This isn't right, he thought to himself. But why?
He sat at his desk, pencil in hand, nearly seven pages of writing before him. Front of the class, dead-center of the rows of desks, but only seven other students had been daring enough to take the Advanced Physical Manifestations college class, and all of them were on their way out of Oxford. Not him. He was the newbie, and he was always several notches above them, no matter what the teacher threw at them.
He glanced at the clock. 1:12 in the afternoon. He had little more than fifteen minutes left in the class before his ten-minute break began, after which he would be going to Advanced Mathematic Concepts, another higher-level class; another class in which he was the youngest, and one of few to have taken it. It was the day before he got out of classes for the summer.
C'mon, where's your brain blast when you need it? He scowled at the paper, glancing at the teacher. She was reading a clothing and fashion magazine, and appeared to be completely endorsed in the article, her chair leaning backwards against the wall, her feet on her large oak desk, auburn hair splayed against the white board behind her, pencil between her teeth. She showed no interest in the boy staring so intently at her, mere feet before her person.
Damn, I never like writing these conclusive summaries…but they are so key to the entire development of the paper. Must…finish… his thought ended, hand scribbling desperately on the paper.
The timer on the desk dinged. The class of eight gathered their papers and made a mad-dash to the stapler. After everything was said and done, eight beautiful, hand-written papers stood in a stack before the teacher, who was as usual completely nonplussed. The boy with the dark brown coiffed hair and intelligent blue eyes had left, his paper on the top of the stack, nine pages in length, the longest she would read. Though, she only ever read the first two pages and the last two pages of his work; she knew as well as he did that he more than completed his fair share of the work.
He stopped at his dorm, reveling in the madness of it all. "One more class and I'm headed home," he breathed aloud. His mechanical dog barked in agreement, wagging his tail excitedly. He checked his desk; the plane ticket was still there. TWO-WAY FLIGHT, it read. He would be heading home to his parents' house in one short hour.
The clock read 1:34 p.m. He sighed.
"One more class, boy. Then you and I are on our way."
The dog barked cheerfully as his master closed the door to his dorm. He laid down to nap for the duration of the hour.
Meanwhile, the boy had made his way back to the main building of the campus and into his math class, feeling even more frazzled than he had while writing his paper. But where?
This isn't right. You need to be there.
Home…your childhood is calling to you.
He shook his head; the thoughts merely scattered and departed to the back burner. He sat, once again front and center, at the last desk of his day for a whole three months. The professor stood up, a grin on his face.
"Is everyone ready for summer to begin? This is your last day with me for this year, you know."
Everyone cheered and clapped excitedly. The boy had been staring aimlessly at his notebook, thoughts swirling idly; his train of thought was not interrupted by the sudden noise. Home…
"Well, to commemorate your last day of being on this campus, and the start of your vacation, I have a small paper you must fill out."
Everyone but the boy groaned, making the teacher laugh.
"We aren't doing a test or quiz. No, for your last day, you will be writing to me. You will be telling me where it is you plan on going for the summer, and what you plan on doing, and if you'll even be back next year."
The class looked around, positive energy radiating from their grins and bright, eager eyes. The boy's train of thought finally pulled into its station to rest just as the paper hit his desk.
Over your summer, where will you go, who will you see, and what will you do?
The boy stared dumbly at the paper. Math…wait, am I in the wrong class? He looked around worriedly, but felt even more confused after realizing he was indeed in the correct class. Where will I go…?
He pulled the pencil from behind his ear and attempted to write. Fifteen minutes before the final bell rang, he was staring out the window, having not finished his paper. He hadn't even started; very unlike his normal can-do attitude.
"As a reward to my students," the professor called out; most of the small class had finished writing and happened to be talking in hushed voices, "I shall release those of you who have finished at this time. Enjoy your summer."
Everyone scrambled to finish while cheering loudly. The professor was grinning with the rest of them. After the floodgates had been quelled, the boy and the professor were the only ones left in the room.
"James, shouldn't you be on your way to your flight? You're the primary reason I gave everyone an early release."
The boy looked around at his name. "Sir, I haven't written anything. How can you expect to release me without having written anything?"
The professor slid the paper away from the boy. He grinned.
