Читать книгу The Night Flyer's Handbook 2-Book Bundle - Philippa Dowding - Страница 9

I get my backpack and sign out at the office. I call my mom to come and get me, but she can’t because she’s in a meeting.

I have to walk home. Which poses an interesting problem.

What am I going to do if I start floating outside? In my bedroom, and in the staff supply room, there was a ceiling to keep me from floating off into space. What am I going to do if I start to lift off on Main Street, or in the park, or on the driveway, or in the millions of other places that I could use as a launching pad? Will I float along just off the ground or will I keep going, like a lost weather balloon, higher and higher and higher until I freeze, or pop?

For the first time, I start to feel truly scared.

I’m too young to float away into space. My family will miss me. I have to graduate from middle school in a few weeks. I want to go to high school! I want to learn to drive a car, and kiss somebody other than my mom, and watch a high school football game and cheer for a boy I secretly have a crush on.

It starts to rain and I stand outside the school under the front door overhang pondering the problem. There is no one around, so I decide to do a little test. I’ll take a quick jog out into the rain and back under the overhang to see if I have any floating tendencies.

So I dash out into the raindrops, dance around a little, then run back to safety. My feet are very much planted on the ground. They are so planted on the ground that my shoes are wet and my socks are soaked through.

Okay, so no floating so far.

I do it again a few more times, dashing into the rain and out from the safety of the overhang, a little farther each time. Nothing happens. So I decide it’s safe to try walking home.

As an added precaution, I find a large rock, which I put in my backpack. It’s pretty heavy. I’m not sure if it will help to weigh me down if I start floating again, but I figure it can’t hurt.

I step out from the overhang just as it starts to pour. I take the main street and the park and walk close to buildings and trees in case I have to grab on to anything to keep me from floating away.

But it’s raining so hard that there isn’t any chance of anything floating away in the downpour. Even birds hide in the trees. I scurry along the deserted main street, past the library and the local candy store, although the rock in my backpack does slow me down a little. I run across the park, keeping close to things to grab on to, but there isn’t any reason to. I don’t float.

I just get really soaked. When I finally run into my house and slam the door behind me, a huge puddle forms at my feet in about ten seconds. Water drips off me hard. I walk to the top of the laundry room stairs and peel off my wet clothes, which land with a heavy slosh on the floor. Cassie waddles into the front hall, wagging her tail.

“Hi, Cass, don’t ask me to take you out for a walk, because I’m not going out in that again!”

After a hot shower I get into dry pyjamas and spend the rest of the afternoon curled up on the couch with Cassie, watching kiddie cartoons. Mom and the Chrissies come home around six o’clock after the twins’ piano lesson, and we have a boring night doing homework and getting dinner and arguing about what to watch on TV. I almost forget about floating.

Until the next morning, when I wake up on the ceiling again.