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Description
If Dylan thought I was joking when I said I was going to push him off the roof, he soon found out I wasn't.
But it wasn't long before I found out that Dylan really couldn't fly. I mean, the guy sucked on ice. For someone so graceful and charming on the ground, he approached flying like an Eraser with wings, which is one step above a brick.
The first time I pushed him off the roof was somewhat chaotic. As in, he plummeted to the ground. Pretty fast, too. He only managed to slightly break his fall when he extended his wings at the last minute, though he still hit the ground decently hard. Welcome to Max's Flight School, where bruises are part of lesson one.
The second time he got on the roof, Dylan seemed more apprehensive. "Are you sure this is the best way to do this?" he asked.
"Positive," I answered, before shoving him again.
The second time wasn't much better. Dylan didn't make any progress. He still fell, still not flying, which, folks, was why we were out there to begin with. I jumped to the ground as he struggled to stand up. "Ow," he said, then smiled. I shook my head and jumped straight back up to the roof. Dylan watched in awe. Apparently, he wasn't familiar with my "up and away" technique.
"I think I'll take the stairs," he called up.
When Dylan reached the roof the third time, I positioned myself behind him. He looked back hopefully. "Do you have any pointers?"
I thought about saying something along the lines of, "Fly, moron." Instead, I found myself saying, "Position your body forward and flap your wings. Don't focus on the ground. When you find a draft, keep your wings still and ride it."
I paused. "And remember, your bones are as light as air, and you have freaking wings. You were meant to fly, not fall."
Dylan looked much more confident when I pushed him off the roof again. He faltered slightly at first, falling about halfway to the ground before he snapped his wings open and flapped hard. He rose a few feet, then flapped again and moved forward. He was flying.
Sure, it wasn't the most graceful thing in the world, and he was angling himself towards the ground, but he was doing it. When he landed (stumbling slightly, but at least on his feet) I landed next to him. He was beaming.
"I did it!" he said. He threw his arms around me. I froze.
When he noticed what he was doing, he quickly let go of me. "Sorry," he muttered, but he was still so excited that I had to smile.
"Good job," I said. I realized it was the first time I had given him a compliment.
Dylan grinned. "Thanks, Max," he said sincerely, "You're really good at this."
I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I think that's good enough for one night. We can practice more later." And with that, I jumped up to the house, not bothering to see if Dylan was following.

Description
If Dylan thought I was joking when I said I was going to push him off the roof, he soon found out I wasn't.
But it wasn't long before I found out that Dylan really couldn't fly. I mean, the guy sucked on ice. For someone so graceful and charming on the ground, he approached flying like an Eraser with wings, which is one step above a brick.
The first time I pushed him off the roof was somewhat chaotic. As in, he plummeted to the ground. Pretty fast, too. He only managed to slightly break his fall when he extended his wings at the last minute, though he still hit the ground decently hard. Welcome to Max's Flight School, where bruises are part of lesson one.
The second time he got on the roof, Dylan seemed more apprehensive. "Are you sure this is the best way to do this?" he asked.
"Positive," I answered, before shoving him again.
The second time wasn't much better. Dylan didn't make any progress. He still fell, still not flying, which, folks, was why we were out there to begin with. I jumped to the ground as he struggled to stand up. "Ow," he said, then smiled. I shook my head and jumped straight back up to the roof. Dylan watched in awe. Apparently, he wasn't familiar with my "up and away" technique.
"I think I'll take the stairs," he called up.
When Dylan reached the roof the third time, I positioned myself behind him. He looked back hopefully. "Do you have any pointers?"
I thought about saying something along the lines of, "Fly, moron." Instead, I found myself saying, "Position your body forward and flap your wings. Don't focus on the ground. When you find a draft, keep your wings still and ride it."
I paused. "And remember, your bones are as light as air, and you have freaking wings. You were meant to fly, not fall."
Dylan looked much more confident when I pushed him off the roof again. He faltered slightly at first, falling about halfway to the ground before he snapped his wings open and flapped hard. He rose a few feet, then flapped again and moved forward. He was flying.
Sure, it wasn't the most graceful thing in the world, and he was angling himself towards the ground, but he was doing it. When he landed (stumbling slightly, but at least on his feet) I landed next to him. He was beaming.
"I did it!" he said. He threw his arms around me. I froze.
When he noticed what he was doing, he quickly let go of me. "Sorry," he muttered, but he was still so excited that I had to smile.
"Good job," I said. I realized it was the first time I had given him a compliment.
Dylan grinned. "Thanks, Max," he said sincerely, "You're really good at this."
I shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I think that's good enough for one night. We can practice more later." And with that, I jumped up to the house, not bothering to see if Dylan was following.