Stealing Air (9 page)

“This house must be worth at least a million dollars,” Max said.

“I like this lady already,” said Alex.

Brian led the way up to the house. Small black lamps lined both sides of the cement path. They paused on the front porch. To the right of the door was the glowing orange button for the doorbell. All they had to do was press it.

“Are you guys ready for this?” Brian asked.

“Dude, this will be easy,” Alex said. “Let me do the talking.”

Brian tried to will his legs to stop shaking, but couldn't. After all, Mrs. Douglas had intimidated even Dad, who always had, or used to have, an answer for everything. He swallowed.
Great success through great risk.
He pressed the button to ring the doorbell and a series of chimes rang inside, like classical music.

Something clicked, and the door swung open to reveal Mrs. Douglas in black pants and a sweater with a flower pattern. She smiled when she saw them. “Well, aren't you boys just the picture of charming little professionals. Please come in.”

Brian let Alex lead the way into a room with antique furniture, a large fireplace, and a grand piano. The heavy door thudded shut behind them.

“The office is this way, boys.” Mrs. Douglas's shoes tapped the hardwood floor all the way down the hallway. She led them into a room lined with bookshelves crowded with old and expensive-looking leather-covered books. Her shiny wooden desk was in the center of the room. Four high-backed leather chairs, the kind with the little round brass buttons along the fronts of the armrests, waited in front of it. She sat down behind her desk. “Please,” she said, motioning for them to sit.

Brian, Max, and Alex sat. Mrs. Douglas seemed to study each of them. The room was absolutely silent for what seemed like a very long time. Finally, she took a breath and sighed. “Boys, I'm a very busy woman. If I wanted to sit here with someone quiet, I'd call my husband in.” She tapped her lower lip.

Alex stood up. “Good evening, ma'am, I'm Alex. Thank you for letting us come see you tonight. I'd like to begin by —”

“What's your last name, Alex?” Mrs. Douglas said.

“Mackenzie, ma'am. I'm Alex Mackenzie. This is Brian Roberts and Max Warrender.” He nodded to each of them.

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you any relation to the Mackenzie Lexus dealer here in town?”

“That's my father's dealership, ma'am.”

Brian watched Alex. He looked completely comfortable. How did he do it? Where had he learned all this “ma'am” stuff? He sounded like he'd been in the army.

“Hmm,” she said. “I wouldn't even waste my time with you boys, but Brian here tells me there's been a major breakthrough with Plastisteel.
Except
… I'm not supposed to discuss this with Mr. Roberts or Dr. Warrender. A secret? I'm mildly interested.” She pulled back her sleeve and checked her gold watch. Brian thought he caught a glimpse of diamonds on it. “You have exactly five minutes.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Douglas,” Alex said. He activated a smile. “Should you choose to wisely invest in this incredible new invention of my friend's mother —”

“Don't even try to give me advice about my investments, boy. I'll decide what's wise and what's not. Now get to the point.”

Alex's smile vanished. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean … well … I just wanted …”

Mrs. Douglas sighed loudly. “Four minutes left!”

Max cleared his throat. “Mrs. Douglas, you have informed my mother and Brian's father that you'd like to see a more impressive demonstration of the potential of Plastisteel. You particularly suggested that you might like to see some sort of Plastisteel vehicle.”

“I'm not in the business of suggesting. I have so much money coming in that I can barely keep track of it all. If I can make a few bucks on this magic plastic stuff, then fine, but I gotta have fun doing it!”

“Precisely.” Max motioned for Brian to show her the photos. “In order to accommodate your desire for proof of Plastisteel's potential, we thought we should show you these photographs of a Plastisteel airplane we have constructed.”

Brian held the photographs out to Mrs. Douglas, and she snatched them from his hands. She flipped through a few images before spreading them out on the desk in front of her. “Hmm,” she said. “You boys built this thing?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Brian said.

She opened the center drawer of her desk and pulled out a magnifying glass to examine the pictures. After a moment she looked up at them. “Where did you get all this magic plastic?”

“Well, my mother. She … let me use some of her prototype materials,” Max said.

An amused expression crept across Mrs. Douglas's face. “Oh, she did, did she?” She folded her hands on top of her desk. “Now, why do I find that so hard to believe? Does your mama know that you boys have made this airplane?”

“Actually, ma'am,” Max said, “we were rather hoping that we could count on your continued discretion. It would probably be better if our parents didn't know about this project at the moment.”

She let out something like a laugh. “That's what I thought.”

Alex took his phone from his pocket. “Mrs. Douglas, I could show you video of the flyer if you want.”

“Does it show this airplane of yours flying?” Mrs. Douglas asked.

