“You mean sixty-two, General,” Chase corrected. She had to remind people too often. Dragon was gone.
Kale pointed to the last Streaker in the row. “I know it’s been a while, Harcourt, but I think she’d be sore if you didn’t recognize her.”
Chase looked over the seamless silver metal and the sleek wings until she saw a recycled panel of metal on its side bearing a worn name:
DRAGON
“You rebuilt her.” Chase’s words were small.
“Of course we did. Well, I should say Adrien did.”
Chase ran to the jet, touching every beautiful inch. She kissed her and rested her cheek on the dented metal panel.
“You’re making me jealous,” Tristan deadpanned.
Chase kept her eyes on Dragon. “You should be jealous. She was my first love.”
“Well, she does remind me of you,” he said. “Impulsive, fast…with very cute ears.”
Chase checked to see that Kale’s back was turned before she grabbed Tristan’s uniform and brought him in for the kind of kiss that made him hold on to her hips.
“Give me a boost?” she asked.
“Course.” He grabbed her leg and propelled her up and into her seat. She looked around as her hands trailed every dial, button, and control until she found something new. A small brass plaque bearing Pippin’s name. Chase leaned back and closed her eyes. She traced the letters of his call sign and breathed.
? ? ?
Within a handful of hours, Chase was taxiing out of the secret hangar in Dragon.
Starling directed their takeoff through a strong headwind, chatting without stopping to breathe. She was shockingly good at that. “So then when Sylph saw that I hung her clothes in a tree, she stole all my underthings and put them in the rec room. Right on the pool table! Romeo was wearing a pair of my undies on his head by the time I found them.”
“Turnabout is fair play, Lin,” Chase said, trying to hide her laugh. “But I’d say you’re in the clubhouse now.” Chase pulled the Streaker up through the blue blanket of the heavens. They flew south in a blast, leaving Pegasus in Dragon’s wake.
Chase ducked below the clouds, feeling the strain evaporate as the thrill of flying took over. The sky opened, and the engines revved through her heart—willing and ready.
Phoenix darted above them in his flirting way.
Chase throttled forward.
The speed reached for her, connecting everything into one stretch of earth. One humanity. One wild pulse.
“Ah, Nyx,” Starling started, “where are we going so fast?”
“Everywhere,” she said through the mach rush.
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I thank my grandfather, father, and brother for their inspiring service in the U.S. Air Force. Their dedication and skill have left me honored to say that I come from a military family.
Many loving thanks to everyone at the Writing for Children & Young Adults program at Vermont College of Fine Arts. Additionally, I offer thanks and call signs to the following flyboy friends and family who gave their enthusiasm to this story: Kelly “Steam Queen” Barson Nick “Awesome Neighbor” Borders Winifred “Marathon” Conkling Mary “Mermaid” Cronin Anna “Princess” Drury Tina “Steve” Elliget Conor “Stinker” McCarthy Evan “Beager” McCarthy Mark “Poppy” McCarthy Joan “Dynamite” McCarthy Tara “Bat Mama” Nickerson Christian “Scholar Hot” Peterson Maverick “Winnie Pooh” Peterson Tirzah “Mac” Price
and
Trent “Frost” Reedy
This book would not have been possible without my ever-supporting literary agent, Sarah “Wingbuilder” Davies, and my keen-eyed editor, Aubrey “Sherlock” Poole. A special thank-you to Leah Hultenschmidt for inviting me into the Sourcebooks family.
My fascination with the military sustained me during my toughest school years, and this story came straight from that struggle for direction. For that reason, an André the Giant–sized thank-you goes to Alissa (McFerren) Arnold for sleepovers, inside jokes, and innumerable viewings of Top Gun. Also, a blushing thank-you to the real Tristan, whose name proved too perfect to fictionalize.
I would not be a writer without the love, respect, and support of my parents, family, and friends. And most importantly (*!), I would not have had the courage for this story without the guidance of my RIO, Amy Rose “Aurora” Capetta.
Aim high. Fly, fight, win.
Love & cheers,
Cori “Sparks” McCarthy
About the Author
Cori McCarthy was born in Guam, a military brat. She studied poetry and screenwriting before earning an MFA in Writing for Children & Young Adults from the Vermont College of Fine Arts. Kirkus called her debut YA novel, The Color of Rain, “[an] elegantly written and emotionally cathartic page-turner.” Cori aspires to fly in a fighter, but until then, she sticks with roller coasters and skydiving. Find out more at www.CoriMcCarthy.com.