Jake Bowers Versus The Firebird

Jake Bowers Versus The Firebird Page 2

by Laryssa Waldron

4. Farid’s Gift

  During the rest of the day being friendless was a blessing as Jake kept his head down. He could have gone home early, the ‘accident’ was a perfect excuse, but Jake wanted to go to seventh period, to see Mr. Lewis.

  In that class, Jake took his usual seat next to students that he rarely spoke with. They were all looking at him. Normally, this would have made him feel uncomfortable, but he was jerked out of his inner pity-party when he noticed that Hillary Fischer staring intently at him as well.

  She was cute, as girls go.

  “Hi, Jake,” Hillary shot him a quick smile. Then her delicate almond shaped eyes focused in on his bruise, and immediately intense worry crossed her face. She tucked a strand of her silky black hair behind her ear, “How are you doing?”

  “Fine,” Jake muttered and twisted in his seat so that he could watch her out of the corner of his eye. She was inspecting him. He could sense it more than see it.

  “Ok, students,” Mr. Lewis called the class to order, “today we have a special treat, because we are going to move from our fascinating discussion on Africa and delve into the history of the Middle East.”

  Jake stared at his teacher, waiting for a significant sign that he was – what had Farid called it … The Flyer?

  Nothing.

  No eye contact, small gesture, or nod to convey that Mr. Lewis was aware of the events of that morning.

  “We will start with the mythology and legends of this great region and her peoples. You must study where they have come from to understand where you are.” This was one of the teacher’s favorite sayings.

  “Some of the more interesting legends of the Middle East are the stories that came from Persia. Maybe you’ve heard of stories like Sinbad the sailor, Aladdin and the cave of wonders…”

  “Mr. Lewis,” Tabitha March, a beautiful black girl who played the class airhead a little too often, raised her hand and without waiting to be called on, blurted out, “Do we get to watch Aladdin? I love that movie.”

  Her tight black braids that curled into long ringlets danced as she sang in an obnoxiously loud tone, “I can show you the world…”

  “That’s fine, Tabitha.” Mr. Lewis was trying to maintain the order of the class amidst the snickering students and dissonant singing.

  “What we will be doing, rather than watching movies,” he glanced sternly over at the perpetrator, “is looking at the ancient legends and traditions of the people to understand their history.”

  Jake’s head shot up and he stared at Mr. Lewis. Was that the teacher’s signal to him, talking about the Middle East? Jake grabbed out paper and pen to take notes, knocking his book off the desk in excitement.

  Hillary looked over at him. The same scary look of worry was etched on her face. Scary, because it reminded him of the look of concern and care that his mother often gave him.

  The door opened, interrupting Mr. Lewis again. The teacher heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes as an office aide brought a note up to the front of the class.

  “Jake,” Mr. Lewis called as he skimmed the paper, “the principal wants to see you in his office right now.” The quiet chatter began again and Jake slowly got up. He could feel his face getting hot. “Take your books, Mr. Bowers. You won’t be coming back to class today.”

  Jake shot Mr. Lewis a quizzical look. The teacher just nodded his approval. Jake walked out the door as the students whispered to each other and watched him leave.

  The principal, Mr. Mayer, was a very nervous, little man. None of the students were intimidated by him. Perhaps it was the three clumps of hair that were combed across his otherwise bald head or the way he always hunched his shoulders.

  Jake watched in silence as the principal gobbled an overflowing handful of peanuts. Some got in his mouth but the bulk ended up strewn down his shirt and across the desk.

  How had this person ever become “Man Number One” at the school?

  Principal Mayer looked down at his desk, grabbed up a stray piece and chewed it awkwardly with his front teeth. Then with his thumb he picked peanut mush from his back teeth. Finally, he looked at Jake and offered him some of the snack.

  “No thanks,” Jake shuddered as the door opened and Abel Black strutted into the office.

  “Please, sit down, Abel,” Mr. Mayer said as he motioned to a chair next to Jake. Abel sat down, took a look at Jake’s black eye and began to stifle a laugh.

  “You do know why you’re here don’t you?” The principal began.

  Both boys sat silently.

  “Well,” Mr. Mayer went on, looking from one student to the other, “It seems you two were in a bit of a fight.”

  Jake wondered who hated him so much that they would make things worse by telling the principal.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir,” Abel piped up, a wide grin spreading across his face, “my buddy tripped and I tried to stop him from falling into the locker, but it was too late.”

  “Jake, is that what happened?” Mr. Mayer glanced nervously at Jake’s forehead, never establishing eye contact.

  Jake thought for a moment, not sure what to do. Would Abel lay off if he agreed? A glance at the principal who couldn’t look him in the eye, made Jake wonder what protection the man could supply if he told the truth. The tick of the clock’s second hand magnified in the room. Unseen by the principal, Abel began to push his foot down onto Jake’s.

  “Yeah, Mr. Mayer,” Jake began, “I hit the locker. Sometimes I can be kinda clumsy.” It wasn’t the total truth, but then, it wasn’t a full lie either and it seemed to satisfy everyone in the room. The foot crushing stopped and Mr. Mayer leaned back in his chair.

  “Ok then, Jake, you can go now. Mr. Black, I’d like to speak with you a little longer, please.”

  Jake didn’t know how much time he had before Abel was released. His best bet was to hide out until the rush of students leaving for the day could camouflage him. Not wanting to face the inquisitive stares in his history class, he walked to the computer lab at the library.

  “Hi, Mrs. Gates!” Jake called to the near-sighted librarian.

  She peered at him through glasses that made her eyes comical and waved in annoyance. The only thing that the white-haired woman wanted to do was read. She didn’t care who was in the library, as long as they were quiet and kept their questions to a minimum.

  Jake walked over to the computer section. Mark was far away, but somehow he knew that writing to his uncle might help make sense of everything. He logged into his e-mail account and stared at the cursor for a while before finally writing.

  Hey Mark,

  Are you keeping busy over there? I sure miss you. School sucks. Today a bully hit me. If you were here, I know you would take me to Kendall’s for ice cream and teach me to fight back.

  Today, a girl in my class (who usually talks to everyone except me) smiled at me, and I didn’t know what to do. If you were here, you’d coach me on what to say to her.

  I can’t tell anyone here about all of this. Dad’s being a real dork lately. He keeps talking about some weird theory he’s working on and he wouldn’t care anyway. Mom would freak out, so you’re the only one I can talk to. I hate how far away you are. Why does the Army need you more than me?

  Do you remember the car that we saw right before you left, the Gullwing from the Monterey Races? I actually saw that car this morning, parked outside of my school. It was in PERFECT condition too. You would have loved it. The owner was this Middle Eastern guy who sold carpets. It was a coincidence because I’m wearing your army uniform today for Halloween and we saw the car together. Funny, huh?

  I miss you. I really do. Write soon and stay safe so that we can go camping.

  Your nephew,

  Jake

  Just as he hit send, the bell rang.

  Cautiously, Jake looked out the front doors of his school. Though he couldn’t see Abel anywhere i
n the sea of students scrambling for freedom, he decided to go the longer route home, just in case. Jake kicked fresh leaves out of his path as he walked, enjoying his first bit of good luck that day. The air felt crisp until a cloud moved and he felt the sun’s heat over the cold. Jake turned his face into the light and closed his eyes, enjoying the radiance of the fickle friend who would all too soon grow distant and cold until the spring.

  Jake rounded the corner to start up his street when he saw the Gullwing parked just down from his home, as if it had been waiting there for him. He turned, ready to run and find another way, when he heard someone call out to him.

  “Hey, you there!”

  Jake froze and slowly faced Farid.

  “Me?” He mouthed.

  “Yeah, kid, get over here. I want to show you something.” The foreigner’s English was flawless, though he had an interesting accent. He smiled, a warm and welcome smile, not a pretend greeting plastered on to fake out strangers.

  Jake looked around to plan an escape route just in case Farid tried anything. Coach Fischer lived across from where the car was parked and an old man walked his dog a few yards away. It seemed safe enough.

  “I saw you this morning.”

  “Yes,” Farid nodded and pointed toward Jake’s eye, “but this morning, you didn’t have that.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Jake said stupidly. He wanted to say something clever to impress the man because was still in awe of the car.

  “That’s an unbelievable car, Mister, er - sir.” Jake began to walk cautiously toward the Gullwing.

  “My name is Farid Samir Yousif,” Farid stated with his hand outstretched. “You may call me, Farid.”

  “I’m Jake. Jake Bowers,” Jake said as he shook Farid’s hand. “Jacob Evgeny Bowers.”

  He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to use his full name or even what to say. “Yeah, Evgeny is a family name.”

  The man raised an eyebrow.

  Jake grimaced. “It‘s not my favorite. I prefer Jake, just Jake, but sometimes my family calls me Jeb, you know ‘a poor mountaineer barely kept his family fed’ you know, because of the initials, only that’s JED and mine is JEB, but it’s close so we...” Jake stopped to watch Farid’s reaction to the verbal diarrhea.

  Farid flashed another brilliant smile and began to laugh. “Well, Jake, you like the car do you?”

  “Are you kidding, it’s a 1955 Mercedes-Benz 300 SL, Gullwing, in perfect condition, it looks like.” Jake took a step toward the car, and then froze, not wanting to seem too eager.

  “Were you at the Monterey Historic Races in August?” Jake asked and then wondered if he should have said it. “Mercedes–Benz was the Marque this year.”

  Again, Farid smiled, delighted with Jake’s knowledge.

  “Yes, I showcased her there. Please, please,” he motioned for Jake to take a closer look.

  The old man was still on the street, waiting for the dog to do its business, so Jake stepped closer to look inside the front seat. Everything was in its original condition - radio, steering wheel, seats, it even smelled like a new car. Jake noticed that there was a stack of small carpets in the back window.

  “It’s fantastic! Mind if I took a look under the hood?” Jake asked.

  “Uh, perhaps not today, my young friend,” Farid took on a peculiar look, which scared Jake enough to take a step back.

  “It’s not as clean, as I would want it to be for an enthusiast like you. Maybe another time.”

  They looked at each other for an awkward moment. Jake couldn’t really think of anything else to say.

  “I wonder if I can be permitted to give you something. It is a treasure of great worth,” Farid said.

