They heaved the rocket over the side. Max dropped to the pavement and Brian followed. They heard a splash and then the crack of an enormous explosion blasting from below. Water and mud splattered down all over them.
Brian stood up, wiping some globs of mud off his shirt. He followed Max to look over the side of the bridge. Water was rushing in to fill a new crater in the bottom of the creek bed.
“What was that all about?” Brian asked.
Max frowned as he watched the water run into the hole. “I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s possible that I didn’t pack the fuel mixture correctly. Or else the internal heat shield is overheating and sealing up the exhaust port, causing an overpressure. I can never tell, because all I ever have left to analyze are small fragments.”
“You mean you made that thing? You’ve done this before?” Brian could hardly believe it. “And what’s with the markings? NX-02?”
“It was a reference to the TV show Star Trek: Enterprise,” Max said.
Brian nodded. It had sounded familiar. One of the best things about moving to Riverside was that it was famous for being the future birthplace of Star Trek Captain James T. Kirk.
“My mother is Dr. Mary Warrender, your father’s partner in Synthtech,” said Max. “Your mother sent me down from your house to bring you home for the investor presentation.” He pointed toward the trees. “Come on. The abandoned railroad tracks run back in those woods. We can follow them in case Frankie’s waiting for us on the road.”
“Lead the way,” Brian said.
Max walked his bike down into the ditch toward the trees, and Brian followed. A breeze rustled through the corn stalks. He could see Riverside’s church steeple and grain elevator in the distance. It was all so different from Seattle. He ran his fingers back through his hair. “Thanks for helping me get away from Frankie,” he said. He owed Max that, even if the escape had almost killed him.
“It was my pleasure,” said Max. “It was also a good opportunity to try out my latest rocket. Clearly there’s still some work to do,” he mumbled.
They walked up the slope to the tracks and headed toward town. Tall trees and thick shrubs lined either side of the railroad bed. Neither one spoke for a while as they walked. The only sound was the bumping of Max’s bike tires on the wooden ties.
Brian finally broke the quiet. “Why did you do all this anyway?”
“I find rockets rather fascinating. Ever since—”
“No, I mean, why did you help me get away from Frankie?”
“I have had some unpleasant encounters with Frankie in the past,” Max said. “The more frustrated he becomes, the more dangerous he is, and he looked rather angry when your skating was superior.”
Brian’s goal in going to the skate park was to meet people and make friends. It hadn’t gone the way he’d expected, but who could expect a rocketbike? He looked at Max and smiled. “Well, thanks for an awesome ride.” He had made one friend, at least.
“Welcome to Riverside,” Max said.
2
Thanks to the rocketbike adventure and the long walk home, Brian and Max were late. They entered through the back door into the kitchen as quietly as they could. Brian could hear his father and Max’s mom giving their presentation in the living room.
His own mother was at the counter making drinks. “Brian, where were you? Your father was hoping to introduce you at the start of the presentation. Why are you all dirty? Never mind,” she said before he could answer. “Just get upstairs and change. I put a shirt out for you.”
Brian led the way to his room, where Max nodded toward the Let It Be poster as he took a seat at the desk. “Who are these guys?”
“Are you serious?” Brian said. “The Beatles.” Max stared at him blankly. Brian shook his head. “From England? Huge in the sixties? John Lennon? Paul McCartney?”
“I mostly enjoy listening to the instrumental soundtracks from the Star Trek films,” said Max. “Also Weird Al Yankovic. His songs are very humorous.”
Brian picked up the new shirt Mom had bought him for tonight. It was white with buttons and an annoying collar.
Max leaned forward and looked at Brian’s model jet. “This is excellent work.”
“Thanks,” Brian said.
“The SR-71 Blackbird still holds the record for the fastest jet plane. It could exceed Mach Three. That’s roughly two thousand three hundred miles per hour. At top speed, the Blackbird could cross Iowa in…” He poked his finger around in the air as if writing calculations on an invisible chalkboard. “Under ten minutes.”
“Wow,” Brian said. “That’s a lot of information.”
Max shrugged. “I could tell you more.” He put the model down. “The details are painted with remarkable accuracy.”
“My grandfather gave me that kit for Christmas last year.” It had been one of just a few gifts he’d received, with Mom and Dad’s money tied up in Synthtech.
“Are you interested in aircraft?” Max ran his finger along one of the big engines on the sleek black spy plane.
“Oh yeah!” Brian slipped the shirt on. “My dad’s got his pilot’s license, and we used to own a single-engine airplane. A Cessna Cardinal II.” He smiled, remembering the preflight checks with Dad while the Beatles played on Dad’s CD player. He thought of the fun of taking the Cardinal up flying some weekends. There was nothing like checking out Mount Saint Helens from the air.
“It seems as if you and your father are close.”
“Yeah, I guess so, but we don’t do as many fun things as we used to.”
“Both of my parents have important jobs at the University of Iowa,” Max said proudly. “My mother is a professor of chemical engineering. My father works in the senior levels of administration and finance.” His enthusiasm faded, and he looked down, speaking more quietly. “They sometimes have time to assist me with especially difficult mathematical or scientific enquiries, but they prefer that I work things out on my own.”
Brian buttoned his shirt. Max did “mathematical or scientific enquiries” at home? What must life be like for him?
“Do you miss flying?” Max asked after a brief quiet.
“Well, yeah,” Brian said, grateful for the subject change. “It used to be tons of fun. Plus, we’d go to air shows all the time, see antique planes and stuff. We even toured an old World War Two B-17 bomber.” He paused. “But Dad had to sell the Cardinal to help pay for the company.” Brian threw his dirty shirt in the hamper. “He’s always busy now.”
Someone knocked on the door. It was probably time to go downstairs for Dad’s whole impress-the-rich-lady meeting thing. “Come in,” Brian said.
It was Grandpa. “Ah, Brian, I see Max found you without too much trouble. Hope you boys are getting along okay.” Grandpa lived on a farm at the edge of town. He kept this house as a rental property and was letting Brian’s parents live there for free since money was tight. “Anyway, good news, boys. I’ve talked to your folks. They said you only needed to be here for the initial introduction. But…” He coughed a little. “Since you missed that, we’re just going to skip this whole thing. I’ll take you both out for ice cream and then to my farm for a bit. You can have leftovers for dinner later tonight.”
“Thank you, Mr. Davis,” Max said quietly. He stood up and hurried out of the room.
Brian scrambled back out of his uncomfortable shirt and pulled on his Yellow Submarine T-shirt.
Grandpa cleared his throat. “Listen, Brian…”
Uh-oh. Whenever an adult started a conversation with “Listen, Brian,” a big, serious lecture was bound to follow.