Flight Delay

The field trip bus sat idling on the shoulder of a dusty California road, its windows thrown open to the late-afternoon sun. Ralph Hinkley, sweating in his corduroy jacket, tried to keep the students' chatter about lizards and lunchables from reaching a fever pitch. He told himself this was a normal day — or at least, as normal as it got since a glowing alien handed him a red suit with powers and no instructions. He saw Bill Maxwell pacing a patch of weeds near the bus, phone pressed to his ear, jaw set. Pam Davidson counted heads with a clipboard, her eyes flicking back to Ralph every time a student darted out of line. But Ralph felt it — that low buzz, the one that said the suit wanted to work. He slipped away as Tony Villicana distracted the nearest chaperone with a question about vending machines. Behind a battered oak, Ralph shrugged on the red suit, tucking his regular clothes into his backpack. The cape caught on a branch. He winced, freed it, and hoped nobody saw. He took a running leap. For a second, he soared. The hills and school kids fell away beneath him, sun glinting off the bus roof. He reached for the sky—then the suit stuttered, a jolt running through his knees. He pinwheeled, arms windmilling, altitude dropping fast. "Bill!" he called, voice cracking over the wind. Down below, Bill's head snapped up. He dropped the phone. "Oh, for—Ralph! Steady, steady! You got this!" Ralph tried to level out, flapping like a broken kite. "It's not working!" "Left! Go left! No, the other left!" Bill yelled, running alongside, suit jacket flapping. On the ground, Pam had clocked the chaos. She spotted a parent — Mrs. Halloran, the one with the new camcorder — filming Ralph’s erratic descent. Pam rushed over, placing herself between the camera and the sky. "Oh, Mrs. Halloran, did you get the kids on tape? Let me see, I think Tony’s mom would love a copy!" Above, Ralph careened lower, cape fluttering. For a split second, he glimpsed a silver shimmer in the woods — a figure with too-long limbs and dark, patient eyes, watching. The Alien. Silent. No help coming. "Bill, I can't—!" "Aim for the grass! Roll on landing!" Ralph crashed down onto the empty high school's soccer field with a thump, skidding through a dust cloud. He sat up, suit smeared, hair wild, and saw Tony racing over, wide-eyed. "Mr. H!? You okay?" Ralph managed a smile. "Sure, Tony. Just, uh, practicing for the Olympic team." Nearby, Bill hustled over, breathless. "Next time you take off, warn me!" Pam approached with Mrs. Halloran, who was thankfully now filming Tony mugging for the camera instead. Pam gave Ralph a meaningful look — crisis mostly averted. In the edge of the trees, the Alien watched, expression unreadable — a silent judge, or perhaps still just a concerned observer. Later, on the bus ride home, Bill muttered about liability forms and "crazy suits from outer space," while Ralph pressed ice to his elbow and Pam squeezed his hand. Tony sat in the back, retelling the story already, making it sound just a little more super every time. Out the window, as the sun dipped and the bus rolled on, a flash of silver watched them go. Still no manual. Still no help. But for now: lesson plans, dinner, and the hope the next flight would be smoother.

Comic