  “Um, no, that’s ok. I don’t really need anything. I gotta get going anyway. Lots of homework, you know, sorry!” Jake began to back away.

  Farid ignored the babble and went to the trunk of the car. He opened it, and took out the same carpet from the morning. A shiver ran down Jake’s spine. He needed the carpet. It belonged to him. There was no longer a desire to run. It was not dangerous; it was a tie to destiny.

  “This, Jake, for some reason, must be given to you,” Farid said through gritted teeth and Jake wondered if the man was serious.

  Then with a sigh of resignation, Farid said, “it is priceless and must be cared for.”

  “Where did it come from?” Jake asked. He was afraid to make any movement. Afraid that Farid would change his mind and take it away.

  “All in time. All in time,” Farid stated. “You must take it and we will see what will happen.”

  “What will happen?” Jake’s question was barely audible.

  “Maybe nothing, maybe something. Take it, and we shall see.” Farid motioned to Jake to hold out his arms. Then, lovingly, like a father allowing a child to hold his newborn, Farid cradled the carpet and placed it gently in Jake’s arms. The rolled carpet was about four feet long, and surprisingly heavy.

  “I’ll be watching you, young Jacob. Protect this carpet and remember where it came from. It is worth more than your life.” Farid hissed.

  Then Farid scratched his curly black hair, softened his expression and motioned for Jake to go. “Take care of this, my greatest possession.”

  Jake began to walk toward his house, but then turned to look again at the carpet salesman.

  “Thanks,” Jake said.

  Farid was leaning against the car, his face had gone pale. When he noticed that Jake had stopped, Farid waved him on with a forced smile.

  Jake walked away, faster this time. He needed to see what the carpet looked like and didn’t want Farid to change his mind. Without a second glance, Jake sprinted awkwardly up the hill toward his house.

  Farid’s stomach churned uncomfortably as he watched Jake go. In a swift move, he got into his car. He needed to talk to someone.

  “Call Graham Kent,” Farid said to his car console.

  “Calling Graham Kent,” the car said back in a gentle feminine voice.

  The phone rang twice and a man with a proper British accent sharply whispered, “Hello?”

  “It’s Farid, can you talk?”

  “Just a moment.”

  Farid listened to the quiet noises on the other end of the line as he watched Jake, already halfway up the hill to his house, stumble over the carpet, nearly tripping.

  “This is a jolly nuisance, Farid,” Graham Kent breathed into the phone, “your timing couldn’t be worse. Bowers and the ruddy US Army have set up shop in our backyard. Zharka’s in a frightful mood. It’s got everyone on edge.”

  “And is that unusual for her?” Farid shot back.

  “No,” Graham laughed, “that’s true. So, what is going on?”

  “We may have found the Rider of Tangura,” Farid said slowly.

  “Really? Well, that’s marvelous!”

  “I’m not too sure,” Farid said as he watched Jake. The carpet got tangled in the Halloween lights and cobwebs that decorated Jake’s front entryway. Farid got an eyeful of plumber’s crack as Jake leaned down to unplug the lights to try and unravel everything.

  “Why? This is what we’ve been waiting for,” Graham’s enthusiasm was tangible over the phone.

  “He’s not Middle Eastern,” Farid said pointedly.

  “What?” Graham was noticeably confused.

  “He’s not of Middle Eastern descent,” Farid repeated in an agitated tone.

  “How is that even possible? Can he fly Tangura?”

  “I don’t know. Tangura … reacted to this boy. The carpet hasn’t reacted to anything in centuries, but this kid shows up and it’s like the carpet has awoken,” Farid was circling the streets of Jake’s neighborhood, not wanting to draw too much attention to the fact that he was staking out the Bowers’ home.

  “Rex told me to give him the carpet,” Farid finished.

  Graham snorted, “Rex Lewis is a fool! To give that carpet to jus
t anyone without knowing for sure if he’s the Flyer … it’s insane!”

  Farid shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Yes, well. We’ll see. I’m watching this boy very closely.”

  “Have you talked it over with Riverwalk?” Graham pushed his point further.

  “Riverwalk is on an expedition in the Himalayas, and you know how hermitic he goes when he’s excavating for Ân Dhúins. I haven’t been in contact with him for over two weeks.” There was a pause and then Farid changed the subject. “What has Zharka got you doing?”

  “Oh, she’s having me build a new prison,” Graham said flippantly.

  “You can always leave, no one would blame you,” Farid said.

  “Yes, but I can do so much more from here. I’d better go, they’ll be wondering where I am,” Graham said.

  “I’ll keep you posted,” Farid said.

  “Oh yes, watch out for scorpions,” Graham warned.

  Farid ground his teeth, “When did she start using them?”

  “It’s been since Prague, she’s got a new guy. He’s gifted, Farid. Almost as technologically brilliant as you, old man! Ta, for now.” There was a click on the other end of the phone.

  “Bye,” Farid said to the empty line, and circled the car back around to watch Jake’s house from a distance.

  5. An Unexpected Phone Call

  Jake’s plan was to sneak into the front door and bypass his usual route through the kitchen. He would slip up the stairs into his bedroom and Mom wouldn’t even notice that he was home. Then he could unroll the carpet and find out why it was so special. He slowly walked up the few stairs that led to his sanctuary when he was startled by a sing-song voice calling him.

  “Jak-ey!” Jake’s mom was a loveable geek.

  “Be down in a second, Mom,” Jake called out and then sped up the stairs and shut the door hoping to have a few moments alone.

  He wasn’t sure what to expect. He was excited to open it and see what would happen, but there was a problem – the floor was covered.

  Suddenly he looked around with fresh eyes. The room was awash with clothes; the clean in a neat folded pile by the closet, thanks to Mom, and the dirty strewn everywhere but the hamper. There were empty model car boxes, dried-out paints, and brushes stuck to newspapers. Car magazines were scattered across the room in different stacks. Crusty towels, inside-out socks, and wrappers were everywhere. The wrappers were from his munchies – chips, candy bars, and cookie packages laying inches away from the garbage can.

  The idea that he was a borderline hoarder had never crossed his mind before, but it was really starting to pile up. Is that what his mom was always talking about? Sure, she had complained plenty of times, and had provided several items to help bring order to the chaos: plastic organizers for his models, laundry baskets, a book shelf, dresser, and a desk - all of which were unused. Nothing had mattered until he brought the carpet up. It seemed wrong to meet his destiny in such clutter.

  Carefully he placed the carpet on his bed. Then, like a whirlwind, he shoved the clutter into the nooks and crannies of the room. Finally, he set the priceless item on the ground, in the middle of the floor, wincing as he realized that he probably should have vacuumed up the snack crumbs.

  Too late now, he thought as he slowly unrolled it.

  His eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the carpet where a large golden tree with rich dark green and gold leaves seemed to wave at him. Threads of cream, blue, and gold formed a river that flowed from the roots of the tree.

  Surrounding the tree, patterns of color - greens, yellows, and even splashes of crimson red wove in and out of each other, as if they were part of a dance. Never chaotic, always in perfect symmetry, the shapes and lines harmoniously filled the space. The edges were bound with a solid rope of golden thread woven in an intricate braid.

  Jake looked over at his bed. The blanket was askew and last night’s pajamas were strewn across the pillow. His room was tided-up chaos while the carpet was well-ordered magnificence.

  Jake had never seen anything so exquisite. He looked back at the carpet and stared at it for several minutes, waiting for something to happen. Nothing did.

  He knelt beside it and traced his fingers over the golden accents. Faintly, he thought he saw the tree’s leaves sway, kissed by a soft, summer breeze. He crossed his eyes, trying to will the picture to move again. It had been so slight that Jake wasn’t sure of the reality.

  “Jake,” his mom called as she knocked at his door.

  Carefully, he stepped around the carpet, not wanting to walk on top. Somehow, he felt that this object was too great to just be walked on. He opened his door a crack.

  “Yes, Mom?”

  Jake’s mom tried to push the door open, “well, let me come in, I want to talk.”

  “No, I…uh, want to finish cleaning it first,” Jake said in a bit of a panic.

  “You’re cleaning?” His mom raised an eyebrow. “Who are you, and where is my son?”

  “Ha, ha,” Jake said as he walked out of his room and closed the door. “Let’s go downstairs and talk, I’m hungry.”

  “Sure,” his mom said and began walking down in front of him.

  Jake paused to turn the handmade sign on his door to “keep out”. Three-year-old Millie couldn’t read yet, but she knew that there would be trouble if she went into his room when the angry T-Rex was showing.

  Jake’s eyes had to adjust to the bright yellow of his mom’s kitchen, it was supposed to be a happy color, but it was just too much. Another color would be on the walls soon enough, his mom was a project junkie. Mom’s Halloween Chili permeated the air and Jake thought that his day might turn out to be good one after all.

  “What’s fer eats, Ma?” Jake said in a miserable impression of a cowboy about to get his grub.

  “Chili’s almost done, partner,” his mom said.

  “Mom, that sounds so lame,” Jake whined as he sat down at the table.

  “What does?”

  “Partner – you’re trying too hard.”

  “Jake,” his mom rolled her eyes, “I’m just following your lame cue! By the way, are you going to tell me about that black eye?” She began to stir her Chili with a fanatic smile on her face.

  Jake had been so engrossed in Farid and the carpet that he had forgotten all about Abel.

  “Oh, yeah,” he said as his Mom set some carrot sticks in front of him. Grimacing, he took a bite and then raced through the story about tripping in one breath.

  “Hmmm,” his mom tapped her wooden spoon on the side of the pot as Jake got up and went to the pantry, “that’s not what Mr. Mayer said.”

  “WHAT?” Jake whirled around to face her.

  “Yeah, he seemed to think that this Abel kid was pushing you around.”

  “Oh, he told you that, huh?” Jake grabbed a bag of flaming hot corn chips and a two liter grape soda from the storeroom closet. He walked to the cupboard over the sink and grabbed a glass and some ice from the freezer. His mom’s eyes were focused, tracking him as he walked around.

  “Jake,” she said expectantly.

  He opened the drink. “Where’s Millie?”

  “She passed out in front of the TV. I’d wake her, but she needs her sleep so she’ll be ready for tonight’s sugar fest! Don’t think I can be swayed so easily by your change of topic there, mister.” She reached into the cupboard above the stove and grabbed some salt. “By the way, you’re going to have to take Millie with you tonight.”

