52 - How I Learned to Fly (3 page)

I walked into a bedroom. Empty—except for a bare mattress on the floor that
the Dorseys had left behind.

Back in the hall, I groped the walls. Trying to find my way in the dark.

I stumbled forward—and tripped. Over something big. It landed on the floor
with a loud
CRASH!

I jumped back in fear. Then leaned over to see what it was. Just an old
surfboard, I realized. I let out a long sigh.

I moved back into the entranceway. Into the kitchen. The wooden floor creaked
beneath my feet.

A shaft of moonlight filtered in through the grimy windows. Some broken mugs
lay on one of the counters. A child’s sand pail and shovel rested in a corner on
the floor.

I stood in the shaft of moonlight.

I could hear the ocean waves pound against the shore.

The wind began to howl outside. It whipped through the weathered boards of
the old house. The wood creaked and groaned.

I peered out the kitchen window and saw the clump of fallen awning shivering
in the wind, like a ghost getting ready to rise.

Something scampered across my feet.

I let out a startled cry.

A mouse? A rat?

Something bigger?

My entire body shuddered.

This place was really creepy at night.

It’s safe to leave now, I told myself. No more voices. They’re gone. They’re
probably all back at Mia’s—eating birthday cake.

I bet Wilson is on his third piece, I thought with disgust.

I couldn’t wait to get home—to my nice, dry house.

I walked slowly through the darkened kitchen, across the sagging floor. The
planks groaned with each step I took.

The door came into view.

I was almost there. Almost out of this cold, creepy house.

I took another step—and the floor broke away.

The wooden planks crashed someplace below—as I plunged down into the gaping
hole.

My hands grabbed onto a jagged piece of floorboard. My legs dangled beneath
me.

“Help!” I screamed.

But no one could hear me.

I tried to pull myself up. Up out of the hole. The wooden planks under my
hands creaked as I struggled to hoist myself up. And then the planks splintered.
And broke. I dropped through the hole fast. Down. Straight down.

Into an underground pit?

No.

Into the basement.

I landed hard on my hands and knees.

Pain shot through my body. Then quickly faded.

Luckily, the floor was soft and spongy from all the dampness, so I wasn’t
really hurt.

I took a deep breath—and choked on the bitter smell of mildew. Yuck! I
could even taste it on my tongue.

This was all Wilson’s fault!

Wilson—always proving that he’s the best.

Never giving me a break.

Okay, okay. Forget about Wilson, I told myself. Calm down. You have to find a
way out of this disgusting basement.

I stood up and searched for stairs, a door, a window. But I couldn’t see a
thing. Too dark. As if a heavy black blanket had been thrown over everything.

My sneakers sank into the decaying floor as I made my way blindly through the
room.

My knee bumped into something. A chair?

I reached down and ran my hands over it. Yes, a chair.

Good. If there’s a chair down here, maybe I can stand on it. Climb back up
into the kitchen. Or climb out a basement window.

I moved slowly through the room. I sloshed through a deep puddle. The cold
water seeped through my sneakers.

I’m going to get you for this, Wilson.

I tripped over a table—and something crashed to the floor. I heard glass
shatter.

And then I heard a splash.

My heart skipped a beat.

Another animal? Another mouse or rat?

I didn’t want to think about it. My temples began to pound.

How was I going to get out of here?

Should I scream for help?

Who would hear me down here? No one—that’s who.

On trembling legs, I moved through the room. Hands out in front of me.
Groping in the dark.

I stumbled into another table. I ran my hands over it. No—not a table. More
like a bench. A workbench. My hands brushed across its top. I felt a hammer, a
screwdriver, and—a candle!

My fingers scrambled over the workbench, searching for a match to light it. I
groped my way across the entire workbench.

No matches.

I backed away from the bench—and my sneaker rolled over something round.
Something round—like a flashlight!

I picked it up. Yes! A flashlight!

My fingers shook as I fumbled for the switch.

Please work. Please work. Please work.

I flicked it on.

A pale yellow beam of light reached weakly into the gloom.

The flashlight was dim—but I could see!

