How Does Jack Achieve Flight In 'How I Learned To Fly'?

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.

Jack Saunders wanted one last hurrah before taking the mantle of DS Oil & Gas, the billion-dollar company that his father founded. His friend, Owen, let him borrow his mansion on a tropical island so that he could throw a final party before “marrying” the business that would dominate the rest of his life. He brought his secretary, Brandy, hoping that he could kindle a relationship that would last through the long days and nights of running a company. However, while the party was great, the gold digging woman he brought was not, and Jack resigned himself to a lifetime of loneliness. That was until he took a walk down the beach and met her. A woman who didn’t recognize him from the tabloids and only saw him, the man behind the money. Of all the women Jack had ever met, there was nobody like Emma LaRue. With one pretend marriage ceremony, she would change his life forever, and become the only one he ever wanted to give his saltwater kisses to. This novella is the first half of Saltwater Kisses written from Jack’s point-of-view, with a few bonus scenes thrown in as well.

While packing Ethan's flight bag, I found a custom solo wings pin. The engraving on the back read: For Lark, to celebrate your first solo. Beneath the box sat the receipt for Skyler's flight school tuition, paid in full by Ethan, along with a photograph. In the photo, she was sitting in the pilot's seat. Ethan's gloved hand rested over hers on the control yoke. Seven years ago, I had sat in that same seat. Back then, I was one step away from my first solo flight, but Ethan talked me out of it again and again, always claiming it was "for my own good." He said flying was dangerous, that someone had to stay home and take care of things. I put down my logbook, pressed the wrinkles out of every one of his captain's uniforms, and spent seven years living by his flight schedule. Only now did I finally understand. It wasn't that he didn't want to take anyone flying. He just didn't want to take me. What made it even more absurd was that the night Skyler first flew through the clouds, I was alone in a hospital, losing our baby. I called him over a dozen times. At three in the morning, he finally called back, his voice flat and indifferent. "I just took Lark through the clouds. Next time something comes up, give me a heads-up." I put the wings pin back exactly where I found it, then pulled the crumpled ultrasound printout from the bottom of the drawer and tucked it inside the logbook that had been gathering dust for seven years. This time, I wasn't going to wait for him to look back. He convinced me to leave the pilot's seat, then turned around and put another woman in the sky. So I would leave him and take back the sky that had always been mine.

Brandon Smith has flown for eight years. I've been with him since the time he was an assistant pilot, all the way until he successfully rose to the ranks as the head pilot. In the year Brandon's busiest with his career, I resign from my job and begin cooking according to his aviation schedule. Just once, I bring up the question, "Can you please show me the sight of being thousands of feet in the air in the near future? Just once, please!" Brandon continues eating from his plate. "The plane is a workplace, not an amusement park for you." I reply, "Okay." Since then, I never bring up that matter in front of him. That is, until I find myself suffering from insomnia one night. That's when I accidentally come across an encrypted photo album tucked away in Brandon's phone. There are over 40 photos in the album, all from his perspective as a pilot. There are seas of clouds, sunsets, double rainbows after a downpour, as well as the Milky Way in the night sky when the plane is over thousands of feet in the sky. Every photo has been sent to the same person with a bear's emoji as their name. The latest photo is a photo of the beautiful evening colors from three days ago. Half of the sun can be seen in the clouds. The caption that comes with the photo says, "Today's sky is still beautiful as ever. When you come over next time, you can take the observation seat on the right. It gives you the best angle of the sky." The bear emoji person responds with a hugging emoji and a short sentence. "Wait for me to go on my break." I put Brandon's phone back where it belongs without changing the password and deleting the album. Once the morning sun is up, I brew myself some coffee as usual before finishing it quietly. Then, I turn on my computer and book myself a flight ticket to Dalco. It's been eight years. Finally, I don't have to chase after Brandon's flight routes and wait for his mealtimes. I no longer have to stay in an empty house while guessing which flight destination he's headed to right now. Since Brandon's sky refuses to tolerate my presence, I shall move my roots elsewhere and watch the sunset on my own.

My son is severely allergic to pollen, and because of his rare blood type, he must receive a specific desensitization injection at a bigger hospital in a different state. To make that happen, I deliberately booked the same flight as my wife just so our son could get help as soon as possible. But she insists on waiting for her late-arriving first love, refusing to let the plane take off. When I confront her, she says, "All passengers are equal. If the plane can wait for you, why can't it wait for him? Cam still needs to celebrate Josie's birthday. It's just ten minutes. Nothing will happen!" However, by the time we arrive at the hospital, the doctor tells us we missed the critical window for treatment. We were just ten minutes too late. Our son has now become a vegetable.

While I was on vacation with my parents, we stood on the deck overlooking the sea when my father suddenly asked, "Mother duck says quack, quack, quack, quack. But?" I was about to reply, "Only four little ducks came back," when he kicked me into the water. "What's taking you so long to finish a song? Are you cognitively arrested or what?" he barked. Cold water filled my lungs like lead as I bobbed in the waves. "Help me, Dad! I can't swim!" My mother told the captain to steer the superyacht away instead. "Then stay in the water a little longer. Self-preservation may finally make you learn to swim. That's what you need. Real grit and adversity to unlock your potential." I flailed my arms and fought to stay afloat, but panic took over. My right leg cramped and refused to move. I could only watch the superyacht fade into the horizon. I drifted for a while before I could catch up with my parents' superyacht. I wished I could tell them how many ducks came back, but they would never hear my voice again.