  “What? I thought Dad was gonna to do it.” Jake’s voice cracked as he said it.

  “He’s still at that convention in San Diego, so, big brother is going to save the day. Yay!!” His mom forced a fake smile.

  “Why don’t you take her?” Jake said through a mouthful of chips. “You know this is one of my last Halloweens, and I was going to fill the bag! Millie is so slow. I’ll never make it if I have to drag her al
ong.”

  “Sorry, hon, I have to stay and pass out candy,” she took a bite of the Chili, which was too hot. She grimaced, and turned down the temperature on the stove. “I need you, Jake. Millie is just a baby and Halloween is for them. Come on, I’ll buy you a bag of candy at the grocery store.”

  “Oh, gee, thanks!” Jake said sarcastically. “Part of the fun of Halloween is the hunt, Mom.”

  “I know, babe, I’m sorry. Mille needs this.”

  Jake nodded his head and slurped down a swig of soda.

  “Now,” his mom said as she rinsed her hands and wiped them on her frayed apron. “Talk!” She sat down next to Jake and placed her hand on his right arm. “What’s going on?”

  “Well, there’s this kid at school, Abel Black, and he’s been teasing me.”

  Then the phone rang.

  “YES!” Jake smiled, and his mom pointed a finger at him.

  “We’re not done,” she said as she grabbed the house phone.

  “Hello? … What? I’m sorry…who?” She covered up her other ear, trying to hear the speaker.

  “No, that’s better. Yes, I can hear you,” she said and looked at Jake with a grin.

  “Yeah, he’s here,” she nodded at Jake.

  “Who?” Jake mouthed.

  She shook her head, like it was a big secret. “No, no, he’s fine. Yes, I’m sure. He’s right here. Do you want to speak to him?”

  His mom held the phone over her chest for a moment and said, “Jake we are going to finish this conversation.”

  “Sure,” Jake said reaching for the phone.

  His mom held the receiver away from him, “I’m serious, Jake. We need to talk about it.”

  “Fine!”

  “It’s your Uncle Mark,” she said with a grin and handed him the phone.

  Jake was a little bit shocked. He hardly heard from Mark since he’d been deployed and for him to call today… it was all very strange.

  “Hello?” Jake said.

  “Hey, Bud,” came his Uncle’s familiar voice. “I just got your e-mail. How are you?”

  He sounded really concerned.

  “I’m doing okay,” said Jake. “I know, I know, Mark! I need to stand up for myself; it’s just that he came out of nowhere –”

  “Hang on,” Mark said, cutting Jake off.

  Then Jake heard his Uncle talking to someone else, “No, no, take the whole squad. It’s fine. Yeah, I’ll be there in a minute.” Then he turned his attention back to Jake. “You there?”

  “Yeah,” said Jake, “I’m just so glad you called. It’s been such a weird day, and I really need to talk.”

  “Jake, sorry I have to hurry.”

  “Well, why did you call then?” Jake wondered.

  “You saw the Gullwing driven by an Arab guy named Farid, right? I need you to do me a favor –”

  “Yeah,” Jake said.

  “I need you to stay away from him. It’s classified so I can’t say much. I know that this isn’t making any sense, just trust me,” Mark said in a low voice.

  “Um, ok,” Jake said thinking about the carpet in his bedroom and the conversation he overheard.

  “Thanks,” Mark was noticeably relieved. “Tell your Dad to quit being such a physics geek or his little bro will have to come and pound on him!”

  “Yeah, ok,” Jake said. He was completely dejected. He was hoping for some advice or comfort.

  “I’ll call or write more when I have time. Bye! Love ya, kiddo!”

  Mark hung up.

  “Bye,” Jake said to the empty line.

  “What was that all about?” His mom had been fiddling with her spice rack during the conversation, but now she sat down next to him.

  “I wrote Mark an e-mail today during school, and I guess he was just calling to see if everything was okay.”

  “And is everything okay, son?” His mom probed him with her concentrated parental stare.

  Jake wasn’t sure how she would take the news. He’d just taken something from a total stranger, the same man that his uncle had just called to warn him about. Then there was the fact that he might have overheard a conversation where two adults were talking about them and that he might be some sort of “Flyer”, whatever that was.

  “He’s just a jerk, Mom. A big bully.” Jake decided to talk about Abel, and not the other stuff, until he figured out what was going on. He knew that if he told his mom, she’d immediately have him return it, and he just couldn’t do that.

  The story about Abel started to flow. He’d never be able to talk to his absent-minded professor father this way. Jake told his mom everything, except for the nickname, not wanting to involve her in any feeling of guilt.

  “So, what does he call you?” She had radar for what bothered him.

  Jake thought for a moment and then said, “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt.”

  “But where’d he get that name? You haven’t even let us call you that for a year now—” she stopped short, brain calculating. Jake looked down at his food.

  “Jakey, how long has this been going on?” She looked angry.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Mom. Don’t get mad –k?”

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at anyone who hurts my baby.” She got up, walked over to the chili and stirred it with a clenched fist.

  “Mom,” Jake spoke slowly. “Black’s never done anything like this before,” he said as he pointed to his bruised eye.

  His mom thought quietly for several seconds, her hands loosening the death grip on the spoon ever so slightly. “Yeah, but he’s been hurting you. Teasing is still abuse, mental abuse.”

  At the word abuse, Jake began to worry about the involvement of professionals - psychologists and policemen. He’d seen enough after school specials on TV to know where this conversation was going.

  “Mom, it’s ok. Really.” He walked over and gave her a hug. “No harm done, I’m all right.”

  “No harm? Jake, you didn’t feel that you could share this with me. A year? What, you don’t feel like you can talk to me?” She began to cry. Jake had been afraid of that reaction.

  “Mom,” he said, trying to think of a way to comfort her, “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to get upset, to feel like it was your fault.”

  “Why would I think it was my fault?” She looked at him, confused.

  “Well, I think that he got the name from you.”

  She stared at him blankly until he told her the story.

  “So,” she said slowly, “you didn’t tell me, because you didn’t want to hurt me, not because you don’t trust me?”

  “Yeah.” He said, realizing how true it was. He loved his Mom. She hugged him, and he went back to his drink.

  “Oh, I’m so relieved,” she began to wipe her hands on her apron. “Now, I’m going to make a quick call to Mrs. Black and – ”

  “WHAAAT?” Jake choked on his soda.

  “Well, we have to straighten out this mess.

  “No, Mom! Please don’t do anything –” Jake was now frantic.

  “Honey, it’s ok, I—”

  “Mom, really, that’ll make things worse.” He was getting desperate, searching for something that would change her mind. “Wait ‘till Dad gets home, put me in therapy, let me deal with it.”

  “You will?” She questioned skeptically.

  “Yeah, I’ll deal with it,” his heart slowed down as he realized that he may have successfully swayed her.

  “How?” She was like a machine gun when she found a target, never letting up.

  “Well,” Jake stumbled for a moment, until he remembered her favorite phrase, “I’m gonna open up a dialogue!”

  His mom gave a reluctant smile.

  “I’m serious,” she said, knocking him in the shoulder with a playful punch, “this is a really big deal, and I’m not sure if I should just leave you to ‘deal with it’.” She said “deal
with it” sarcastically and made air quotes.

  “No, Mom, really, I’m going to talk to him, and –” he swallowed thinking fast, “a counselor.”

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’ll wait to call Mrs. Black until I talk to your father. We’ll see, okay?”

  Jake nodded, feeling fine about this new development. He was sure that his Dad wouldn’t care. For the first time in over a year Jake knew that the world which was about to open up to him because of the carpet was larger than Abel Black and his pathetic threats.

  “Eat some carrots now, Jake,” she pointed to the pile on the table and grabbed the chips and soda to put them away.

  “Sure, Mom, whatever you say.” She turned back to look at him and he shot her an angelic look.

  “Oooh, you’re naughty –,” his mom shook her head and walked toward the sink to rinse off the dishes.

  “See you in a few, Mom. Gonna hit the homework.”

  She turned and gave him the skeptical mom look again and he shot back the angelic face for a second time.

  “Don’t watch too much TV, remember, no trick-or-treating if your homework’s not done, partner,” she called after him.

  “Yee-haw!” Jake called back as he climbed the stairs, and opened his bedroom door. When he looked into his room, he immediately froze.

  The carpet was floating three feet above the ground.

  6. Commander Bowers

  Commander Mark Bowers hung up the phone and scratched the whiskers on his chin.

  “Who was that?” His first sergeant, Miguel Ortiz, tossed him a brown plastic bag containing the army’s version of breakfast.

  “My nephew. Which one is this?” Bowers asked as they walked toward the Special Operations light utility vehicle, a caged dune buggy fully loaded with men, gear, grenade launcher, and M-16s.

  “Veggie burger,” Ortiz said as Bowers scowled, “Sorry, but you were the one making the phone call during meal time.”

  “No cheese omelet? You sure?”

  “You snooze, you lose!” Ortiz slid behind the wheel and Bowers hopped into the passenger seat.

  “Let’s roll!” Bowers called out to the men and they led out another vehicle away from the Army base camp and into the desert.

  “So,” Ortiz called out to Bowers as the car bumped over the terrain, “you were about to tell me what your nephew has to do with Farid.”

  Unconsciously, Bowers flexed his jaw, then slowly relaxed.

  “Was I?” Bowers asked, ripping the plastic meal bag with his teeth.

  “Yeah, ‘cause you know I’ll bug you until you tell me,” Ortiz said.

  Bowers shook his head and grinned.

  “You probably would,” he said and opened the crackers from the kit.

  “Well?”

  “I don’t really know, to tell you the truth,” Bowers began between bites. “I got this weird e-mail from him today. I guess he saw Farid somewhere and he told me about it.”

  “Did Farid talk to the kid? Does he know he’s your blood?” Ortiz asked as he swerved to miss a boulder.

  “It’s not like I had a lot of time to talk. I got the e-mail just before this recon mission, so I only had a second. I just warned him to stay away from Farid. I’ll call him back tonight and find out more.”

  Ortiz nodded and Bowers continued his breakfast.

  “Do you think these men can do it?” Bowers was looking down at his food.