"James, I understand the pressures of college. As a freshman here, you shouldn't even be in this class, but your intellect describes otherwise. So…"
The professor ripped the paper into tiny pieces and scattered them across the floor.
"…enjoy your summer."
James gathered his things and tossed them into his bag. "Thank you for a great year, sir!" he called as he exited the room. He got halfway down the hallway before he actually thought about his professor's words and realized it really was summer. He took off in a sprint toward his dorm.
The door blew open with a noise like cannonfire as James rushed in. His dog woke and barked excitedly, wagging his tail once again. James patted his head and began stuffing his possessions somewhat carelessly into his hypercube; he was going home.
The last thing he grabbed was a photograph of him at his high-school graduation before clicking the light off and departing, the dog at his heels. He looked at the photograph and his mind resumed its journey on his train of thought; his legs automatically carried him to the train station, where his dog purchased him a ticket and located his seat. James noticed nothing; he had his eyes glued to one person in the photo.
The train started forward and whisked the boy and his dog off to the airport, where his flight would be waiting to take him overseas. And the entire duration of the train travel, he stared at the photo, never taking his eyes off the figure who had been standing directly to his left.
It's not right.
The dog extended his neck and looked over James's shoulder at the photograph. A glance toward his master informed his computerized brain that the boy was deeply engrossed in his musings. He glanced at the clock over the doorway and calculated that the train would arrive at the airport in less than a minute. He rather regretfully nudged his master's arm.
James looked up, temporarily letting his train of thought come to a rest stop. He saw the clock and patted his dog thankfully, who then proceeded to lay his head on the boy's knee. Just a few hours…and then I'll be home.
He stood up, the dog standing with him. "Ready for some R and R on the plane, Goddard?" he asked, stretching. The dog nodded and yawned at him as the train braked to a halt.
The doors slid open automatically. As soon as the boy stepped out, he heard his name being shouted. He looked around; one of his old friends, Liberty, was waving at him excitedly, her dark skin in stark contrast to her white t-shirt and pleated skirt. She had what looked like a guitar in a soft-cover case on her back, a synthesizer in its case on the ground to her left, and a travelling suitcase on the ground to her right. James headed over to her.
"I told you I'd be waiting here for you!" she cried.
"Libby! Hey!" he answered, giving her a hug. "It's been a long time since I last saw you. How's the music going?"
"The other girls decided to take the summer off and give our brains a while to rest. After touring with Graystar for four months, we got a little tired of the gallivanting around, ya know?"
"Well, not really, but I can imagine." He reached down and scooped up her synthesizer as they started to walk toward their boarding gate.
"So, Jimmy, what's Oxford like?" she inquired.
"Eh, not as great as I thought. Everyone there makes me feel like I'm some sort of freak or something; I'm in classes with seniors who've been in college for most of their lives, yet this is only my third year ever. The Dean's freaking out because he can't find classes hard enough for me."
Libby laughed. "Still a genius as ever, huh?"
"Well…I haven't been inventing recently, but I try to keep my mind well-lubricated."
"So, you looking forward to going back to Retroville?" she asked as they approached their departure gate, number 7.
"I have to say, I am. I expect your boyfriend has been keeping well?"
She giggled. "He's so cute. He's a total dork, but he's cute. And yes, he has. He's been working a lot recently, but I hope he takes some time off. I get a little lonely sometimes, ya know?"
"Yeah…I know what you mean…" Jimmy commented, half-smiling gloomily, eyes on his shoes. Libby glanced at him, his tone not at all what she imagined it would be.
"You okay, Jim? You haven't been yourself recently, even on the video chats we've had."
"I'm…I'm fine," he muttered.
Libby stopped walking at the entrance to the gate; Jimmy continued staring at his shoes and didn't notice her lack of presence. When he finally did (right when the hall bent into the plane's interior), he turned and looked at her warily.
"I said I'm fine."
"And I don't believe you. Jimmy, she left when you did. She's coming back now too; remember, she said so?"
"I remember…but I didn't believe her. I don't even think she believed herself."
He looked at the ground again, his eyelids drooping. Libby walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.
"Hey, Jim, listen. She'll forgive you. Really. I know her, and I know she will. I know you two have been missing each other, even though you won't say it, even though you both won't even look at each other. You won't do it because you're afraid that the other person won't feel the same. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "Let's find our seats. I…I need some sleep. It's been a long three years."
