go to lunch with Max. Max was a good guy. But Frankie had been taking every chance he could to hurt or humiliate him, and he couldn’t stand giving him more ammunition by hanging around with Max. “Oh, go ahead. I’m going to take too long. I… um… have to organize this… thing in my desk. Then I have to ask Ms. Gilbert something.”

Max frowned. “Are you sure? I’m happy to—”

“No, really. Go ahead.”

Max looked at him for just a moment and then lowered his gaze to the floor as he walked out. Brian sighed and shook his head.

Since Tuesday’s homework load was extreme, Max insisted on going home after school. Brian and Alex figured there wasn’t much point in trying to work on the flyer by themselves, so they all agreed to meet the next day.

At lunchtime on Wednesday, Brian didn’t have to make up any lame excuses to avoid Max. He really did have to go to the bathroom. The only problem was that Frankie found him at the urinal. He pushed Brian in the back and made him pee all over himself.

“About twenty-eight minutes left to pay for!” Frankie laughed on his way out of the bathroom.

Brian missed all of lunch trying to splash water from the sink onto his pants to wash the pee off. This made an even bigger wet spot, so then he had to stand there for a long time with his crotch under the hand drier.

Timmy Hale, from the other sixth grade classroom, came into the bathroom.

“I spilled ketchup in my lap,” Brian lied.

“Whatever,” said Timmy. He did his business, washed his hands, and left quickly, laughing as he sneaked a look at Brian on the way out. Brian wanted to get back at Frankie somehow, but he had promised Grandpa that he would stay out of trouble and Wendy that he would not fight her brother.

He skated home slowly that afternoon, dumping his book bag on the floor in the entryway. The house was empty and silent. A note on the fridge told him that both Mom and Dad would be working late. He was supposed to go to Grandpa’s house for supper at seven. Brian sighed. He wasn’t ready for all of Grandpa’s questions about school. Grabbing his skateboard and heading for the door, Brian figured he’d check in at the Eagle’s Nest first to delay the visit with Grandpa and see if the flyer could be salvaged.

When Brian came up out of the tunnel, Alex and Max were standing at the table in the center. A math book was open in front of them. “I hate story problems!” Alex was saying. “Why doesn’t stupid Miguel just sell lemonade made from a cheap mix or yellow food coloring or something? He’d make a lot more money for half the work that way. But no! He’s got to squeeze fresh lemons, and now I’m supposed to figure out how many lemons he’d need if he wants to expand his business?” He slammed the math book closed and pointed at the cover as he shouted, “Stop riding trains from New York to San Francisco and figuring out how large the pizza slices should be and how many lemons you need for your stupid lemonade stand! Why don’t you just go play video games or something, Miguel? Solve your own problems!”

Max chuckled. “I sympathize with your frustration, but do you understand how to finish the math assignment now?”

“Yeah,” Alex said. “I can handle basic math, enough to keep track of how much money people owe me, but these problems drive me nuts. You’re a bit strange sometimes, Max, but you’re awesome at this stuff.”

“I don’t know what’s worse, the story problems or the super-cheerful way Mrs. Brown explains them,” Brian said. He put on a huge grin and opened his eyes as wide as he could. “Okay, boys and girls,” he said in a breathy, high-pitched voice. “Today we’re going to have fun with fractions!”

Alex and Max laughed. “That’s her, dude,” Alex said. “Sometimes I want to throw something across the room just to make her mad and get that fake, pasted-on smile off her face for a little while.”

“It is a bit disconcerting,” Max said.

Brian nodded toward the flyer. “How bad is she?”

“Not as bad as one might expect from a crash of this nature,” Max said. “If this had been a standard aluminum airplane, the damage from the collision with the tree would likely have been far more extensive.”