Trent Reedy - Stealing Air

Brian stared at the tree branches above him. “You got that from a book.”

“It’s a theory,” Max said. “I was on my way from the Eagle’s Nest to buy some soda tonight when Frankie started chasing me. He was convinced I knew where you were. I did know because Alex had told me, but for the record, I did not tell Frankie that you were on a date with Wendy. How did that go, anyway?”

“Great.” Brian smiled, remembering the perfect afternoon with Wendy. Then he spat to try to get the dirty water taste out of his mouth, thinking of how Frankie had ruined it all again. “Just great.”

After a soggy walk home, Brian sneaked up the stairs to the back porch, knowing he was probably late for supper. It would have been okay with him to be late because of Wendy, but he hated the idea of getting in trouble thanks to Frankie. And no matter what, Mom and Dad would be furious if they saw him this dirty.

Lights were on in the kitchen. That meant at least one of his parents was home.

“You are being ridiculous about this!” Mom’s shout sounded through the porch windows.

“It’s only temporary,” Dad said. “We’ll pay him back. Your father says he wants to help.”

Brian leaned his head against the outside of the house. They were both home, and they were not happy.

“He’s already letting us live here rent-free,” Mom said. “You want to ask for more?”

“This isn’t my fault! We wouldn’t have to do this if that first batch of Plastisteel hadn’t been stolen.” Brian lightly thumped his head against the house. “Anyway, I don’t see what the big deal is,” Dad said. “Mary has asked—”

“You know, I am getting just a little bit tired of hearing about Dr. Warrender and how great she is.”

“Are you kidding me? You’re still jealous?”

Now was as good a time as any to sneak in. He could get inside and get up to his bedroom to change before he was noticed. Quiet was the key. He gripped the doorknob and turned it all the way before pulling the door open. It would start to creak if he moved it past the halfway point, so he only cracked it a little bit before squeezing in through the gap.

“What on earth happened to you?” Mom said. Brian jumped. She was right in front of him. “Brian, you’re filthy! What were you doing?”

“Mom, it’s not my fault. I was just—”

“Is that your new shirt? The nice shirt I bought for you to wear to your father’s big dinner with Mrs. Douglas?” She grabbed his sleeve. “It’s ruined!”

Dad came into the kitchen. “What’s going on?” He saw Brian. “You’re late. Didn’t you read the note? What have you been doing?”

“Brian, why were you even wearing this shirt?” Mom asked.

“Who were you with?” Dad asked.

It was one of very few nights when both Mom and Dad were home for supper together. Now they were just going to yell at him?

“Brian, answer us,” Mom said.

“Nothing!” Brian said. How could he tell them? They’d never understand about Frankie, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell them about Wendy. “I wasn’t doing anything!”

“Oh, really?” Dad said. “Good. Well, you’ll be doing a lot more nothing in the future. You are grounded! From now on, one of us will be calling the house at three thirty. That will give you half an hour to get home after school. If you’re not here to answer the phone, I’ll start assigning extra punishments.”

“It’s not my fault! You can’t just—”

“I have too much going on to deal with crap like this, Brian. This is a critical time for Synthtech. I need you to do your part to help.”

After Brian showered and changed clothes, they ate their hamburgers and fries in silence, and then he went to his room. At first he paced the floor, mad about having been grounded, furious at Frankie for ruining the perfect day. He tried using the PRC-77 radio that he’d brought home days ago to connect with the one Max had. He keyed the handset. “Anyone there?” Nothing. He went back to pacing. Since moving to Iowa, it seemed nothing ever worked for him.

He stopped in front of his desk. It wasn’t just his own problems. What was happening to Mom and Dad? They’d had arguments, but Brian had hardly ever heard them scream at each other before. When he first came home and Dad came in to the kitchen, he could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. For months before they moved, Dad had told him how cool things would be in Riverside, how Brian would make tons of new friends here in Iowa and Plastisteel would make them so much money. He remembered Dad dreaming about a big house and even a new plane, maybe a twin-engine. Dad used to talk like that for hours, with the same big business smile Alex used when he was suckering someone into a bet.

Just the same as Alex.

Brian sat down at his desk. Alex and Dad were a lot alike. They acted like they had it all figured out, with their cool jokes and answers and advice for everything. But they were just making it up as they went along. Faking it. They were both as clueless as Brian was.

Was that bad? Was that like lying? He closed his eyes and thought about sitting with Wendy on the Runaway Bridge. He could almost feel her hand in his again. And he couldn’t be sure, but it really seemed like she wanted to kiss him. He knew he’d wanted to kiss her.

Through the whole wonderful afternoon, Brian hadn’t had a clue about what to do. Alex’s so-called expert advice had been useless. Everything went well with Wendy when Brian had just stopped worrying so much and guessed what to do, when he took a risk. He too had been making it up as he went along. That had been enough.

Maybe everybody was making it up.

And if that was true, then Brian was just as equipped to handle life as anyone else was, or at least as much as anyone at school.

He opened his eyes and started pacing again. Frankie! He had wanted to pound the guy on the slope. Toss that big dumb jerk into the water and see how he liked it. But when Brian tried, the guy was just too strong. He’d never beat Frankie physically. Worse, fighting him would upset Wendy.

He went back to his desk and picked up his model SR-71 Blackbird. Grandpa wanted Brian to fight. Wendy didn’t. Dad needed Mrs. Douglas to invest in his company, and Mrs. Douglas wouldn’t do that until she saw the Plastisteel Blackbird fly. Brian brought the model plane in for a landing on his desk. There must be something he could do about all these problems.

Hours later, Brian was lying on his bed with his hands folded behind his head. He wished he could sleep, but too much about the day bothered him. He closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, but his sore body wouldn’t cooperate. The view of the stars out the window was better than any he could have hoped for back in brightly lit Seattle. He watched the stars now and wished they would say something, wished they would tell him what to do.

There was a short hiss of static. “Blackbird, this is Ground Control. Blackbird, this is Ground Control. Do you copy? Over.”

The radio! Brian grabbed the handset and pressed the little black button on the side. “Uh, I guess… this is Blackbird . Max, is that you?”

“Negative, negative. Code names only on this channel. Also, you must say ‘over’ when you’re done talking. How copy? Over.”

Brian laughed. If Max wanted to do the radio all military-style, that was fine. Whatever worked for him. “Ground Control, this is Blackbird . Roger. That’s a good copy. Over.”

“Blackbird, Ground Control. Hey, I wanted to thank you for trying to help me by the river tonight. I’m sorry you got all dirty because of me. Over.”