Libby led the way to their chairs and left the flight attendants to safely and securely stow their belongings. They had booked a private flight; a small plane consisting of twenty-four passengers, three flight attendants, and two pilots with a direct flight to the airport closest to their city. Almost as soon as they'd buckled their seatbelts, the plane lurched backwards and to the left along the painted yellow strip on the ground. One of the attendants came over the intercom and said, through a slight French accent:
"Now departing Evergarden Airport. Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the overhead lights darken. This is a one-way direct flight to SunnySide Airport in the central region of the United States of America. Thank you for flying Private Airbus 226."
The plane had lined up with the runway. Libby glanced out her window and saw one of the flight crew on the ground, two glowing orange cones in her hands. She flicked them both forward and the jets immediately engaged; the plane gently started forward, picking up speed as the tires slipped across the ground. The plane lifted from the ground and immediately tilted upward at a very steep angle, slightly upsetting some of the passengers. Jimmy and Libby glanced at each other, unsure of what to make of the sudden altitude. Their ears popped several times before the plane finally leveled out. The large blue screen at the front of the plane claimed that they were at four-thousand feet above the ground travelling at nearly nine-hundred miles per hour. The seatbelt light darkened and a loud ding rang out.
"We have now reached our flight level. Please feel free to move about the cabin."
Libby looked toward Jimmy to find his seat empty. She looked around slightly wildly before realizing he was standing near the front of the plane, his head inside the cockpit. Her eyebrows furrowed; what was he doing talking to the pilots?
He finally withdrew his head, looking slightly shaken; his face was pale, his pupils wide. He sat down heavily; Libby could see his legs shaking.
"What's up, Jim?"
"The pilots said that they made a mistake in take-off. The taxi crew on the ground told the plane to take-off at the same instant another plane was told to enter the runway. They entered in front of us and forced us to shoot upward like a rocket."
"But…but we aren't dead, so we're alright, aren't we?"
"Not exactly.
"When our plane took off, the stress on the engines was very high. Plus, the plane before us was issuing exhaust right into the intakes on the jets, so we nearly stalled. Apparently…something in the rudders' wiring has gone awry, so turning and landing will be difficult."
Libby inhaled deeply, trying to calm her frantic heart. "Are…are we going to die?"
"I do not believe so. I'm going to hope beyond hope that the pilots are skilled enough to get us home safely."
He rested his forehead on his fingertips, massaging his temples. Libby had never seen him so shaken. He mumbled incoherently, then made his voice louder:
"This was a mistake."
"What was?"
"Coming on this flight. Meeting you. Going home to see everyone."
"Why is that, Jim?"
"It…It just is. This is a sign. It's telling me that something's not right."
They sat in silence for a while, just staring around aimlessly. Everyone on the plane finally seemed content; they had long-since leveled out and had reached a constant flying speed.
The plane jolted in the air. The seatbelt light came back on overhead. Jimmy and Libby looked at each other uneasily.
"We are entering some turbulence. Please, fasten your seatbelts securely and remain c-"
She swallowed her words as the nose of the plane plummeted straight down. Everyone aboard the plane screamed in fear, their stomachs rising into a freefall, the plane accelerating toward the earth and its ocean below, altitude dropping, as the air pocket lengthened around them, stretching on for eternity.
Jimmy watched the altitude on the screen plummet just as fast as the plane did. 3000…2800…2500…
"Jimmy, DO something!" Libby cried.
"There's nothing I CAN do! We're stuck in an air pocket!"
"Then get us the hell OUT of the air pocket!"
He glanced at the screen again. 1700…1400… What can I do…what can I do?
Suddenly, the nose of the plane jerked upward, flipping the plane upright. The numbers began to stabilize; that is, all but one.
1200…1100…1050…
Jimmy glanced out the window and realized they were indeed still falling at an alarming rate. He unbuckled his seatbelt and began to think, eyes back on the screen.
1000…950…900…850…
He stood up rather suddenly and bolted into the cockpit, bouncing off the furniture. Goddard and Libby watched him anxiously.
He stuck his head through the curtains. "Why are we still descending?"
"Our left engine isn't responding. No matter what we try, we can't get it back online."