  “Oh, they’ve been trained in recon. I mean, they’re not special ops or anything but they’ll get the job done. It’s not like you gave me a lot of time.”

  “Sorry about that.”

  “That’s why I love working with you, always an adventure,” Ortiz said and slapped the steering wheel.

  Bowers grunted.

  “To tell you the truth,” Ortiz continued, “you’re lucky I could get anyone from the war zone. But these guys were just deployed, so they didn’t have an assignment yet.”

  “Well, the Black Hawks are coming at twenty-one hundred hours, so they’ll be back to the General soon enough.”

  After about fifteen minutes, the vehicles came to the base of a hill and they stopped. The men filed out and wordlessly grabbed their gear, climbed to the top of the hill and set up to conduct tactical reconnaissance.

  As they overlooked the massive structure below, Ortiz whistled.

  “There you are my beauty,” he said. “Did you know that I wanted to be an architect in a former life?”

  “What are you talkin’ about?” Bowers asked as he pulled out a lap top and some surveillance gear. “There was no life before the Army.”

  Bowers looked out at the colossal edifice. It looked like a wedding cake, with rectangular tiers growing smaller on each successive level. Only this one had seven visible tiers and was made from white stone accented with gold and silver. It was almost too brilliant to look at in the morning sun. The Commander grunted.

  “It’s called a Ziggurat. They were ancient temples dating back thousands of years.”

  “Best not to get too attached,” Bowers said as he looked down at his calculations, “You’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  “Come on, Bowers,” Ortiz said playfully. “She’s like an elegant shrine. Look at that staircase that circles down around the building. How did they do it back then?”

  “How did they do it today?” Bowers asked looking around at the dearth that surrounded them.

  “Exactly,” Ortiz said, “take a moment and appreciate this. It’s like going back in time and seeing what the Tower of Babel might have looked like.”

  “What?” Bowers asked, starting to get annoyed.

  “You know, from the Bible?” Ortiz prompted.

  “Lovely,” Bowers said sarcastically, “Now let’s get on with it. I want to get back and get a shave.”

  “You need it!” Ortiz said laughing.

  “Yeah, well, it happens.”

  “Happens when you use personal time to check your e-mails,” Ortiz slapped Bowers on the back and walked over to supervise the group of soldiers who were engaged in various activities.

  After a few hours the group broke for lunch and a young soldier, Private Jones, sat down next to Commander Bowers.

  “Seems like all we do is eat, huh?”

  Bowers grunted and shifted his weight away from the eager young man.

  “That’s the Army,” A big, bald, beefy soldier said, a little too cheerfully.

  “What we got?” Bowers asked Ortiz.

  “Looks like veggie burger,” he said tossing a packaged meal to the Commander.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Ortiz smiled and Bowers turned the package over. “Chicken noodle.”

  “Commander, Sir?” Private Jones cleared his throat.

  “Yeah?” Bowers didn’t look up from his meal.

  “What are we doing all of this for?”

  “It’s classified, son,” Bowers said.

  “That thing is beautiful!” The young man was almost dreamy eyed.

  “Ortiz,” Bowers said between bites. “We got another architect here.”

  Ortiz smiled, “We’re everywhere!”

  “So,” Jones continued, “who lives there anyway?”

  “Seriously?” Ortiz looked over at the soldier. “Did you not read the briefing?”

  Private Jones looked down at his meal.

  “How many of you read the briefing package?”

  None of the soldiers in the circle looked Ortiz in the eye.

  “Seriously?”

  The beefy soldier, who was polishing his weapon while eating, looked up. “What do I gotta read for? All I need to know is where to shoot. Yeah? Am I right? Lock and Load! WOO-HOO!!!”

  The other soldiers, knowing that they were in trouble for not being prepared, didn’t seem too enthusiastic to join in with Beefy’s celebration. Bowers looked at Ortiz with raised eyebrows.

  “Was that the file with the picture of that babe?” A so
ldier asked.

  They all looked up.

  “Yeah,” Ortiz said.

  “A fine, fine woman!” Another one said, shaking his head.

  “Was she the one with those two veiled ladies?”

  “That’s her,” Ortiz said.

  “Hey, who do you think them ladies are?”

  “Those ladies,” Ortiz corrected.

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re her ladies-in-waiting, you know, like in a Royal court,” Ortiz said.

  “Bet they’re fine too!”

  “This mission has to do with her?”

  All of the soldiers perked up at the thought.

  “And you should appreciate the work that I did to put that together, because it took a lot to get that picture from Intel. There’s not much on her.”

  “Boys, you’re in the Army now,” Commander Bowers addressed the men, “and you’re going back to the War Zone in Kazhiristan tomorrow. I suggest that you fully brief yourselves whenever you’re given the chance. That means studying any materials that you’re given. That clear?”

  “She lives here?” Beefy had finally caught up to the conversation and was at it again. “Tell me where she is! Yeah? Am I right? WOO-HOO!!!”

  Not for long, Bowers thought. Operation Crush Black Widow will put an end to a dangerous woman.

  A few hours later, the gear was packed and the men were ready to leave. Ortiz walked over to Bowers who was surveying the terrain with binoculars.

  “We’re ready when you are,” Ortiz called out to him.

  “Go on back to the base, and leave me the second vehicle. I’ve got to do some more calculations,” Bowers called back.

  “You want me to stay and help?”

  “I don’t know how long I’ll be. Besides, you got to get the men back to the General when those choppers arrive here tonight.”

  “You’ll be that long?”

  “Not sure. But I do know I can’t be around those kids anymore,” Bowers looked up at Ortiz and in a perfect imitation of Beefy said, “Yeah? Am I right? WOO-HOO!”

  Ortiz smiled, “Well don’t make it so long between visits, huh?”

  Bowers looked at Ortiz, “I thought I was a pain, showing up out of nowhere and asking for impossible things.”

  “Always an adventure when I work with you, Bowers! Plus, being with the General is like sitting around and watching the grass grow.”

  “I’ll meet up with you in Kazhiristan in a couple of days,” Bowers nodded and the two saluted each other.

  “Be safe, bro,” Ortiz said.

  “You too.”

  Bowers watched as Ortiz and the men drove off to the base and then he lay on his stomach and looked through binoculars.

  He scanned the surrounding terrain and noticed a patch of earth close to the edifice that had been tilled and formed into strange mounds.

  “What are you up to, Zharka?” He asked.

  Then he took a final look at the Ziggurat, combing each tier for any unwanted factors or surprises, before tomorrow’s strike. Everything was quiet.

  It was a fantastic structure, even he could see that. To sit there staring at the target was a secret indulgence that he would never admit to Ortiz or the men. Just looking at the massive edifice filled his soul with exhilaration, like a worshiper on a pilgrimage.

  Bowers sighed, knowing that he had to destroy it. She was getting too powerful, he reminded himself again.

  A shadow fell over the Commander.

  “What are you doing back here? I told you to take the men back to the base camp,” Bowers said sharply, annoyed at getting caught in his revelry.

  When no one spoke, Bowers looked up.

  “Orti—”

  He could see the bottom of a carpet floating above his right shoulder.

  “What in the —”

  Just then, a scorpion the size of a fist fell onto Bowers’ head. He flipped onto his back, swatting his head as another scorpion dropped from the carpet onto his neck. He batted at the second one and was shocked to see that it looked like a scorpion on the underside, but was metallic on top.

  Two more scorpions fell and one hit Bowers in the neck with its tail.

  The effect was immediate.

  Another carpet flew in line with the first, and the two teenage flyers grabbed Bowers’ arms.

  “It took you long enough,” said the second in Arabic.

  “Yes, but it took,” said the first.

  “What about the others?”

  “Zharka just wants him.”

  Then the two carpets flew toward the Ziggurat, the riders holding onto the Commander’s arms while his lower body dragged in the sand below.

  7. Communication

  After a moment or two, Jake got his wits again, entered the room, and shut the door behind him.

  “This is amazing,” Jake said breathlessly. The carpet rose higher as Jake spoke, then it lowered back onto the ground.

  “Oh, no! Don’t stop, please,” Jake said to the carpet, as if it could hear him.

  Apparently the carpet did hear him, it rose slowly back in the air.

  Jake walked closer and it went back down.

  “Sorry,” he said and backed away.

  The carpet rose up and down slowly and it occurred to Jake that maybe it was trying to say something.

  “Should I stand on you?” At that, the carpet stopped in mid-climb and slowly lowered to the ground.

  There was something right about it. Jake felt a spark of electricity and excitement. Slowly, mirroring the speed of the carpet, Jake stood on the rug — one foot, then the other. An idea flashed inside his mind, he felt that the proper place to stand was in the middle. Jake positioned himself in the appropriate spot.

  Looking down, Jake watched as the face of the carpet changed. The golden threads that formed the center tree swirled around until it had fashioned itself into a shape that looked like a large compass. As Jake was inspecting the center spokes of the compass, his intuition told him that somehow this was a way to control the carpet with his feet.

  Then, the carpet began to lift slowly off of the ground. Excitedly, Jake put one foot behind him to catch himself, but the sudden movement made the carpet lurch back so quickly that Jake fell down hard on the floor.

  “Oh, sorry,” Jake said to the carpet as he rubbed his behind.

  “Jake?” The immediate call came from downstairs.

  “Nothing, Mom. I’m okay,” Jake yelled, hoping that she wouldn’t want to investigate.

  He decided to try again. As they rose into the air, Jake lost his balance. He tried to move his foot to catch himself, but the carpet pitched violently in whichever direction he moved, keeping him completely off balance. They stumbled to the right, then left, then front and finally Jake crashed into his closet.

  “JAKE!”

  “It’s fine, Mom,” Jake called.

  On the next try, Jake lost his balance over his bed, so the fall was cushioned nicely.

  “Sorry,” Jake said miserably to the carpet, “I’m not really that athletic. Maybe I should have tried snowboarding or something.”

  Several minutes passed and all of Jake’s attempts had ended in failure, but he had learned to fall much more quietly. Finally, and he wasn’t quite sure how it happened, they flipped upside down and he and the carpet ended up in a heap on the floor.

  In frustration, Jake muttered, “I gotta get out of here.” He was planning on his usual after school TV watching ritual, and wondered if he could sneak any more snacks without his Mom noticing. Suddenly, the golden threads that were the compass began to expand, bubbling up until it covered his feet.

