by Brian Bakos
38: Spin Out!
Our passage was even more violent than the last time. I bounced and slammed about, banging up my shoulders, my legs. Good thing the bike wheels were tied down. Good thing I didn’t eat anything recently, or it would be splattered all over the cabin.
Great blasts of fiery power shot back from the propeller. The engine roared louder and louder – until it seemed about to explode.
“I’ve got to stop this!” Quentin shouted.
He pulled back the throttle, and the terrible shaking eased up a tiny bit.
“We’re gonna break up!” I cried.
“No way!” Quentin said. “This is one tough plane.”
I didn’t believe him, any second we’d be thrown out amid a shower of airplane debris. Oh, if only we’d stayed behind. I’d give anything to be back with Ilona – with my Captain ...
***
We broke through into a clear night sky. Railroad tracks gleamed dimly below us. A barn stood nearby, and a bright light mounted high on its wall pierced the darkness.
Only problem was, we were spinning toward the ground.
“Do something, Quentin!”
“I’m trying to think,” he said.
“Think fast!”
The plane did a full turn. The barn light was off to our right, then to our left, underneath us, and to the right again.
“We didn’t practice spin recovery yet,” Quentin said, “but your dad told me how to do it.”
“Get started already, then!”
“I can’t remember what to do first,” Quentin said.
The plane did another full turn, and the barn light grew from a pin point to a blazing sun.
“Okay, here goes,” Quentin said.
He stomped a rudder pedal, then shoved the control wheel forward. The horrible rotation stopped – but now we were headed straight down like a dive bomber. The Earth reached up for a deadly hug.
“Ohhhhhhh!”
Quentin pulled back the control wheel. I slammed into my seat, and the bike frame pressed down on me hard. Quentin pushed the throttle in, and the engine roared.
We were flying straight and level!
I swallowed my heart back down, my breath came in uneven gasps. Even Quentin was too rattled to say, “piece of cake.”
We just flew quietly until we calmed down.
“Your dad’s the greatest,” Quentin finally said. “Everything he’s taught me is A number one.”
I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I think you’re the greatest, too, Prince Quentin.”
Even in the dim light, I could see that he’d turned red.
“Well ... thanks,” he said.
The flight back was uneventful, and the landing very gentle. A true piece of cake, with extra frosting. We’d only been gone a couple of hours, according to the clock and calendar in the airport office.
Quentin secured the plane and helped me put Melissa’s bike back together. We arrived home just as the sun was coming up.
39: Trash Day
I was totally wiped out. Mom tried to get me up for Sunday school, but I told her I didn’t feel well. She started to pump me with questions, but Dad – with his usual understanding of my moods – stopped the inquisition.
“Just let her alone for a while,” he said.
I rolled out of bed at 1:00 o’clock, absolutely famished. Dad brought me a tray, and I gobbled everything down. I even asked for seconds of the wonderful Earth food. This convinced Mom that I was not going to die any moment.
Fortunately, they left to visit Grandpa in the hospital, so I barely had to talk to them. Life was all out of focus. I was only half here, my other half was still in the alien universe. I didn’t fit entirely inside my body.
It was time to return Melissa’s bike.
I took the scenic route, cruising the streets of my home town as if seeing them for the first time. People were out cutting grass, driving cars, blabbing with neighbors – the usual stuff – but everything looked strange to me. I kept expecting a white-haired Kintz to pop up from behind a tree.
The bike seemed to glide over the pavement like a hover scooter, and I truly hated to part with it. Melissa came charging out of her house before I was half way up the driveway.
“I don’t believe this!” she cried.
The moment I got off the bike, she grabbed me in a tremendous hug that nearly knocked me over.
“You’re my best friend ever, Amanda!”
“Th-thanks.”
“I mean that,” she said. “Someday – maybe years from now – when you desperately need a true friend, I’ll be there for you.”
It was almost worth all the trouble just to see Melissa’s best self come out.
She took me inside the house, which was empty, as usual. Over chips and Cokes I told her about our alien adventure. She listened with great interest, especially to the part about the Captain.
“That must have been tough leaving him behind like that,” She said.
