Free 52 - How I Learned to Fly by R.L. Stine - (ebook by Undead) Page B

to crush me.
    I was drowning. Drowning in hands and legs and talking faces. A wave of panic
washed over me.
    I lost Mom and Dad in the sea of bodies.
    The crowd swept over me. Carried me with it.
    Jack! Jack! Jack! They shouted my name over and over.
    “Mom! Dad!” I tried to cry out over the roar of the mob.
    I couldn’t see.
    I couldn’t breathe.
    I gasped for air.
    I—I’m not going to make it, I realized.
    The crowd—it’s swallowing me. Swallowing me up…

 
 
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    Then I felt someone grab me under my shoulders. “This way, Jack.” Two
policemen guided me up the platform steps. Four other dark-uniformed officers
surrounded me.
    When I reached the top, I took a deep breath—and gazed out at the people.
Thousands of people—stretching out for miles and miles.
    “Jack!” Someone shoved a microphone in my face.
    “Jack! Over here.” Another microphone.
    Jack! Jack! Jack! Hundreds of microphones suddenly appeared before me.
    Cameras clicked. “Do you think you can win?” a reporter demanded.
    “I—”
    “When did you learn to fly?” Another reporter. “Three months—”
    “What was in the secret recipe?” Another reporter.
    Everyone asking questions—all at once. Cameras clicking.
    JACK! JACK! JACK! Everyone calling to me.
    I broke into a heavy, cold sweat.
    I tugged at the collar of my silver costume. Choking, I thought. It’s…
choking me.
    The mob of people continued to call out my name.
    And Wilson’s name.
    I glanced over to the other side of the platform.
    There he was. Wilson—in his glittering superhero outfit. Hands planted on
his hips. Chest puffed out. Laughing with the newspaper reporters. Smiling for
the magazine writers. Boasting to the TV cameras.
    He LOVES this! I realized. How could he? How could anyone like this?
    “We are about to begin,” the announcer said to me as he waved Wilson over.
    “This is it.” Wilson clapped me on the back. “I’m really sorry, Jackie.”
    “Sorry for what?” I asked.
    “Sorry to have to beat you in front of two billion people!” he hooted. “Good
luck, Jackie. You’ll need it.”
    A striped-shirted referee asked us to shake hands before the race.
    I shook Wilson’s hand—and tried to crush his fingers. But Wilson just grinned his horrible Wilson grin.
    “The race is about to begin!” The announcer’s voice boomed over the enormous
loudspeaker.
    The crowd had been roaring. But now the roar faded to a whisper of hushed
voices.
    The referee lifted a starter’s pistol.
    I took a deep breath—and held it.
    I shut my eyes—and waited to hear the blast from the gun.
    BANG!

 
 
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    The gunshot echoed in my ears.
    I opened my eyes in time to watch Wilson take off. His cape swirled behind
him as he lifted toward the sky.
    I raised my arms.
    I leaped into the air.
    And landed hard on my feet.
    A shocked gasp rose up from the crowd.
    I raised my arms again. They trembled as I pointed them to the sky.
    I bent my knees. Then took a strong leap.
    And landed with a loud thud on the concrete platform.
    I could hear the gasps of the crowd. I could see their open mouths, their
wide eyes. Stunned. They were all stunned.
    I tried again.
    Nothing.
    I glanced up to see Wilson soaring high, nearing the big HOLLYWOOD sign.
    “I—I can’t fly!” I cried out. “I can’t fly anymore. I’ve lost it! It’s
gone!”
    Dad jumped onto the stage. His face was frantic. “Try again! Try, Jack! Keep
trying!”
    I took a long, deep breath.
    I planted my feet together.
    I bent my knees and with all my might—I sprang up.
    And came down.
    Nothing.
    No use.
    “I’ve lost it!” I cried. “I can’t fly anymore! I can’t fly!”
    I gazed up and saw Wilson soar over the HOLLYWOOD sign, turn, and start back.
    Wilson wins again, I told myself. Wilson wins again.

 
 
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    As the summer passed, we didn’t see much of Wilson. He was busy flying all
the time. His TV show was on every week. And he made dozens of flying