  “What in the —” Jake’s feet were solidly covered in a gold and green mass. His legs looked like two tree trunks shooting up out of the carpet. Then the flash of a memory solidly lodged in his mind’s eye, one that he hadn’t thought of in years. He was riding his first bike with training wheels. They were at
a park and Uncle Mark had been running beside Jake as he sped along.

  As Jake thought of the memory, the carpet began to lift up again. His knees wobbled a bit, but he stayed standing for the first time. After hovering for a few moments, the carpet began to move forward and backward in the open space of the room. Then it circled the room and came down to rest gently on the ground.

  “Whoa,” Jake said. Then another picture lodged itself into Jake’s brain. Jake had been camping with Mark and they were lying in the bed of his truck watching the stars above. In the Valley, the sky never looked like this. The dark was hollow and the stars were illuminated so much that they seemed to dance.

  Jake was stunned. Questions ran through his mind. Was the carpet communicating with him? If it was, how was it putting pictures of his own memories into his consciousness? Could the rug read his mind? It was impossible, but if it could, did the vision of the night sky mean that it wanted to go out?

  “How are you doing this?” Jake finally asked the carpet. There was no reply. No mental picture, no thoughts, no speaking.

  “Well,” Jake said, “it’s … I mean you’re really cool!”

  Another picture came into his mind. An image of his little sister Millie grinning at him. At that thought, Jake grinned back to his room and to the carpet. Then the memory of the night sky came into his head again.

  “Do you want to go out? Tonight?”

  Millie’s grin flashed.

  “Ok, we’ll say that’s a yes,” Jake said smiling back. “I’ll just take my carpet out for a Halloween flight.” He laughed at the idea. “This is crazy. Oh well, coolest crazy I’ve ever heard of!”

  “Oh man,” Jake suddenly remembered. “Mom and Millie!”

  How was he going to deal with Millie’s big mouth or Mom’s disapproval that he’d taken something from a stranger? Well, he’d have to think of something.

  “I gotta go talk to Mom, and see what I can do,” he said. The carpet’s grip on his feet let go and it oozed back into itself.

  “Thanks,” Jake began to walk to the door, but stopped, turned, and said to the carpet, “I’ll be back in a moment, don’t go anywhere!” The carpet lay still.

  Jake shook his head and grinned.

  “Jake,” his mother called as she knocked softly and opened up the door.

  “Oh, Mom,” Jake ran toward the door and tried to push it shut so that she couldn’t see inside the room, “I was just coming to see you.”

  “Well,” his mom said as she shoved her way in, “this is looking better.”

  In a panic Jake looked on the ground, but the carpet was gone.

  “Well, son,” she shot him a sarcastic concerned parent look, “are you done beating up your room?”

  “Yeah, just practicing a little ju-jitsu.” Jake’s smile was adorable and his mother rolled her eyes.

  “Millie still asleep?” Jake asked as he glanced behind the door for the carpet, but it wasn’t there.

  “Yeah, well you got your wish,” his mom said. “Millie’s running a temperature.”

  “What was my wish?” Jake tried to subtly look under his bed, but the carpet wasn’t there either.

  “She can’t go trick-or-treating tonight.”

  “YES!” Jake yelled.

  “A little too enthusiastic,” his mom said in a warning voice, “considering that your sister’s on her sick bed.”

  “Oh, sorry!” Jake pulled his face into a solemn look. “Poor Mille, but I guess I’ll just have to go on without her. You know, keep up the family honor and all.”

  Jake walked over to the closet and peered into it. No carpet.

  “Ha, ha,” his mom said flatly as she began to walk toward the door. “Just make sure to fill that pillow case. She’ll be so disappointed, but at least you can share.”

  “Whaaat?” Jake had been so engrossed thinking about flying that he had forgotten about actually getting the candy – which was a first for him. “Share? Do I have to?”

  “Yes, Jake. Seriously? You’re not planning on sharing with your sick baby sister?”

  “I guess she can have the Smarties,” he said in a fake dejected voice. Then he looked up and saw the carpet on the ceiling.

  “You hate Smarties.”

  “Yeah,” he shot back, his eyes immediately locking with his mother’s to make sure that she didn’t follow his glance to the carpet’s hiding spot, “tough to part with, but I will sacrifice for the sick.”

  “Chocolate too, for the whole family or you’ll stay and be on nursing duty,” Mom threatened.

  “Yeah, okay, chocolate too!” He promised, but with the prospect of surfing the sky ahead, he wasn’t sure how much candy he’d even bother to get.

  “Good. Ready for Chili?” His mom asked.

  Then Jake had a great idea.

  “Hey, Mom, do you have any old sheets that I can use for tonight?”

  “Hmmm,” his mom bit her lip as she thought. “I may have one… no wait I actually have two that you could use. A cream one and a really snazzy plaid.”

  “You don’t have any plain white ones?” Jake groaned.

  “No, what’s it for?”

  “Thought I’d be a ghost.”

  “Well, the cream one will work for that. What are you going to do, cut some eye holes in it?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said, “but, don’t you have white sheets, Mom?”

  “Yes, but they’re for my bed,” she said in a warning voice.

  “Come on, Mom, who ever heard of a cream ghost?”

  “Jake, it’s either cream or plaid. Your choice.” Her tone signaled the end of the discussion.

  Jake grunted, frustrated at the option. When he envisioned the ghost, he thought it would do two things: cover the carpet and have an amazing floating effect. A cream or plaid apparition just didn’t have the same feel.

  “I thought that you were going as a G.I. Joe guy.”

  “Yeah, I was going to, but I just decided to be kind of invisible … well, unrecognizable, at least.”

  “I bought you that camouflage make-up,” his mom said, “that’s what camo does, right? It makes you invisible.”

  “Yeah, hahaha, Mom. I just thought that with this black eye, I didn’t want a lot of questions.”

  “Well, that’s perfect then, the camo make-up will cover it up.”

  “AW, Mom,” Jake whined, “I’ll wear the cream sheet!”

  “Ok, whatever you want, son.” She smiled and began to walk out of the door. “It’s on the bottom shelf of the linen closet. Enjoy!”

  8. Night Flight

  Once he knew that his mom was safely preoccupied with trick-or-treaters, Jake ran to the back door of the kitchen and sneaked the carpet outside.

  “I’m sorry, Carpet, the grass is a little wet, but I don’t know where else to put you down.”

  As he stood in the middle of the carpet, the picture of the bike with training wheels came into his mind again.

  “Okay,” Jake agreed.

  As the green and gold threads wrapped around his feet, he felt buckled into the moment, like riding on a roller coaster, he couldn’t get out now, if he wanted to. Was he sure that the threads would hold when they were in the sky and he was actually flying on this carpet?

  “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he mumbled.

  The image of the first time that he saw the carpet came into his mind and a tangible energy filled his heart as the words Ela ba’an circled around him.

  “Let’s do this,” Jake said with a renewed confidence.

  Jake threw the king size sheet over the two of them, which covered them perfectly. As the carpet lifted off the ground, Jake caught a glimpse of their reflection in the glass porch doors. They looked like a ghost, a really cool floating ghost.

  Another image from his memory flashed into his mind. He saw himself trick-or-treating last year at old Mrs. Felix’s house, the lady that collected all of the s
tray neighborhood cats.

  “No, I don’t want to go there. I’d really rather go for a flight if that’s all right with you.”

  For the first time in his life, Jake was not in the mood for candy on Halloween night.

  The smiling Millie image popped into his head again.

  “I’ll take that as a yes!” he said, and the carpet began to rise up, slowly at first. Jake reached out from under the sheet and let the pine needles of the tree run across his palm as they ascended. Then, with a burst of speed, they raced upward into the sky. The sheet was whipping awkwardly around Jake’s ankles, and so, when he thought that they were high enough, he tied it around his waist.

  Jake looked down at his neighborhood that grew smaller by the second.

  “Whoa!” was the only thing he could say at the spectacular view of tiny houses, and cars that looked like toys.

  Then the carpet took off in another burst of speed.

  Jake threw out his arms and felt the air rush through his fingers. He used to love the feeling of putting his hand out of the car window. Now, his whole body was enjoying the rush of riding on the air.

  The carpet was speeding faster now and the air pressure regulated as the speed and height increased. Jake felt like a protective bubble surrounded him as they flew up into the sky so high that Jake lost sight of his neighborhood and was just starting to make out the California shoreline.

  “AMAZING!” Jake yelled out.

  He felt no worry, no fear that anything would happen. It should have been odd to him – he was flying through the air on a carpet, but for whatever reason, to Jake, it felt as natural as chewing and swallowing.

  The carpet was acting like a dog that had just been set free after a long car ride. It flew toward one cloud, and then raced to the next. Jake was exhilarated. It was the feeling that a good song gave him - the desire to soar out of his body, but this time, spirit and body were flying together.

  After a while, the carpet began to slow.

  “Are we done?” Jake said. Then the image of his mom came into his mind. “Oh yeah, she wanted candy.”

  They descended much more gradually than before. Jake loved watching the Pacific Ocean shoreline getting clearer and closer. Finally, his city, then his neighborhood came into view and soon, they hovered over his street. Suddenly, Jake heard several little kids screaming for help below.

  “Let’s see what’s going on,” he said. Jake had never really been the heroic type, but for some reason, with the carpet, he felt brave.

  Obediently, the carpet descended onto the main branch of an oak tree just above the group of kids. From his vantage point, Jake could see Abel, his brother, and two of their buddies standing in front of a group of young trick-or-treaters, who were huddled together. The kids were just old enough to be out by themselves, but just young enough to be intimidated by junior high bullies.

  “So,” sneered Abel’s older brother, Van, “whatcha tryin’ to be?”

  “Looks like a witch, a princess, and three super heroes,” said a pimple-faced follower.

  Jake never understood why some kids were accepted by the group and others were not. The pimply bully was the type of kid the Black brothers would target, yet, here he was, part of the pack.

  “That’s a really pretty costume,” Abel said mockingly to one of the girls, “Did your mommy get that for you?”

  The girl nodded, but tears were streaming down her face.

  “I think it would look better if you were more of a zombie-princess. Let’s rip your dress, here and here,” Abel laughed at the terror in the girl’s eyes as he took a step closer. “What? Momma wouldn’t like that?”