The pilot returned to speaking with the British air traffic control tower, leaving Jimmy hanging.
"Flip all rudders and stabilizers down; keep this plane as high in the air as possible. Nose up, just in case we crash."
"Son, how the hell are you going to think you can prevent a crash?" but by then the boy had gone.
How, you ask? Simple: I'm a genius.
Goddard had cut a hole under his chair large enough for both of them to fit into. Goddard dove through first, his master landing behind him.
Miles of wiring and ducting snaked through the bottom shell of the plane. It was so crammed Jimmy couldn't fit and had to watch as Goddard worked his way toward the wing joists.
"Goddard, set up a vision relay link and get in there. I need to see this engine."
While his dog ran down the length of the wing, he retrieved a screen from his carry-on and turned it on; as soon as it found Goddard's signal, Jimmy was presented with a vivid, fully-colored image: an engine that was gushing black smoke and had sparks flying amidst the parts.
"Get in there, boy. We need to get this plane flying again."
Goddard barked in affirmative and crawled carefully down toward the engine, using the suction cups on his feet to grip the stainless steel wall of the jet mounting. Jimmy took a moment to look back at the blue screen.
750…730…700…
He was about to return to the screen when Libby waved a hand in front of his face.
"Why the hell are we still falling?"
"Goddard's trying to fix the engine. I can't get in there; it's too narrow."
"Well, could he hurry the fuck up about it?"
"I can't rush him, Libby! One mistake and we're all done-for."
She sighed and closed her eyes, an attempt at relaxation. Jimmy looked back at the screen to see a message:
Everything is repaired as best as possible. Reattach ignition wiring harness?
"Try it, boy."
The dog lined the wires up and twined them together, melting the rubberized coating back around the joints. The acrid smell worked its way back to Jimmy, who then wrinkled his nose.
"Alright, boy. Get out of there."
The screen went blank and the sound of metallic feet clattering on the inside of the plane's shell reached Jimmy's ears. He clambered out of the hole and watched the numbers on the large blue screen continue to drop.
560…550…540…
"Jimmy, what's the verdict?"
He flicked his attention to Libby as he stepped into the central aisle; Goddard re-emerged from under Jimmy's chair and resealed the floor.
"I'm going to have them fire it up."
He spun on his heel and pushed his face back into the curtains.
"Try to start the engine now."
"Kid, it wasn't responding earlier. How the hell will it respond now?"
"Just try it."
The pilot sighed and flicked a lever. A light above it winked green; the pilot stared in disbelief.
"How did-"
"Just fire it up before we crash!"
The co-pilot pushed a glowing green button on the left side of the central console while the pilot gaped at Jimmy. The plane vibrated heavily and a sudden oscillating whine filled the plane, followed almost immediately by a roar that echoed throughout the pressurized cabin.
"Kid, what the hell did you do?"
"I had my dog repair the engine, since the wings are a bit small for an adult to fit into. Now, sir, could you please pull the plane up? We're still falling, you know."
The pilot looked around somewhat wildly before pulling back on the flight wheel before him. The plane began climbing once again; cheers erupted throughout the cabin. Libby bombarded Jimmy with more hugs and happy screaming; his eyes suddenly felt tired and he allowed himself to be dragged back to his chair. He flopped into it unceremoniously as Libby perched on hers, all abubble in excitement.
"Jimmy, you saved us!"
"I've gotta say…I've not had to think and work that hard in a long time. I needed that, even though now I'm tired."
"But you did it! You knew how to fix it!"
"Actually, Goddard did all the work," he confessed, petting the dog's cranial dome. The canine's tongue lolled from his mouth in contentment.
"I can't believe…well, I guess I CAN believe that the old Jimmy still has his genius factor."
"Yeah…but it's not a permanent repair to the engine. It needs to be fully serviced. I'd say we'll make it to the airport, but if we were going to California it wouldn't be enough."
Libby's mouth opened to reply, then she paused. "Wait…Jim…are you SURE we're gonna make it?"
"We'll make it to the airport. The plane won't be flying for a while afterward, though."
They both sighed heavily, she in relief, he in exhaustion. She watched his eyes droop closed and smiled.
"Sleep well Jimmy. I'll wake you up when we get there."
He mumbled a reply and drifted away into a sea of black.