I felt a knife blade of regret dig in.
“Yeah,” I said.
“Does Kintz One remember me?” Melissa asked.
“Yes,” I said. “he misses you a lot.”
This was an exaggeration, but I couldn’t see any reason to spoil the good mood.
“Oh well,” Melissa said, “he wasn’t really my type. Too electrical.”
***
Late afternoon, Quentin came by to sweep our garage and take out the trash.
“Hi Amanda,” he said casually, as if nothing unusual had happened.
I nodded hello, with equal casualness. We were back in the real world now, and had to be careful. So, I just sat on the front porch watching him work, glad that it wasn’t me hauling around the rubbish.
He was taking the last load to the curb when Dad pulled up.
“Hello, Mr. Searles,” Quentin said. “Are we still on for flying tomorrow, 5:00?”
“I hope so,” Dad said. “There’s been a problem at the airport.”
“Oh?” Quentin cast me a nervous glance.
“It seems somebody took the training plane out for a joy ride,” Dad said.
Quentin gulped. “It’s not damaged, is it?”
“Doesn’t seem to be,” Dad said. “Charlie is doing a full inspection, he’ll let me know tomorrow if it’s okay.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Quentin rearranged the trash into a more presentable heap.
“Funny thing,” Dad said, “there’s some gold powder splattered on the engine cowl.”
“Really?” Quentin said. “Well ... looks like I’m about finished. See you tomorrow, Mr. Searles. Bye Amanda.”
He picked up his bike. Dad watched, stroking his chin.
“You wouldn’t happen to know anything about it, would you Quentin?” he asked.
“Uh, no sir,” Quentin said. “I have no idea what any gold powder could be.”
He looked my direction, and I couldn’t help but smile a little. Then he was off.
Well, Quentin didn’t lie, exactly – he just didn’t tell the full story.
What was the full story, anyway?
THE END
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Next Book in the Series
Here is an excerpt from the next book in the Time Before Color TV series.
RETURN OF MR. BADPENNY
1: At the Belcho Burger
This strange girl was watching me and Quentin as we ate hamburgers and talked about our baseball game. She pretended to be clearing the next table, but she was actually spying on us. I looked directly at her.
“Hey, what’s up?” I said.
“Uh ... nothing,” the girl said.
She scurried away clutching the burger wrappers and empty French fry cartons as if they were an armload of precious jewels.
Weirdness.
I turned back to th
e “Player of the Week” trophy. How could I help it? The shiny cup graced our table like a royal crown, hogging up half the area. A deep ache gripped my stomach, and it wasn’t just because of the greasy burgers.
“Maybe you’ll win the trophy some week, too,” Quentin said.
“Fat chance of that.” I pushed back my cap and sighed. “Everybody knows I’m the worst hitter on the team.”
Quentin shook his head. “You’re too nervous at bat, Tommy. The power can flow better if you relax.”
“Right,” I said.
“Besides, you’re one of our best fielders,” Quentin said.
“Maybe that’s true,” I said, “but it’s the big hitters who get the glory.”
And the girls, too, I felt like adding but didn’t.
Quentin shrugged and went back to his fries. “Yeah, Tommy. Whatever.”
I guess he was tired of hearing me gripe. Couldn’t say as I blamed him. Man, was I ever in a downer mood! A chocolate fix was in order.
“I’m gonna get a shake,” I said. “Want anything?”
“Yeah, I’ll take one, too – strawberry.” Quentin reached in his pocket.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it.”
“Thanks, Tommy.”
I headed toward the counter, glad to get away from the blazing bright trophy.
If only I really could win it some week! Quentin – our captain, pitcher, top hitter, etc. – says the team needs me at second base. But I’m real tired of hearing the other guys groan whenever I pick up a bat.
Behind the counter, the girl who’d been spying on us was busy with the cash register drawer. She wore a very intense expression as she jerked the coins around with her fingers, mumbling to herself. Her face was puffy, with dark circles under the eyes.
“Excuse me,” I said.
She flinched, as if I’d set off a fire cracker in her ear.
“Could I have two large shakes, please?” I said. “A chocolate and a strawberry.”