  Jake moved down the branch to get a better look and heard Van hiss in a menacing tone, “Give me your candy or I’m gonna rip into you.”

  The young trick-or-treaters were too petrified to move.

  “Didn’t you hear him,” snarled Abel, “MOVE!”

  The shaking children quietly passed their bags to the bullies, but one of the super-heroes wasn’t moving fast enough, so Van punched the kid on his ear.

  “Hurry up!” Van said as the boy collapsed into sobs.

  “Hey,” Jake yelled down from his perch, “what kind of loser picks on little kids?”

  “Who’s up there?” Pimple-face called out.

  From where Jake crouched, the tree branches mingled with the darkness and shielded his face from view.

  “Do you want some candy?” Jake called down in a gruff voice. “Too much work to walk up to a door and ask for some yourself?”

  “You want a piece of me?” Van snarled up at Jake.

  “Leave the kids alone,” Jake said, but the voice was not his own, it was richer and deeper.

  “Who is that . . .?” Van squinted up at the tree trying to make out Jake’s face. Jake pulled back and threw the sheet over himself.

  A loud CRAAAACK filled the air.

  Jake and the branch that held him fell toward the ground. The carpet swiftly did a nose dive under Jake, stopping his fall and cradling him a foot off the ground. The sheet hung limply in the tree above.

  “What the . . .?” mouthed the bullies at the floating body. Jake hurriedly got up and the carpet enveloped itself around his feet.

  “Go home, kids,” he breathed and the children ran.

  Jake faced the bullies, but instead of recognizing Jake, they looked at him in terror.

  “I know what you future felons have been doing,” Jake said as the carpet began to slowly circle around the bullies. Jake ticked off their names as he faced each one. “Abel Black, Jose Garcia, Paul McKay, and Van Black. I know where you live. I know a dozen kids that dream of revenge. They’re coming for you, boys.”

  Again, Jake’s voice took on a deep reverberating quality that was not his own, and because of the stares on the boys faces, Jake assumed that he looked different, too.

  “I know you were behind Mr. Don’s barn fire. I know that you torture Mrs. Felix’s cats in the field behind your house. Don’t think for a minute that payback isn’t coming.”

  By this time, Jake was so high that the bullies knew with absolute certainty that there was nothing under him.

  “You might want to go home, hide in your closets, and pray!”

  The bullies were too petrified to move.

  “Get out of here,” Jake yelled. “I’m coming for you first, Abel!”

  Abel tripped over Van as he clumsily began to run away.

  Jake and the carpet chased the bullies for a few feet and then the carpet rocketed into the sky. From their vantage point, Jake could see the boys running wildly out of the neighborhood like a herd of spooked horses.

  “Wow that was great! You were amazing—we’re like a team,” Jake said, and then he thought, Maybe I am the Flyer …whatever that is.

  Millie’s smile entered his mind.

  “You know who that was, don’t you?” Jake asked as they soared above a cloud bank. For a moment Jake’s mind was quiet and he replayed the events of the day, trying to tell the carpet the story. Then, a memory of Abel’s face laughing sarcastically came into his mind.

  “Yeah, that’s him.”

  They flew over the neighborhoods, watching kids below, making sure they were safe. As the night grew colder Jake shivered despite his jacket.

  A picture of home flashed into his head.

  “Just a minute, I want to remember what it looks like from up here.” Jake looked around one last time and then he saw something flash in front of him.

  A familiar burnt orange car flew behind a cloud bank twenty feet away.

  9. Hillary

  Something exciting filled the air at Hale Junior High the day after Halloween. A feeling of freedom. A sense of goodness and right in the world. Maybe it was that the lunchroom actually smelt good, like homemade garlic bread baking. Maybe it was that the teachers didn’t expect much on a Friday after a holiday. Maybe it was the fact that Abel Bla
ck wasn’t in school that day and it filled Jake with absolute delight.

  He smiled as he surveyed the lunchroom. The quiet corner table that he liked eating at was empty. Usually, he shared it with a group of shy foreign exchange students who never talked to him, but also, never bothered him.

  As he made his way over, he noticed that the sun was shining brightly through the far wall of windows. He inhaled deeply and then looked over at the kitchen to see what Lucy, the crazy Martha Stewart wannabee lunch lady, had done that day. Along the walls where the students picked up their hot meals, Lucy had fastened display boxes big enough to hold movie posters. Today, Italian flags hung around the kitchen entrance and huge pictures of Sophia Loren and the Leaning Tower of Pisa were displayed along with the words: Italiano Surprise – Spaghetti Bake. Jake held his sack lunch close to his heart.

  Jake reached the table and sat down. One look at his very healthy lunch made him question whether or not the spaghetti bake would have been a better option. It was his Mom’s attempt to even out the junk food fix from Halloween. Jake took a bite of his whole wheat, turkey and very veggie sandwich. Crunchy!

  He sensed someone standing over him and slowly looked up. Hillary Fischer, lunch tray in hand, was poised to sit down in front of him.

  “Mind if I sit with you today, Jake?” She said it cheerfully, as if they knew each other.

  Quickly swallowing, Jake sputtered, “Uh sure, yeah…I mean, no, I don’t mind…I mean, yeah, you can sit here.” By the time he finished, she had already settled herself across from him.

  “Thanks,” she flashed him a brilliant smile and then began to stab at her school lunch. Jake noticed that the “Italiano” Spaghetti bake was covered with melted cheddar cheese. Jake shuddered, knowing full well that only Mozzarella belonged with the delicate Italian flavors.

  This just confirmed, Lunch Lady Lucy is Looney. Jake thought to himself, pretending to be a news anchor.

  “So,” she said, “I’m Hillary.”

  He wanted to say, why are you talking to me now, Hillary Fischer, as you’ve ignored me forever, yet been friendly with everyone else? But he settled on, “Yeah, I know.”

  “That’s quite a bruise,” she stated as she stared into his eyes.

  “Um, yeah,” Jake muttered looking down at his food. He wasn’t used to kids his age being so intense.

  “I actually have a confession to make,” she said slowly.

  Jake curiously looked up at her. Until a few moments ago, Hillary wasn’t even an associate of his, so what could she possibly confess?

  “I told Principal Mayer about Abel,” she said quickly and then gobbled a bite of salad.

  WHAT? He thought, how could she possibly know about last night? A look of shock permeated his face.

  “Wow, I didn’t think that you’d be upset. I mean, maybe a little upset, but you look…” She started to mix her food around with her fork with a little too much gusto. “I’m sorry. I just hate seeing him mess around with you. Then when he hit you into that locker…it just made me so mad!”

  The locker! A shockwave of understanding hit him. All of the excitement with the carpet had knocked out his memory of yesterday at school.

  “So, you told Mr. Mayer about what happened at the locker?” Jake asked, relieved.

  “Um, yeah,” Hillary gave a half-smile, “why, was there something else?”

  “No,” Jake said quickly, “I didn’t know that you saw that.” He remembered that there had been some kids around.

  “Yeah, I can’t believe that he’s so mean to you. He’s a total jerk.”

  Jake wanted to ask her a million questions starting with; why do you care? And, why are you sitting with me? And, can I eat that brownie if you’re not going to? But he didn’t want to scare her off, so he just took another bite of his sandwich.

  “You know, I was wondering if you wanted to come over today and study,” Hillary said, flashing him another brilliant smile. Her almond eyes closed to tiny slits when she smiled and Jake thought that it made her look really pretty, like a laughing doll.

  “What, you mean at Coach Fischer’s house?”

  “Yeah,” Hillary laughed, “You know my dad?”

  “Well, he’s only taken State the last three years in a row,” Jake said.

  “Oh, do you play football?” Hillary beamed at him.

  “No, I, ahh, just watch…a little…from time to time,” Jake hated talking about sports, because it always turned into a conversation about his abilities. He wasn’t sure if he got his clumsiness from his mom or his dad, but he liked watching with Uncle Mark.

  “Well,” Hillary continued, “we could go over some stuff for Mr. Lewis’ class, or play the new GamePro; we just got one over the summer.”

  “Oh,” Jake nodded his head. “Yeah, I hear that GamePro is really fun.”

  “You guys don’t have one?” Hillary cocked her head and looked at Jake.

  “No,” Jake said, and remembering that he had food in front of him began to eat the crunchy veggie sandwich. He hoped that the move would make it seem like eating lunch with another student was a normal occurrence for him. “I’m not really good at those kinds of things.”

  “What?” she asked, “video game golf? Bowling?”

  “Any of that. I’m not really good at anything athletic,” he confessed.

  “Well,” she paused thoughtfully, “I could help you with that.”

  “Sports?” he questioned, making sure that they were talking about the same thing.

  “Yes,” she said, taking on a new pet project. “What do you want to learn?”

  He thought about it for a moment, what was like flying a carpet?

  “I guess I’ll just have to think about it,” he said finally. “What about you, what are you into?”

  “Oh, I like sports, but I’m not as good as my brothers. Hey, do you want this?” she held out the brownie from her lunch tray. Jake grinned.

  Jake ate as Hillary busily chatted about swimming and dance lessons and before long, the bell rang.

  Lunch is over? Jake thought. Lunch always went so slowly, too slowly. Usually after he ate, Jake roamed the school’s halls trying to stay away from Abel. He had never been at the table when the bell rang.

  “So,” Hillary said as she got up to leave, “I’ll see you in class?” She shot him another intense stare.

  “Yeah,” Jake said and smiled at her, “I’ll be there.”

  “You have a nice smile, Jake,” she waved and began to walk away. “See you later.”

  Jake was dazed. When had he entered into this new weird universe? Flying Carpets? Scaring bullies? Having a friend?

  Jake wondered if he could call her a friend. It had been a while. He had friends before his family had moved to Woodland Hills, in California, but since getting on Abel’s radar, kids had been avoiding him.

  He suddenly thought about the carpet as he walked to his next class. He had planned on going home and practicing flying after school.

  The carpet or Hillary?

  The thought plagued him for the rest of the day. Even as he walked into his last class, he wrestled with the question.

  Hillary looked up and smiled at him. He shyly smiled back and she motioned to the desk beside hers. It was the desk he normally sat in anyway, but it was nice of her to welcome him.