“Um … no, ma'am.”

“Now why should I be interested in a bunch of pictures and a little home movie of an aircraft that's not airborne?”

“I'm sure you can understand that the business of Plastisteel aircraft could be very lucrative, especially —”

She pointed at Alex. “You're done talking.”

Alex nodded and sat down.

Max said, “Mrs. Douglas, I've made some charts and graphs to explain my theories on the potential of —”

“If I don't want one child's business advice, I certainly don't want another kid's boring science junk.” Mrs. Douglas checked her watch. “One minute left, boys.”

Brian didn't even think. There was no time, and they simply could not afford to fail. He stood up out of his seat and approached the desk. “Why do you want to wait for something Dr. Warrender and my dad can make sometime in the future, when you can see this awesome airplane right now?” He pointed at the photos in her hands. “Just look at her. Imagine what it would feel like to soar through the air in this. With Plastisteel, she's lighter than any other plane out there, and she's, well, nearly unbreakable. Working on this flyer and being at her controls has been … just … awesome. Plastisteel is as great as our parents say it is.” Brian took a breath. “That's why I hope you'll tell my dad that you'll invest with Synthtech.”

Mrs. Douglas looked up from her watch. “And with ten seconds to spare,” she said. She locked her eyes on Brian's. “Have you flown this plane?”

“For a very short flight,” Brian said. “We're still working to —”

“Do you think it's going to fly?”

“Absolutely,” he said. “I know she will.”

She raised her eyebrows. “I almost like you, boy. You seem to have guts. But I am tired of vague promises. If you can show me proof of this plane of yours flying, I'll invest my money in your daddy's company.
And
I'll forget to tell them about you boys and all that magic plastic that you somehow got your greedy hands on.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Douglas,” Brian said. He swallowed.

She stood up. “Don't thank me. Show me the proof. Don't you dare bother me again unless you have that shiny little airplane of yours up and flying. You understand?”

“Yes, ma'am,” they all said together.

“Well, ain't that sweet?” she said. “Now get out of my office and run along home. I expect you boys have work to do.”

“Jack, you've been at it all week.” Mom said to Dad in the kitchen. “I think you can take a little break. Church is only an hour.”

“Believe me, Diane, I can't.”

Brian sat down at the dining-room table. They were doing that whole talking-quiet-so-nobody-would-think-anything-was-wrong thing. Usually, he would ditch out to his room whenever Mom and Dad were arguing, but this time he hung around, hoping Dad would win. No way did he want to go to Mom's old church. All those old people that Grandpa knew, all telling Brian how much he'd grown and that he probably didn't remember them … No kidding he wouldn't remember them! He had been five or something the last time he had gone to church in Iowa.

“Mary needs help installing the new security system before the next batch of Plastisteel is ready this week.”

“So it's ‘Mary' now, is it?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“You see more of that woman than you do your own family!”

“What?” Dad said. They both got a lot quieter. For a little while, Brian could only hear rumbles of angry talk.

“An hour, Jack. Just church as a family. We haven't even been to one service since we moved here. I think it would be good for us and for Brian. You promised you'd take time for your family.”

“You don't understand. We're finally just starting to replace our stock of Plastisteel,” Dad said. “If there's another theft, we are bankrupt!”

Another theft? What was he talking about? Brian stood up and went to the kitchen door. Mom said something, but he couldn't make out her words.

“No! It can't wait!” Dad shouted.

“Keep your voice down!” Mom said.

“I already waited too long,” Dad said. “If we would have had better security back before Mary moved her lab to Iowa City, we might not have been ripped off.”

It was quiet after that. Brian was about to put his ear to the door when he heard footsteps approaching. He rushed for a chair at the table and pulled the newspaper close to him.

Dad came out of the kitchen and stopped suddenly. “Hey, buddy. I didn't realize you were sitting right there.” Brian kept his eyes fixed on the newspaper, though he had no idea what the article was supposed to be about. Dad glanced at the paper. “Reading the farm report, I see.”

Brian knew he should say something to smooth out the situation — something funny or cool like Alex would say. But he just sat frozen in his chair.

“I don't know how much you heard,” Dad said. “Just … don't worry, okay? Everything will be fine. You'll see.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It's cool.”

“I could just really use this time,” said Dad. “I'll make it up to you and Mom. I promise.” He mussed Brian's hair as he headed off through the living room toward his office.

Brian used to hate it when Dad messed with his hair. He didn't mind as much anymore.

Mom leaned against the door frame. She was already wearing her nice clothes. “Go up and get dressed,” she said. “I put your church clothes out for you.”

 

As Brian took his seat in a hard wooden pew at church, Grandpa shuffled in next to them. “Morning, Diane. Brian. Where's Jack?”