“I’m out of here!” I cheered.

I swept the weak beam of light in front of me. I had fallen into a small
room. Thick cobwebs draped the peeling walls.

A rusty washing machine and clothes dryer sat in one corner. A small, wooden
table and a smashed lamp lay on the floor in front of them.

I moved the light closer—and saw a battered camp trunk. I ran my hand over
the lid. Yuck. It was covered with a thick layer of damp, smelly mold.

The trunk’s rusted hinges creaked as I lifted the top. I pointed my
flashlight beam inside. Nothing in there. Nothing but an old book.

I read the title out loud—
“Flying Lessons.”

I flipped through the yellowed pages, searching for pictures of airplanes. I
love airplanes. But there wasn’t a single plane inside.

The pages were filled with old-fashioned drawings—of humans flying through
the air.

People of all ages—men with white beards, women in long dresses, children
in funny, old clothing—all soaring through the sky.

What a strange, old book.

I flipped through more pages—until I heard another splash.

I swept my flashlight over the floor—and gasped.

“Ohhhhh. Nooooo.” A low wail escaped my lips.

I moved the pale light back and forth, hoping I wasn’t seeing what I was
seeing.

But even in the dim light, I could see the dark bodies, the tiny eyes glowing
red, the open-toothed jaws.

Rats!

Dozens of rats. Scuttling across the floor. Moving in on me.

I leaped back.

I gaped in horror as they closed in.

Sharp toenails clicked against the floor. Scraggly tails swished through the
filthy puddles as they scurried forward.

A gray sea of rats.

I froze in terror. I gripped the flashlight tightly to stop it from shaking.

The rats snapped their jaws. They began to hiss. The ugly sound echoed off
the damp walls of the small room.

Dozens of tiny red eyes glowed up at me.

The hissing grew louder. Louder. Jaws snapped. Tails swished back and forth.
The creatures scuttled over one another, eager to get to me.

And then a big fat rat darted out to the front of the pack. It glared up at
me hungrily with glowing red eyes. It bared sharp fangs.

I tried to back away. But I hit the wall.

Nowhere to run.

The rat uttered a shrill cry. It pulled back on its hind legs—and sprang
forward.

“Noooo!” I screamed and tried to dodge away.

The rat clawed at the bottom of my shorts.

It held on for a second, gnashing its teeth. Then it lost its hold and slid
to the floor with a wet
plop.

Another rat leaped to attack.

I thrashed my leg wildly—and kicked the rat across the room.

Red eyes glowed up at me. The hissing grew to a shrill siren.

I batted rats away with the old book. I swept my flashlight across the room,
frantically searching for a way out.

There! A narrow staircase across the room!

I ran for it. Stepping into the sea of rats. Stomping hard on them—flattening their
scraggly tails.

Claws scraped against my bare legs as I ran. Two rats clung to my sneakers as
I charged up the stairs.

I kicked the rats off. Heard their bodies thumping wetly onto the floor.

Then I staggered the rest of the way up. Hurtled to the door. And out. Out
into the fresh air. Gasping. My heart pounding. Sucking in breath after breath
of the salty, ocean air.

I ran all the way home. I didn’t stop until I came to my house. Panting hard,
I collapsed on the front lawn.

I stared into the living-room window. The lamps glowed through the sheer
white drapes. I could see Mom and Dad inside.

I started to go in—when I realized that I still clutched the book.

Uh-oh. I knew that Mom and Dad would be upset if they knew I took something
that didn’t belong to me. Worse than that, they’d start asking me a thousand
questions:

Where did you get the book?

What were you doing in that abandoned house?

Why weren’t you at the party?

I can’t let them see it, I decided.

My wet sneakers squeaked across the lawn as I made my way around back to the
garage.

I stepped carefully inside. We have the most cluttered garage in town. My dad
likes to collect things. Lots of things. We can’t get our car inside the garage
anymore. We can’t even close the door.

I made my way around a dentist’s spit-sink and the aluminum steps to Mrs. Green’s old swimming pool. I hid the book inside a
torn mattress, then went into the house.

“Jack, is that you?” Mom called from the kitchen.

