Cielo Howie ran his hand through his slick black hair. He watched on while the other teenagers walked through the entrance of Jordan Aviation High School. It was orientation day, where ten teenagers would be selected for entry to the young pilots course. If they passed all of the tests, they would be flying an aeroplane in two years when they turned eighteen.
Cielo had counted at least fifty potential students walk up, confirm their names and enter through the gate, with dozens more arriving with their rich parents and shiny cars. No surprises there. It cost a cool $80,000 per year to participate. Cielo had two bucks left over after a visit to the candy shop, and his mother had been lucky to earn a fraction of that when she was still healthy. Now…
He brushed off the thought just as the sound of a bell filled the air. His chest twisted into a knot as the final potential students wandered inside. Cielo stepped forward, filled with anxiety and dread. More than anything he wanted to be a pilot. To soar over his suburb of Gilliville, over his tiny home, over the shoppers on the street appearing like ants. When he really dared to dream, he imagined himself at the head of an A380, scaling over entire continents, his three hundred or so passengers safe in his hands. Cielo dreamt of all of that and more. And yet, he dared to dream even further, craving to feel what it would be like to travel at Mach 2 in a fighter jet, whooshing through the sky like a beam of light.
That dream had never felt further away. Cielo bit his lip and found his legs dragging him forward towards the gate. Suddenly he stopped, his jaw falling slack. One final student had appeared, grasping the straps of her backpack as she picked up her pace. She turned her face towards him without slowing down, her big brown eyes almost swallowing him whole. Like a gust of wind she passed through the gate, confirming her identity with the teacher, who ticked her name off his clipboard.
Cielo snapped his jaw back into place and balled his hand into a fist, every cell of his body already inside. Except he was not inside. And the pain of it became too much. He followed the wind’s path and approached the man at the gate, who was already sliding it closed with a squeal.
The teacher stopped when he caught sight of Cielo approaching. Having tucked his clipboard under his armpit, he pulled it out again.
“Hello there, young man,” said the teacher. “I’m sorry. I was sure I had ticked off all eighty-eight names.”
“Oh, no,” said Cielo, shaking his head before stopping, too ashamed to admit the truth.
“What’s your name?” asked the teacher.
“Uh, umm… Uh…”
The teacher’s eyebrows lifted.
“You are here for orientation, aren’t you?” said the teacher, now looking Cielo up and down, now appearing less convinced by Cielo’s tattered jeans and years-old t-shirt.
“Look, Mr,” said Cielo. “I really want to become a pilot. There’s nothing I won’t do, whatever you ask. I’ve played all the flight simulators, read all the books. If you’ll just…”
The teacher broke out grinning and began shaking his head.
“Flight simulators?” he said.
“Can I at least just… See what it’s like inside?”
“You are persistent, aren’t you?” said the teacher.
“I am not!” Cielo shot back, before realising what the teacher had said. His face began burning up. Idiot!
“You’re not persistent?” said the teacher, tilting his head. “You seem like it to me.”
“Yes, yes, I am. But only because of how badly I want to be a pilot. You have to understand….”
“I’m sorry, young man,” said the teacher. “This is a private school, and the principal takes security very seriously. I can’t just let a stranger inside.”
Cielo’s chest clenched as he sensed his opportunity slipping by.
“Have your parents contact us and submit your application for next year. I’m sure you’ll get there with enough… persistence.”
“But…” Cielo said with a whimper. “Plea—“
The gate slammed shut, and after an encouraging smile, the teacher marched away with his clipboard once again tucked under his arm.
Cielo bent his head to the ground while it spun in circles. No, no, no!He slammed his palm against the metal gate. Next year?? There was no way he could survive that long. And even if they accepted him — which they would not — he already knew he would never have the money. Not a chance in hell. He had to get inside. Just to see what it was like.