"Okay," I said once we got onto the roof. This, by the way, was a task on its own. I had ended up waiting ten minutes for Dylan to get the ladder and set it up again because, well, he seriously sucks at flying. "Just stand right on the edge, and I'll push you whenever you're ready."
"Okay," he said, grinning. "Whatever you say, Max." I almost laughed at his naiveté. I pushed him hard, right in between his wings, not caring one bit whether he was ready or not. He stumbled, flapping his arms like a loser (yeah, he actually flapped his arms), and fell off the roof with a squeak. A squeak. Two words popped into my head. Major turnoff. "Dylan!" I called. "Push down with your wings! Heavy downstrokes will bring you back up!" I waited a few seconds, expecting to hear him hit the ground with a loud thud, but all I heard was a whoosh of air and a yell. "Dylan?' I peered over the edge of the roof.
"Up here, Max!"
I looked up, and there he was, flapping crazily about 20 feet above me. "Okay, you're doing well," I said. I really ought to get this whole lying thing under control. "But try to glide more—if you hit a current, you sometimes won't have to flap at all." He tried, but his attempt at gliding was more crooked than Lombard Street in San Francisco. He circled the house a few times, and came to an ungraceful halt in front of me five minutes later.
"How did I do?" he asked, breathless, his face flushed.
"Well, you flew about as well as an overweight, drunk giraffe." I said truthfully. Dylan's face fell. Hey- just because I'm trying not to lie doesn't mean the truth is going to be pretty. "Let the air carry you." I continued. "You'll know a current when you feel one, and then you can just glide along."
"Um…okay," he said, frowning and kicking at a loose shingle with his foot. I actually kind of felt bad about basically saying, to his face, that he was a terrible flier. Then I remembered that he was here to replace Fang, grimaced, and said, "You kind of suck now, but you'll learn." He looked up.
"Really?"
"Of course! Here, why don't you try some more gliding? You'll get it soon."
Again with the lying. I mean, let's face it. It was going to take a lot of practice for him to be any good at all.
After Dylan did a few more circles around the house, me flying with him this time, he had improved. Not by much, but at least he wouldn't get arrested for drinking and flying now. After a while, we landed on the roof. I was starting to head inside when Dylan said, "Hey, Max! Maybe someday I'll be good enough to join the flock for real!"
Yeah. As if I'd actually be okay with that.