  Hillary. He thought as he slid into the seat next to hers. The carpet is just a thing, he reasoned, but she was real. A friend. Someone taking an interest in him, after so long.

  They began to chat about classes until Mr. Lewis cut over the noise.

  “Okay people, let’s begin. Ahem!” He said loudly over the top of some students, “I said, let’s begin.” Then he pulled out a map of the Middle East and began to point to some areas. Mr. Lewis was in full-fledged lecture mode. He talked a lot.

  Brilliant, but boring was Jake’s general attitude about his teacher. He began to doodle on his notebook.
He drew a ghost that looked like a lame baby cartoon and a tree. Then he began to draw a forest of trees. He loved drawing trees. It was about the only thing he could draw well.

  “Carpets are typically hand woven in the Middle East,” Mr. Lewis was in the middle of saying.

  Jake tuned in at the word “carpet” wondering if Mr. Lewis would say anything. Without thinking, he began to draw the tree that was in the center of the carpet and the patterned trim around the edges. While he drew, he listened to his teacher more intently than he ever had before.

  After a few minutes of describing typical materials that carpets are made from, Jake looked around the class to see if anyone else was listening. Most were passed out cold.

  Nic Patmos, a hulking hairy friend of Abel, was in such a heavy sleep that drool had formed in a puddle on his desk. Tabitha March was writing a note. She had drawn hearts and flowers all around the border and was putting a name on the front with big loopy handwriting. Skye Arnez was picking his nose with his pinky finger. He was pretending that he was scratching it, but there was too much depth and work involved just to be chasing an itch.

  Hillary was paying attention. Her head was cocked to one side and she had a strange look on her face.

  “In the legends of Sinbad, both in Scheherazade’s 1001 nights and other Arab story cycles, he used to fly on a magic carpet,” Mr. Lewis went on.

  Jake’s mind snapped back to the teacher’s lecture. Had Mr. Lewis been talking about flying carpets?

  “Some in the Middle East believe that the stories of Sinbad are based on truth and that, even today, Sinbad’s descendants continue to have the power to make carpets that fly. This is a trade secret that has been passed down through the generations. Now, can this postulation possibly be true?”

  Jake was on the edge of his seat.

  “Miss March, kindly do not stick your gum under your desk!” Mr. Lewis said angrily. The collective attention of every student in the class was riveted toward a wad of gray gum that was being rolled in-between Tabitha’s thumb and forefinger.

  “Sorry, Mr. Lewis, but I got to get rid of it and I didn’t want to walk over to the garbage and interrupt your talk.”

  “My ‘talk’ has been interrupted,” Mr. Lewis said with sarcastic emphasis on the word talk, “please dispose of your gum in the waste receptacle.”

  Tabitha got up.

  “Please place it in paper first, so that it won’t stick to the side of the garbage can,” Mr. Lewis stated.

  Tabitha dutifully ripped out a full sheet of paper from her notebook, spat her gum in it, wadded the sheet into a ball, and threw it away.

  Mr. Lewis shook his head and mumbled something under his breath about respect. The whole class, including Nic Patmos who had woken up and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, watched Tabitha flounce back to her seat.

  Skye raised his hand. “Mr. Lewis?”

  The teacher turned to the student, his eyes beaming at the chance for a question, “Yes, Mr. Arnez?”

  “Can I have the hall pass?”

  Mr. Lewis’ enthusiasm quickly deflated. He was beaten and waved a tired hand at the boy, “Yes, Skye. Do you know where it is?”

  “Yeah, next to the desk,” Skye said. He walked around books that were neatly piled on and around the teacher’s desk to the back wall and grabbed an ornate iron key by its long red tassel.

  With a grin, the student turned toward the class and said, “catch ya later!”

  “Five minutes, Mr. Arnez,” Mr. Lewis called after him and then turned his attention back to the class, though he looked a bit befuddled. “Well, why don’t we begin again by signing up for your countries?”

  Hands shot up around the class. “Yes, we have talked about this before.”

  A few hands went down.

  “You will each give a report on the country or culture of your heritage, remember?”

  A few more hands went down.

  “Miss Lopez?”

  “So, we can do the culture that we are a part of? ‘Cause I got a lot a stuff. My family is from Guatemala so – ” she stopped her sentence there, eyebrows raised, expecting everyone to understand what she meant.

  “Yes, Miss Lopez,” Mr. Lewis said wearily, “it would be best if you chose something from your ancestral background.”

  “Ok, so like, what if we’re Am-er-i-can?” Tabitha said sarcastically as she put a fresh piece of pink bubble gum into her mouth.

  “Miss March, have you ever heard of the phrase, ‘the great American melting pot’?” Mr. Lewis looked intently at his student.

  “Oh, I love that place,” she squealed and then turned to her friends. “It’s really expensive, but the chocolate fondue is ah-mazing!”

  Mr. Lewis drew in a sharp breath of air. He looked out of the window and then suddenly back at the class with a twinkle in his eyes.

  “Yes, exactly, like fondue. Miss March, what happens when you put the fruit in say, chocolate?”

  “You get chocolate fruit,” she said sarcastically.

  “Exactly!” Mr. Lewis was on the move now, ignoring Tabitha’s ignorant stare, and pacing through the desks full of renewed energy. “— And, if you dip strawberries, apples, bananas, kumquats–”

  “What the heck is a kumquat?” Hakumele Wolfgramm piped in as he looked up from strumming his air ukulele. Most of the kids were excitedly looking at the teacher now wondering if the fruit and chocolate idea would translate into class goodies.

  “The point is … when it’s put into the pot, Mr. Wolfgramm, what does each item become?”

  Hillary raised her hand.

  “Yes, Miss Fischer?”

  “It becomes one. Everything becomes chocolate fruit with different tastes on the insides.”

  “Exactly,” Mr. Lewis sighed contentedly. “So, in the case of today’s discussion, we are meaning that the Great American Melting Pot is where people from all different cultures and peoples can come together and, we hope, become unified Americans, though each one of you have that …” he paused, chuckled and then quoted back Hillary’s words, “…different taste on the inside.”

  Jake nodded. He had to admit that it was fun to see Mr. Lewis really getting into an idea, though he was a bit frustrated that they had veered so much off of the topic of flying carpets.

  “So, you are all Americans, but you each have a strong, noble heritage – with traditions and beliefs, just as each piece of fruit is different under the chocolate. Which fruit are you?”

  “Well, I’m African fruit,” Tabitha smiled.

  “Ahh,” said Mr. Lewis, “but which African fruit, do you know?”

  “I think that my grandparents came over from Ghana.”

  “Excellent, excellent! Some of you may have to do a little digging to find out who you are. Who else?” The teacher was energetic again.

  “I’m Mexican fruit,” said Marco Diaz and soon all of the students began to discuss what kind of fruit they were.

  Mr. Lewis gave a contented smile to the class. The bell rang and over the hub-bub of student scrambling the teacher called out, “Go and find out who you are and we’ll sign up first thing on Monday.”

  Jake began to put his notebook in his backpack.

  “Sooo,” Hillary said, “Do you want to ride home with me?”

  Jake froze. She remembered!

  “Mr. Bowers, may I speak with you for a moment?” the teacher asked Jake.

  “Uh, sure …” Jake stammered and looked helplessly at Hillary.

  “I’ll meet you by the front doors in a few minutes.” She smiled and ducked out of the classroom.

  Mr. Lewis walked over and sat across from Jake on one of the desks. “What about your ancestry?”

  Jake was dumbfounded by the question. He half wondered if the teacher were going to tell him something to unlock the secret of the carpet.

  Sensing Jake’s confusion, he added, “For your report. The class assignment.”
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  Jake felt foggy. It didn’t make sense.

  “Do you know about your heritage?” Mr. Lewis pushed on.

  “I’m from here,” Jake said in a daze.

  “Yes, yes, Jake,” the teacher said patiently.

  “Well, I thought that the melting pot thing was for someone else.”

  “Jake, don’t you see. That’s the beauty of being ‘from here.’ Up the ancestral line, you are from somewhere else!” His eyes filled with an excited gleam.

  What a weird thing to be interested in! Jake thought, appraising his teacher.

  “Well?” Mr. Lewis asked again.

  “Um, I guess I’ll do my report on England.” He vaguely remembered something his Dad said about ancestors coming over on the Mayflower.

  “Hmmm,” Mr. Lewis looked distracted, and in two steps ran up to the white board at the front of the classroom. He pulled down a map of Europe. Muttering to himself he said, “It could have come in a line through the Moorish-Arab invasion of 711, by the Caliph Abd al-Malik, maybe in a Spanish-Anglo mix?”

  “I’m sorry Mr. Lewis, what?” Jake called to his distracted teacher.

  “Do you have any one from Spain in your ancestry?”

  “I don’t know,” Jake said, “I gotta go, Hillary is waiting for me.”

  “Of course, of course,” the teacher said with a wave, as Jake quickly gathered up his things and ran to the door.

  “But, Mr. Bowers,” the teacher called out, “please understand. It is very important that you take this report seriously. I can’t explain more at this time.”

  Jake nodded and ran out the door. He shrugged off his teacher’s weird conversation and focused on Hillary. He wasn’t sure which emotion to pick – excited to hang out with a new friend, or scared that she’d ditch him.

  Only one way to find out, he thought as he ran toward the school’s front doors.

  10. Radio Silence

  “Mom,” Jake said into his emergency cell phone, “I was wondering if I could go to a friend’s house after school today?” He was already standing in a corner of the Fischers’ living room trying to be secretive.

  “Seriously, Jakey?” She sounded pleased, “you’re hanging out with someone?”

  “Yeah, with Hillary Fischer, she’s in one of my classes at school.” He tried to make it sound normal so that if anyone in the house could hear they wouldn’t realize what a big deal it was.

  Unfortunately, his mom didn’t catch the verbal cues and her shriek of delight was so loud that Jake had to pull the phone away from his ear.

  “A GIRL!!!!”

  “Shhhh! Mom, be cool, please,” Jake begged in a whisper.

  “Yeah, ok, Jake. I’m cool,” his mom said, “I just can’t believe it! You’re going to a friend’s house, and that friend is a girl. Aw, my little boy!”

  “Mom, it’s no wonder I don’t have any friends,” Jake hissed into the phone.

  “Come on sweetie, let me have some fun. At least let me have this moment.”