“Uh-huh,” I answered, jogging upstairs before she saw me. I didn’t want to
explain my wet, muddy shorts. Shorts that weren’t even mine!

“How was the party?” Mom called.

“Um. Okay,” I called back. “I left a little early.”

“We’ll be back tonight, Jack.” Dad met me on the front lawn. It was the next
morning, and Mom and Dad were getting ready to leave on an all-day trip.

Dad patted me on the shoulder. “This is going to be our lucky trip. The BIG
one. The really BIG one. I can feel it.”

Dad is always saying that. He’s a talent agent. But he doesn’t have any
really big acts. Nobody famous. Just a few actors with small parts. One plays a
train conductor on a TV show. Every week he has the same line. “All aboard.”
That’s it. “All aboard.” Week after week.

And he is Dad’s most famous client.

So Dad spends most of his time searching for the BIG one. The act that will
become famous and make Dad a lot of money.

Today Mom and Dad were driving to Anaheim to listen to a new musical group.

“I hope they aren’t crazy,” I said to Dad. Last week a real nut auditioned
for Dad. She played a Beethoven symphony by banging on her head. After two
notes, she knocked herself out—and Dad had to take her to the hospital.

“No. This group sent me a tape.” Dad’s eyes lit up. “And they sound really
great.”

Mom hurried out of the house and headed toward the car. “Come on, Ted,” she
called to Dad. “We don’t want to be late. I left dinner in the fridge for you,
Jack. See you later!”

Morty and I watched Mom and Dad drive off. We played catch with a Frisbee—until the phone rang.

It was Mia.

“I—I’m sorry I ruined your party,” I stammered.

“No problem,” she replied cheerfully. “You didn’t ruin my party at all. We
all went back inside and had a great time.”

“Oh. Okay. So—what are you doing today?” I asked. “Want to go
Rollerblading?”

I love Rollerblading. I can speed around sharp turns on one foot. And I skate
faster than everyone in the whole neighborhood—including Wilson.

“Sure! That’s why I called!” she exclaimed. “Wilson got these new blades.
With balls underneath instead of wheels. They’re much faster than the regular
kind.”

“Oh. I just remembered. I can’t go skating,” I told her. “I have to stay home
and—water the plants.”

Mia hung up.

I peeked out through the living room window. I watched Wilson’s house across
the street. Waited for Wilson to leave—with his new, stupid in-line skates.

A few seconds later, he sped down his driveway and rolled down the block in a
blur.

I let out a long sigh and shuffled outside.

“Come on, Morty!” I snatched the Frisbee from the lawn. “Catch, boy!”

I tossed the Frisbee.

Morty let it soar over his head.

He didn’t budge.

Great. Now what?

“Hey! Morty—I know. Let’s go find that big book I brought home.”

Morty followed me to the garage. I slipped my hands into the lumpy mattress
and pulled it out. I lugged the book into the kitchen.

I started to read it—and gasped in amazement.

“Morty—I don’t believe this!”

“Wow! Morty! I can fly!”

Morty cocked his furry head at me.

“I know it sounds weird, boy. But it says so right here!” I pointed to the
page I was reading. “Humans can fly!”

Wait a minute. Am I crazy? Have I totally lost it? People cannot fly.

Morty jumped up on a kitchen chair. He stared down at the book. At a picture
of a young girl. With arms stretched out to her sides, she sailed through the
air—her long, blond hair flowing behind her.

Morty glanced up at me. Peered back down at the page. Then he whimpered and
bolted from the room.

“Come back, Morty. Don’t you want to learn to fly?” I laughed. “Morty—The
First and Only Flying Dog!”

I turned back to the book and read:

“For as long as humans have walked the earth, they have yearned to fly. To
float like an angel. To glide like a bat. To soar like a mighty bird of prey.

“All a dream. A hopeless dream—until now.

“The ancient secret of human flight is a simple one.

“You need only three things: the daring to try, an imagination that soars, and
a good mixing bowl.”

Hey—! I stared at the page. I had those things. Maybe I should give it a try.
I had nothing better to do today. I read on.