Mr. Brandolini's Assignment

vii. tetra master

 He leaned in before I could protest and planted a sloppy kiss on my forehead, which was rather damp because he was grinning.

 ‘You’d make my ovaries tingle if I had some,’ he assured me.

 ‘That’s just like saying I give you a boner,’ I said.

 ‘Well, you do,’ he said, taking Ella from me.

 ‘Thanks. I’m flattered.’

 We exchanged a look, after which he told me to snap out of my lust and focus on business.

 ‘Yes,’ I said, stepping back. ‘I shall watch you from this rock.’

 He nodded, and I took a few steps back and settled down in front of a rock, leaning against it. Jurgen jogged back fifty or so metres, cradling Ella in his arms. Then, with his toes, he traced out a large, fancy J on the damp sand to mark his starting point.

 He then fished a sock out of his pocket and held it up. It seemed that the wind was blowing in a direction that was somewhat inclined to the line of the sea, so he had to run against that direction. From the distance he sent my way an enthusiastic wave and a flying kiss. The wind was unfortunately too strong for me to catch the kiss; I waved back. (And if my life was a satirical mockumentary I would’ve chosen that moment to look into the camera like Nick Offerman in Parks and Recreation).

 Jurgen didn’t run. He galloped. And however stupid that sounds, it was majestic in an awkward way, because he just didn’t give a fuck about anything except that dumb kite trailing behind him. And I don’t know – I loved that. I really did. Ella was rolling along behind him feebly. I crossed my fingers (lame, I know), because I knew it would crush him if she didn’t take off. Jurgen’s face, bobbing up and down with the hair flying off his forehead, was set in a determined scowl which made me proud.

 He passed by me in a quick flash of dorkery, and then Ella suddenly rose a few inches above the ground. He sensed the tension in the string and yelled, and started running faster.

 ‘COME ON ELLA,’ he was shouting. ‘GET OFF THE FUCKING GROUND.’

 I contributed.

‘FLY, ELLA, FLY!’

 ‘HOUSTON,’ Jürgen screamed in the distance, ‘WE HAVE…LIFTOFF!’

 And then, after rotating dangerously about her axis a few times, she rose like a balloon, and Jürgen’s shriek pierced the air.

‘YES! YES! OH MY GOD! I AM THE TETRA MASTER!!’

 The pink diamond rose up, her wings billowing out perfectly, beautifully, and I was grinning, and Jurgen had a hand over his mouth like he’d won the Miss Universe title. I scrambled up and jogged over to where he was grappling with his roll of maanja.

 ‘You did it!’ I squealed (yes, I squealed. There’s literally no other way to describe it).

 He was laughing, great big booms of ha-ha-ha that seemed to reverberate in my ears. ‘I know! Oh my god, Leens, isn’t she beautiful?’

 I looked at him.

 ‘She is.’

 He put an arm around my shoulder and squeezed me to his side.

 ‘Wanna fly her?’

 I could barely hear him over the roaring wind in our ears.

 ‘What?’

 ‘Do you want to fly her.’

 I blinked. ‘Uh… I dunno if I can, Jurgen –’

 ‘Course you can,’ he said easily. ‘Here, hold this.’