  “You are so weird.”

  “That’s why you love me,” his mom said. Jake could almost hear her smile over the phone. “So, do you need a ride to her house?”

  “Naw, actually I’m already here,” Jake noticed that Hillary had come back into the room, “I gotta go.”

  “I’ll have Dad pick you up at dinner time.”

  “Whatever, Mom, I gotta go!”

  “Well, OK, Jakey. Love — ”

  Jake cut in, “Yeah, me too, bye!” He hung up the phone, and turned to face Hillary who passed him a bowl of ice cream.

  “Wow, thanks!”

  “You’re welcome,” Hillary said, “Thrifty’s Double Malted Crunch, our family’s favorite.”

  “Great afterschool snack,” Jake said, nodding and taking a bite.

  “Yeah, my mom just got it today, and if I don’t eat it right away, the boys will get into it and there won’t be any left.” She rolled her eyes.

  “That’s right,” Jake nodded, “how many brothers do you have anyway?”

  She pointed to a large family picture on the living room wall.

  “These are my parents, of course,” Hillary said as she indicated a tall, barrel-chested white man who looked like he had just stepped off of the defensive line. His wife was a petite Asian woman.

  “These are my older brothers,” she pointed to them one by one as she introduced them. Her brothers looked like thinner carbon copies of their father, but with some of their mother’s delicate facial features.

  “Kenshi is going to graduate this spring and wants to play football at USC, he’s really good. Masahiro, we call him Masa, is in tenth grade and on the JV team. Seiya is in eighth and really loves skateboarding, snowboarding, surfing – really anything to do with a board. Then there’s me, and Matt who is in fifth. Matt is just good at everything that involves a ball. Right now he’s trying to start up a hacky sack club at the elementary school. It’s his newest craze.”

  “So, your name —” Jake said, confused.

  “Yes, I know,” Hillary said with a sigh, “Kenshi, Masa, and Seiya go by their Japanese middle names. Matt and I don’t.”

  Jake nodded, “What’s yours?”

  “Mieko. It means prosperous. I like it, I just like Hillary better, that’s all.”

  “So, you’re Japanese fruit then?”

  Hillary stared at Jake blankly.

  “You know, covered in chocolate in Mr. Lewis’ melting pot?”

  “Oh yeah, that,” Hillary began to laugh. “Mr. Lewis is really — ”

  “Interesting?” Jake cut in.

  “I was going to say eccentric. At least that’s what my Dad calls him. Mom says he’s a genius.”

  “Really?” Jake said. He had been wolfing down his ice cream during the conversation and took his last bite.

  Hillary glanced around not wanting to get caught gossiping. Jake wondered who would care enough about Mr. Lewis to even notice.

  “Mom says that Mr. Lewis is brilliant. He has like twelve degrees in Sociology and Geography and stuff — ”

  “I don’t think you can have twelve degrees, I think there’s some kind of law against it,” Jake teased her.

  Shocked at being interrupted, Hillary looked at Jake wide-eyed and then noticed the smirk on his face.

  “Ha, ha,” she said and playfully whacked his arm, “you know what I mean!”

  Jake smiled.

  “So,” she began again, “Mom said that he could have any job that he wanted. She thought for sure that he’d teach at the University with her, but he went and took a job at Hale Junior.”

  “Weird.”

  “Yeah,” Hillary said as she switched his ice cream bowl with her half-full one. “Go ahead and finish mine.”

  Jake tucked into the bowl and she continued to talk.

  “So, it’s weird, right — that this guy would teach at a junior high when he has so much potential to work anywhere.”

  “Maybe he just likes teaching kids,” Jake offered.

  “Maybe,” Hillary thought for a moment, tapping her index finger to her lips, “but I still think it’s strange.”

  “So,” said Jake, “are you going to do your report on Japan?”

  He began to rummage around in his backpack and pulled out the assignment sheet.

  “I guess we have to do a report on the country and also,” he scanned down the paper and quoted, “give a history of the legends, myths and stories that are a part of the cultural traditions.”

  “He talks about that stuff a lot,” Hillary stated, “kinda goes on and on about it.”

  “Makes it hard to pay attention,” Jake agreed.

  “Yes, of course I’ll do Japan, what about you?”

  “I guess I’ll do England.”

  “Oooh,” Hillary said, “You could talk about the Royal Family. That’s cultural stuff isn’t it?”

  “I guess,” Jake said. The idea of Royalty, wh
ich made Hillary’s eyes sparkle, made Jake’s glaze over.

  “Well anyway,” Hillary said as she grabbed the dirty bowls, “let’s get on the GamePro before Matt gets home.”

  Jake followed Hillary into the spacious Fischer kitchen. He felt like a puppy, but since he wasn’t familiar with the layout of the home, or the subtle graces of hanging out with a girl, he just followed.

  “Hey, Hillary?” Jake said as she put the bowls in the sink and rinsed them off. “Have you seen a Middle Eastern guy hanging around at the school?”

  “Hmmm, no, why?”

  “Oh, I just saw this guy the other day,” Jake tried to play it off, “he drove a really cool car. It was a 1955 Gullwing, Mercedes in mint condition. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  He changed tactics. “Have you seen a burnt orange car that has doors that open up, like bird’s wings, instead of out the normal way?”

  “No,” Hillary said. “Should I have?”

  “No, I just wondered. It’s a really cool car.” Jake started to feel self-conscious.

  Just then, one of Hillary’s brothers came in the sliding glass door from the backyard. He was dressed like a skater and had spiky black hair.

  “Hi, Hill,” he said as he grabbed a glass of water. He was outdoor sweaty-sticky.

  “Jake, this is my brother, Seiya,” Hillary introduced them.

  “Hey, that is one major shiner,” Seiya said, motioning to Jake’s black eye.

  “Yeah, I do a little cage fighting on the side,” Jake said.

  Seiya’s eyes flickered from Jake’s gut to his goofy ears and cheesy grin. Then he began to laugh and snorted water up his nose.

  “That’s awesome, dude,” Seiya said and gave Jake a high-five when he could speak again. “Do you guys want to go shoot some hoops?”

  “Sure,” Hillary said and they both looked expectantly at Jake.

  “Ok,” Jake said, “but I’m not really any good at it.”

  “Jake says that he can’t really play sports,” Hillary updated Seiya.

  They walked onto the Fischer family’s patio that overlooked the backyard. It was a sport enthusiast’s dream.

  There was a large concrete area that served as a half court for basketball. It could be converted to practice anything, and the Fischers used it all of the time. A large grassy area behind the court was cluttered with football tackling dummies, a two man blocking sled, and a soccer net. An old swing set that the kids had long since outgrown was to the right of the deck. It was kept around by Mrs. Fischer because she dreamed of future grandbabies. The boys used it to do pull-ups. The back porch held patio furniture, a grill, and a hot tub for when they needed to relax.

  “Come on,” she said and smiled to Jake she led him out onto the basketball court. He looked around at the trampoline, scooters, and skateboards that lay around and realized that skateboarding might be similar to flying the carpet. At the very least, it would help him with his balance.

  “Do you board, man?” Seiya asked, noticing where Jake was staring.

  “No, but I’d like to learn,” Jake hinted.

  “Well, ok then,” Seiya said, a grin spread across his face. “That work for you, Hill?”

  “Sure,” she said, grabbing a board and doing a few laps around the court.

  Seiya tossed a skateboard to Jake and hopped on his.

  “Ready?” Seiya said as he scooted off and caught up to Hillary. The siblings began doing tricks that involved jumps, flips, and perfect landings.

  Meanwhile, Jake cautiously stepped on the board with one foot, and then the other. He could stand, but anytime he tried to move, he’d teeter off the board. At one point, he tried to put his foot down to push himself, but he began to trip. Jake narrowly caught himself with the other foot, but in the process sent the board flying into the back of his thigh.

  “Ouch!” Jake said under his breath, wincing in pain.

  Hillary looked at Jake and motioned to Seiya to come over.

  “So, you really don’t know how?” Seiya asked. “I thought you meant that you just needed practice.”

  Hillary cocked her head to one side and assessed the situation.

  “I kinda suck,” Jake admitted.

  “Move the board forward,” Seiya said.

  Jake stood on the board with his right foot and cautiously tried to move the board with his left, but gravity won out and Jake tripped over his feet, barely catching himself before he face planted on the cement.

  “He doesn’t have any confidence in his body,” Seiya said matter-of-factly.

  Jake shot a look at Hillary, unsure of what her brother meant.

  “You know, Jake,” Hillary began, “you don’t trust your own body, so you seem awkward.”

  “What sports did you play growing up?” Seiya asked.

  “I did a lot of running in-between the TV and the kitchen during commercial breaks,” Jake tried to crack another joke, but it wasn’t that funny.

  “You’re such a weird-o!” Hillary said.

  “Nothing really,” Jake said, and then he added, “I used to like to swim a lot.”

  “Ok,” Seiya said, “remember when you first got in the water? You had to learn that your body could float, right?”

  “Yeah,” Jake said.

  “So, it’s the same thing. You just have to get some confidence that your body can move the skateboard. Once you learn that, man —” Seiya snapped his fingers, “piece of cake.”

  Jake nodded, hoping that the same was true with the carpet.

  “Let’s start with the basics,” Seiya said. In a few moments Jake was standing on the skateboard in the grass.

  “You’re so rigid,” Hillary said, “loosen your hips!”

  “What, like this?” Jake began to impersonate a hula dancer.

  “Stop it, you look weird,” Hillary said with a laugh.

  “No, it’s an improvement. Let him swing, Hill,” Seiya said joining in.

  Jake practiced on the grass while Seiya and Hillary instructed him on the basics; where to place his feet, steer, move, and how to flip up the board to catch it. Then they went to the side of the garage and Jake practiced moving while holding onto the wall. Finally they spent some time pushing and pulling him around on the skateboard.

  “You seriously suck, dude,” Seiya said to Jake.

  “Yeah, I know,” Jake scratched the side of his nose and looked down at the ground.

  “You coming over tomorrow?” Seiya asked.

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, anyone who keeps trying as much as you is bound to pick it up. You just need more practice,” Hillary said confidently.

  “Yeah, ok,” Jake said.

  The three of them went back inside to get some water and hang out, and before long, Jake’s dad came to pick him up.

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