Brian could feel Mom stiffen next to him. She pulled a hymnal from the slot on the back of the pew in front of them. “He had to work.”

“Ah.” Grandpa coughed a little and cleared his throat. “I see. Well, there'll be other services.”

Wendy took a seat a few rows ahead of them, smiling and waving when she saw Brian. He couldn't make himself return as happy a greeting, and Wendy's expression faded a bit as she faced the front. Even though he was feeling down, he should have tried to look happier to see her. He loved the way she looked in her blue dress.

He tried to pay attention to the hymns and prayers, but there was one thing he couldn't get out of his mind. Some Plastisteel had been stolen. That was why Dad complained about not having enough for the demonstration with Mrs. Douglas. Someone had robbed him of his best chance to get the company out of money trouble.

He thought of the look on Mrs. Douglas's face and the sneer in her voice while she asked Max where he got the Plastisteel for the flyer. Max had stammered worse than Brian had when Ms. Gilbert grilled him on the first day of school. Dad had said the lab had been moved to Iowa City after the theft. It must have been here in Riverside before that. And if Dr. Warrender worked on the Plastisteel at home …

It all added up to one conclusion. Max was a thief. He had stolen the Plastisteel from his own mother and then lied about it. Now Synthtech was on the edge of failure, and Brian's parents were fighting because of it.

The pastor was delivering the sermon. Something about forgiveness and peace. Those were the last things on Brian's mind.

 

After church, Brian changed quickly into jeans and a T-shirt. Without even bothering to ask his parents if he could go out, he grabbed
Spitfire
and tore off up the street toward the Eagle's Nest. He hoped Max was there, for Max's sake, because otherwise Brian was going straight to Max's house. And Max probably wouldn't want Brian on his case about the Plastisteel in front of his mother.

Leaving his skateboard outside, he went into the Eagle's Nest, coming up out of the tunnel to see Max and Alex laughing at a Weird Al video on Alex's phone. It was
great
to see them acting like such pals, Brian thought savagely. Great that Alex seemed to be getting over his problem about hanging out with Max. Really terrific.

“Dude!” Alex said when he spotted Brian. “You're just in time. We've been working all morning and we finished the wing. Now Max is putting the last touches on the engine.”

Brian reached over and paused the video on the phone.

“Hey, we were watching that,” Alex said. “Max kept asking me to play it. Finally, I gave in. It's really funny stuff.”

Max watched Brian with an even expression. “Unless I am very mistaken, something is troubling you.”

Brian put his hands on the table and leaned toward Max. “How did you really get the Plastisteel to build the flyer?”

Max turned away for a moment, almost as if he were about to ask the cardboard Captain Kirk for advice. “I told you. My mother … she had extra and she —”

“Liar!”

Alex put his hands up. “Whoa! Chill. No need to freak out and start —”

“You stole it!” Brian moved around to Max's side of the table. Max staggered back. “I know all about it. My dad said they had all this Plastisteel when the lab was still in Riverside and it was stolen. If it takes them so long to make the stuff, your mom wouldn't have just given you this much to play with!”

Max had circled around the other corner of the table and squeezed past Alex. Brian followed him. “I was so stupid! An
idiot
to think that your mom just said, ‘Here, son, I have some extra industrial-strength sheets of super plastic and I want
you
to have them. Just for fun!' You stole from our parents' company and lied to everyone!”

Alex looked at Max. “Is this true?”

“Well.” Max took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. “Sort of. I mean. Mostly. Just let me —”

“My mom and dad invested everything they had in this company! I had to move all the way to stupid Iowa! Where this stupid guy will be born!” Brian punched cardboard Kirk in the chest, knocking him back to the wall.

“Don't take it out on Captain Kirk!” Max said.

Brian spun to face him. “No, I'm going to take it out on you.”

He lunged toward Max, but Alex moved between them. “Just calm down a second, Brian. We gotta work this out.” Brian shoved him out of the way. “Dude, chill! You about made me drop my phone!”

“Oh, I'm so sorry for nearly wrecking your phone! Your rich father would have had to buy you a brand-new one.”

“You think your family is the only one going through tough times?” Alex yelled, shaking his iPhone in the air. “I didn't even want this thing in the first place, but my dad thinks it's important to have all the best stuff. Reputation, success, blah blah blah. If this breaks now, my dad will kill me, and he can't buy me a new one.”