“Sure!”
She scurried to the big silvery machine and started pouring our shakes, glancing back over her shoulder at me.
Did I frighten her or something – did I have outrageous B.O.? She returned with the order and took my bill. Then she counted out the change, very carefully, and heaped it on the tray. A creepy smile moved across her face.
“Enjoy that,” she said.
I glimpsed something unusually shiny among the change, but paid it no attention as I maneuvered through the crowd. We had company when I returned, or at least Quentin did. Melissa Jordanek was standing beside him, one hand resting on his chair back and the other stroking the trophy.
“You won this at the ball game today, Quentin?” she was saying. “You were the top player on the whole team?”
“Yeah,” Quentin said.
I approached carrying my plastic tray as if I were bearing some unworthy offering to a goddess.
“Hi, Melissa,” I said.
She looked up and her smiled faded. “Oh, hi Tommy.”
I sat down, feeling about as important as a squashed cockroach. Some people crowded by with trays, and Melissa moved in close, supposedly to make way for them. But after the group had gone, she remained pressed against Quentin.
“When’s your next game?” she asked.
“Next Saturday, 12:30,” Quentin said.
“Maybe I’ll watch you play,” Melissa said.
“Sure.”
Man, couldn’t he think of anything more to say? Melissa was falling all over him and he didn’t even notice. Just look at her fabulous blonde hair – the real thing, too!
Melissa and I had been friends, sort of, back in grade school. At least we’d hung out with some of the same kids. Even then she was stuck up, but now that she’d become the queen bee of South Middle School, she was unbearable.
Amanda Searles walked up, and the atmosphere improved quite a bit.
“Hi, Tommy.” She flashed me a pleasant smile.
“Hi, Amanda!” I said.
I started feeling human again. Amanda’s really cute, and smart, too. A genuinely nice person. So, why did she hang out with a snob like Melissa?
“Congratulations, Quentin,” Amanda said. “That’s a beautiful trophy.”
“Thanks,” Quentin said.
Melissa moved even closer to Quentin and shot Amanda a dagger-like glance. Amanda didn’t seem to notice, though. She held up a bag with the grinning Belcho Burger logo.
“I’ve got our order,” she said.
Melissa unstuck herself from Quentin and smoothed her hair.
“We have to go,” she said. “There’s a special dance rehearsal this afternoon.”
“Yeah,” Amanda said, “the recital is only three weeks off, and they’re working us pretty hard. See you guys later.”
“Good luck at the next game, Quentin,” Melissa said.
“Thanks.”
They left. As she was going through the door, Amanda looked back toward me and waved good-bye. I waved back.
“I think Amanda likes you,” Quentin said.
“Well ... great!” I said. “Couldn’t you have asked them to join us? Melissa was practically in your lap.”
Quentin shrugged. “She’s too mean.”
2: Enter the Bad Penny
I moved my finger absently through the change on the tray, wishing that Amanda was sitting next to me instead of that show off trophy. My shake tasted like chocolate cardboard pulp.
Why did I keep buying these things? Must be force of habit, like my habit of getting zero hits per game.
Our team, the Jaguars, only had Saturday games now, but when school got out in a couple weeks, we’d be playing more often. It was going to be a long summer for me ...
There was something very odd about one of the the coins.
A thrill ran up my finger when I touched it, as if I’d just rubbed against an electrified bloodsucker. I tapped the gleaming penny out from the rest of the change, then flipped it over. There was a head on each side.
“Look at this.” I tossed it over.
Surprise shot across Quentin’s face. “Ugh, it feels creepy!”
He turned the coin over carefully, as if he were handling a scorpion.
“It’s really two pennies, Tommy,” he said. “Somebody ground them down and stuck them together with both heads showing.”
“Why would anybody do that?” I said.
“To cheat at coin tosses, I suppose.” Quentin dropped the penny on the tray. “If you picked heads, you’d always win.”
I looked around for the worker who had given me the coin, but she was gone. For some reason, that didn’t surprise me.
I nudged the penny with my finger. It was heavier and thicker than a regular penny, and warm, too. It almost seemed to throb.
More weirdness.