Of course, when Myrtle was running, Millie Mae did whisper that the girl was a “ringer.” There were other things that just irritated her, like the fact that the big girl, Daisy, kept breaking both the bat and the ball, and that every time Kimber hit the ball it had a strange electrical charge on it that caused the unlucky person who caught it to immediately release it. And Conrad, well, even Millie Mae Miller knew her limits and wasn’t about to take him on.
As the sun began to set over Lowland County, Betty and Joe rose to their feet and cheered loudly for the winning baseball team. For Piper, Conrad, and all of the others, it was a victory, but not over the opposing team. It was the first time that they had played with other children and had not been ostracized or fled from in fear. It was the first time that they had been accepted by their friends for what they were, while being able to strike some sort of balance, however uneasy, with the outside world. A triumph indeed.
Betty and Joe packed the lot of them back to the farm after that. There was only so much scrutiny from Millie Mae that Betty’s nerves could take. The rest of the day was spent away from all of the prying eyes, in the fields and pastures of the farm, where the games played were anything but normal.
That night Conrad found Piper quietly by herself on the roof of the house, enjoying a sky full of stars.
“It was fun today, huh?” For once Conrad actually sounded his age.
Piper smiled and nodded.
“You coming back inside? Violet said she could shrink smaller than a teacup and Smitty bet Kimber twenty bucks she couldn’t.”
“She can.”
“I know. But Smitty and Kimber will get into a fight about it anyway and that’ll be hysterical.” Conrad laughed.
“True.”
Sensing that there was something on Piper’s mind, Conrad sat quietly next to her. Piper’s eyes went back to the stars and Conrad noticed that she had been covering her stomach with her hands as though she wasn’t feeling well. When her hands came down to her lap, he was surprised to see the linen handkerchief embroidered with small bluebirds clutched between her fingers.
“J. was here.” Conrad was not asking a question.
“He just left.” As he’d promised, J. had come back for Piper and had returned her handkerchief to her. He was exactly the way Piper had remembered him too: harried, with hair-trigger nerves and no time for small talk. “J. wants to take us away from here. He says that it’s still not safe and he has some vital information to share with us.”
“Safe from what, specifically? And what kind of information?” Conrad had read Letitia Hellion’s file on J. It was extensive in specifics, but bereft of essentials, such as any psychological analysis or background information, which would indicate what was driving J. with such relentless and overwhelming passion. Until Conrad could learn more about this mysterious invisible man he was extremely wary of J.’s motives, regardless of the fact that all indications pointed to his benevolence. “Did he try to force you to leave with him?”
“No, of course not. He said something about a place that was hidden. It’s far away and it’s secret. He said we’d belong there. Do you think we should go?”
Conrad’s mind raced in every direction at once, analyzing the information from all conceivable angles.
Piper was instantly sorry to see the carefree boyish quality vanish, after emerging on Conrad’s face over the last few weeks on the farm. It was replaced by a deathly seriousness and slight anxiety, which she knew all too well. This was not what Piper wanted at all. After all that they’d been through, and all that they’d accomplished, surely they deserved a small respite to relax and appreciate their good fortune. And surely, there would be time—time for planning and understanding and for her to explain to him the many other things that J. had told her. But sitting on the roof under the stars, after such a delicious day, was definitely not that time, Piper decided.
“Conrad?”
“Um-hmmm.”
“We did real good, huh?”
“Hmmmm?”
“Everything worked out. Everyone’s real happy and . . . I mean, I know it’s not perfect, but what’s perfect? Right?”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Remember how mean you were when we first met?” Piper laughed and Conrad smiled and tentatively relaxed. “Boy, did you ever have everyone fooled ’cause you’re about the nicest person I ever met.” Conrad blushed. “That got me to thinking how Dr. Hellion seemed nice but was actually mean, but then it turned out she was just real sad. Ever wonder why there’re so many sad and scared people out there? I always wanted to teach people to fly, but I don’t wanna do that no more. Flying’s alright but if I had the chance, I’d teach ’em to be happy instead. You know? You think you can teach someone to be happy?”
That was something Conrad had never thought about before. It relaxed him to consider the subject and he leaned back against the shingles and shrugged. “You got me there, Piper. I don’t know.”
“Bet you can.”
“I wouldn’t put anything past you, Piper McCloud.”
Piper smiled at Conrad and let herself slide off of the roof. A moment later she took to the night air, gliding upward to the stars.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
There are so many people to thank. . . .
My dear husband, Wayne, who has stood by and watched me muddle through this process.
Roger Corman, who liked the idea in the first place, and Frances Doel, whose gentle hand first guided me through the craft of storytelling.
Dan Rabinow at ICM, for his nonstop enthusiasm and support, and Richard Abate, for fighting so hard.
Dean Georgaris and John Goldwyn, for asking me to take the story in new directions—it was a journey that served me well, even though it ultimately led me back home again.
Jean Feiwel, who deeply understood the story and gave it endless time and meticulous attention.
But mainly and mostly, I wish to thank Marta and Thomas, who were with me through the dark nights—reading, rereading, and then reading yet again everything I wrote. Without fail, you were understanding, encouraging, and enthusiastic, and there is no doubt in my mind that I couldn’t have done it without you.
Thank you for reading
this FEIWEL AND FRIENDS book.
The Friends who made
THE GIRL WHO COULD FLY
possible are:
Jean Feiwel, publisher
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Rich Deas, creative director
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The Girl Who Could Fly Page 23