“Guys, stop fighting! I'm sorry!” Max shouted louder than Brian had ever heard him. His glasses were off and he wiped his eyes. Nobody spoke or moved. “I'm sorry for lying. I should have been honest with you. I didn't realize that Plastisteel was so difficult to synthesize back when I acquired …
stole
it,” he said. “I thought this was a relatively small quantity that wouldn't be missed, given the massive volume they would eventually manufacture. By the time I realized how much trouble my theft had caused, they had already filed police reports. My mother was so angry about it that I lacked the courage to confess what I had done.”

Something twisted inside Brian. Here he was screaming at Max for lying. But how many times had Brian lied to avoid going to lunch with Max? Which was worse, being a hypocrite like Brian or a thief like Max?

“Well, you'll have to confess now,” he said. “You'll give the Plastisteel back. They might not punish you that much since your mom —”

“Wait a minute,” Alex said. “It isn't that simple. We've been working on the flyer for like a month now. We all showed it off to Mrs. Douglas together. You can't just go to the cops and tell them that you've had this stolen property for so long. We'll get … I don't know … second-degree theft, or conspiracy to steal Plastisteel —”

“That's not a real criminal charge,” said Max.

“Well, something!” Alex said. “Like it or not, Brian, we're all in this now. Together.”

“Yeah, well, that's great,” Brian said. “So my family will be bankrupt now because of this,
and
the three of us are going to jail.” Oddly enough, being involved in something with Alex was a big part of why Brian had agreed to work on the flyer. Too bad neither of them had realized they were getting themselves wrapped up in a crime.

“What happened to getting the flyer in the air, impressing that rich lady?” Alex said.

Brian examined the mostly reassembled engine. “Is she ready to fly?” he asked Max quietly.

Max kept his eyes fixed on the floor. “With the drag from the skateboard wheels, I don't think we have quite enough power to reach a true takeoff speed.” He slipped his glasses back on. “I have some solid theories for improving engine power, but to implement them, I'll need … more Plastisteel.”

Brian said nothing. Max was a good guy in the end, but now it seemed they were all stuck in a hopeless situation. He didn't know what to do, but he knew he needed to get away from all of this, at least for a little while. He went out, grabbed
Spitfire
, and left.

 

The next morning, Brian left the house early and rolled down to the ramps at Riverview Park. He was tired of thinking about the whole stolen Plastisteel thing. It was good just to move, to skate out his trouble. He popped up over one of the smaller ramps, sailing through a good two feet of air before his wheels hit the cement. He wobbled a little. Sloppy landing.

He kicked
Spitfire
faster, then stomped her tail to jump her up, grinding her trucks along the edge of a steel rail. He didn't kick off right on the dismount, though, and had to jump clear and come to a running stop. Stupid. That was an easy trick. Skating was the last thing in his life that wasn't messed up, and he was messing up every trick he tried that morning.

“I was hoping I'd find you here.”

Wendy stood at the edge of the skate park, her skateboard leaning against her leg. She put down her backpack and took off her white jacket. She had on a sleeveless flower-print shirt with wide straps over the shoulders and lace at the bottom. Brian hooked his upside-down board with his toe and flipped it back onto its wheels. He usually found clothes boring, but somehow he always seemed to notice what Wendy wore.

He hopped on
Spitfire
and rolled around in a tight circle. Wendy dropped her skateboard to the cement and rolled in an opposite arc. They skated around and around, facing each other.

“How did you know I was down here?”

“The other day you skated past my street on the way to school,” Wendy said with a grin. “You couldn't have been coming from your house. I asked myself where you might have been, then I took a guess and rolled down here to find out if I was right.”

“Yeah, but why?” Brian kicked his skateboard out of the circle they'd been running, guiding
Spitfire
in a gentle curve toward the stairs to the half-pipe.

Wendy skated after him. “Because one thing Frankie will absolutely not do is wake up really early to follow me.” She joined him up on the half-pipe deck. “And you looked kind of down in church yesterday.”

On any other day Brian would have felt almost dizzy if a beautiful girl like Wendy had come all the way to the skate park to find him. “Sorry,” he said. “A lot on my mind.”

“Anything I can help you with?”

“Not unless you can help me fly.”

She elbowed him lightly. “I thought you were best at that.”

Brian put his back truck over the lip at the edge of the ramp and looked down into the half-pipe. “I keep trying to get a high enough jump make a complete 360. I can never quite get enough air.” He stomped the front of his board down hard and dove into the drop. Transition. Flat. Transition. Up! He cleared the other side and cranked
Spitfire
around in the air. He put the wheels back on the ramp and rolled back toward Wendy. In the air again, he tried to twist around for the 360 but wasn't fast enough.

His wheels hit the ramp and he felt the board slow down just a little from the drag. He bent his legs to shoot up the other side and soared into in the air, twisting
Spitfire
in a half spin. Nothing slowed him up here — no gravity, no drag, just flying.