Flying Lessons & Other Stories(37)



We’ve lived all over the country, and once in Bermuda

where I met Lisa Castillo the first crush

of my life.





LISA CASTILLO


My memory of her is a little vague.

I was eight.

She was about the same age, I think, but shorter, maybe.

She wore white, or was it green.

Like I said, I only met her once, on the beach, but I could tell by the way she threw sand in my eyes

that she felt the same way about me.

I’ve had a complicated history with girls.





SO, HERE’S WHEN IT HAPPENED

We were in Dad’s

red Ford Thunderbird on the New Jersey Turnpike listening to Harry Potter on tape when all of a sudden Dad falls asleep

(while he’s driving) and Mom yells JAAACKKK!

which wakes me and my sister up and jolts Dad back to life just in enough time for him to avoid swerving into the eighteen-wheeler beside us,

but not before I bang my head against

the armrest

in front of me.

(Yeah, I know, I shoulda had my seat belt on….) After he apologizes Mom makes him pull off at the Thomas Edison Rest Area

which is kind of ironic since Edison’s last breath is supposedly contained in a test tube

at the Henry Ford Museum.





31 FLAVORS

While Dad

power-naps

in the car,

Mom treats us to

ice cream:

Little Sister: Bubble Gum Ice Cream

with Sprinkles (Waffle cone, of course.)

Mom: Lime and Strawberry Sherbet

(She’s lactose-intolerant.)

Me: A Thick Super-Size Chocolate Double Fudge

Milk Shake (With two straws.)





HEADACHE


I don’t know if it was the banging of my head or sipping the shake too fast, but

I get hit hard

with a sharp head pain that travels down my neck and back to my toes, and then, oddly, back up to my head, and I feel like I’m in a cartoon, ’cause I see stars (but my eyes are wide open, so I close ’em), and then a sharp blue light shoots through

the darkness

and my eyes jolt open.

Then everything’s back to normal.

Or so I think.





SO, HERE’S WHAT HAPPENED

“Monk, are you okay? You’re shivering.”

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“All right, well, finish up, we’ve got to get moving,” she says, and then she says something else, but her lips aren’t moving.

This sherbet is disgusting.

Milk or no milk, next time

I’m getting French vanilla ice cream.

“You want me to order you something else, Ma?” I ask.

“What are you talking about, Monk? I’m fine.”

“But I thought you just said—?”

“I didn’t know dummies could think,” says my annoying sister, right before Mom

slaps her on the hand.

“I’ve told you about using that word, young lady.”

“Sorry, Mom,” and then she says something else, but her lips aren’t moving, either.

Why is she always picking on me?

Monk’s her favorite. I hate him.

And now they’re both talking, and their mouths are shut.

WHAT. IS. GOING. ON?

I better drive, ’cause Jack almost killed us.

I want a dog.

And they just keep talking, or thinking (out loud), back and forth, and

I just sit there, speechless, looking

and listening, and

it’s scary

and funny

at the same time.





UNBELIEVABLE


When we get back to the car,

I text Hervé,

who naturally

doesn’t believe me when I tell him I can hear

other people’s thoughts when I’m looking at them.

“Bet you ten dollars I can,” I tell him.

“Make it twenty, sucker,” he responds.

“Bet, and I’ll prove it,” I text, “soon as we get back to school on Monday.”





MONDAYS ARE QUIZ DAY


in Mr. Olley’s science class.

I always ace them, but that was before I had a superpower to practice all weekend instead of studying biology.

Mr. Olley doesn’t give multiple-choice and true/false quizzes like most teachers at Greenwood Middle.

This dude gives essay questions. (Lame.) There are always two items on each quiz that he wants us to explain in great detail: one paragraph per answer.

Most students only get one right, ’cause there’s just so many possibilities and it’s hard to study

if you haven’t been paying attention in class, like, uh, most students.

To be fair to Mr. Olley, he does give us one last chance

to pass.

Five minutes before the quiz he stands

in front of the class and answers

our last-minute questions about anything

we studied

the previous week.

Just like Jeopardy.

I ask Hervé if he’s ready for me to prove

that I can read

minds. He nods.

Ellen Oh's Books