She smiled. She was starting to get the hang of it. Bearing down, she started gaining as much speed as she could. Beads of sweat broke on her forehead, her ponytail whipping behind her as she neared the fifth marker. Almost there. . . The metal of the pylon glinted in the direct sun as she zoomed towards it.
She thought of what he had said: Now drop starboard wing, lean in.
Suddenly Maddy began rolling in mid-air, her wing dropping too much as she flew directly towards the metal globe atop the pylon. Red-hot pain shot through her body as her right wing caught the side of the pylon, which jerked her violently into a spin.
Tumbling in thin air in a dizzying freefall, Maddy screamed as the desert floor rushed to meet her.
She landed hard with a crunch on the dry bushes of the desert ground. The wind was knocked out of her, leaving her stomach hollow and her chest in pain.
“Maddy! Are you all right?” Trueway spoke on the earpiece.
Maddy sat up, miserably dusting herself off next to a cactus. She looked at the pylon above her. It didn’t even seem to recognize her presence, even though it had brought her low.
“I’m OK,” she croaked, barely able to speak, still trying to get her breath back.
“Maybe we should try some easier exercises,” the voice crackled in her ear. “We’ll send the truck to get you.”
“Sure,” Maddy said, defeated.
Maddy was silent on the helicopter ride back to Angel City that afternoon, dirty and dusty from the humiliating day at the proving grounds. She didn’t even know where to begin. Instructor Trueway insisted she was making progress, but she still felt like some toddler learning how to walk.
The only thing she knew was that she had to figure it out, and sooner rather than later, if she was going to be a Guardian.
She checked her phone when she got back to Angel City and saw that Jacks hadn’t texted her back from the morning. That was unusual for him, although she knew he had a long day of doctor’s appointments. Kev
in had called and left a voicemail – very Kevin, no texts for him – probably asking when she was going to come over for dinner.
After showering off the desert grit, Maddy tenderly sat down on her couch, sore all over from the fiasco of the day’s flying training. She grabbed her laptop off the couch and flipped it open, massaging her aching neck with her free hand. Her browser was still open from last night, when she’d been perusing Johnny Vuitton’s Angel blog and reading the public’s comments on the dress debacle.
Maddy’s mouth literally dropped open. And stayed there.
An outside observer would have thought Maddy had somehow been frozen in place, a peaceful statue. Far from being calm, adrenaline coursed through her veins and her blood screamed in her ears. She was so shocked she simply couldn’t move.
The blog headline read:
“MADDY DOING SO WELL IN TRAINING SHE’S GETTING COMMISSIONED THIS YEAR! BOMBSHELL ANNOUNCEMENT FOR AMERICA’S SWEETHEART!”
Breaking out of her spell, Maddy rushed to open another blog. And then three more. And then the ANN homepage. They all had the same story.
Maddy’s phone began ringing.
And ringing.
And ringing.
Within twenty minutes, Maddy was at the Godspeed house. She was glad to see Mark’s Porsche in the driveway. She let herself in the door.
Coverage of her early Commissioning was blaring on the TV. Mark, his tie slightly undone and his jacket thrown over the back couch, stood there watching the events play out on ANN. A strange look hovered on his face as he turned to Maddy.
“Jacks isn’t here, Madison. Were you supposed to meet here? Did you try his house?” He motioned to the TV. “I’m assuming you’ve heard about your historic Commissioning?”
“I’m here to talk to you, Mark. What is going on?”
The TV played a series of photos someone had managed to get a hold of that showed Maddy through her school years. She tried to ignore it.
Mark looked at her. “The NAS feels that, given your progress, there’s no better time than now to get you out there as a Guardian.”
Maddy’s hand unconsciously moved to the bruises on her arm from her hard fall earlier in the day during flight training.