unfazed.

The lamp popped out from underneath Baloo’s backside. With an annoyed grunt of exertion, Marty also appeared.

“Why won’t he wake up?” Kit asked as the wingtips ricocheted off of two buildings. He was fighting with all of his strength just to keep the plane steady. It took all of his concentration to keep them from smacking headlong into a building.

“You wished for him to be here,” said Marty complacently, digging his tennis racket out from underneath Baloo. Ruefully, he examined the bent handle and broken strings. “You said nothing about him being conscious.”

“Thanks a lot, Marty,” Kit spat sarcastically. Dodging buildings, he began to doubt the wisdom of his wish for a plane. Why hadn't he wished for something safe? Like a new bike? Or maybe a homework-completing machine? Or a simple yo-yo? Anything but a plane!

Suddenly, right in front of them, Khan Towers appeared.

“Aahhh!” they both screamed at the top of their lungs.

Kit pulled back hard on the stick. The bottom of the plane’s fuselage scraped a long groove in the brick exterior of the building as well as countless windows as it traversed the entire top half of the skyscraper. Baloo continued to snore.

Khan’s employees watched the scene out the windows, dumbfounded. When Shere Khan’s gigantic window was scratched with a loud, high-pitched SCREECH, the tiger businessman looked up from his multi-billion dollar contract. His face darkened, and he picked up the telephone.

When they finally soared over the tip-top of the building, they heard the sound of police sirens. Two police cruisers were on their tail.

Kit groaned, wiping cold sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “I don’t even have my learner’s permit. Miz Cunningham will ground me for life!”

“You still have one wish left,” Marty reminded him.

“I don’t want to waste it on fixing a building,” Kit retorted.

From out of nowhere came a fleet of grey fighter planes - Shere Khan’s personal air force. They swarmed the Lockhead Mega like honeybees circling a flower.

“Oh, no! Khan’s men!” Kit said. “What else can go wrong?”

At the signal from their commander, Khan’s planes swooped over the green seaplane, machine guns blazing.

“Don’t say that ever again!” Scared, Marty said, “I suggest landing before you do any more damage.” He hopped into Baloo’s pocket.

“Me do damage? They’re the ones shooting up my plane!”

A line of bullets cut through the control panel dangerously close to Kit’s hands.

“I don’t know how to dogfight! I can barely keep it steady! BALOO, WAKE UP!”

Baloo mumbled in his sleep and shifted in his chair - but he slept on.

The sirens were getting closer. Over the megaphone, an officer shouted, “You in the green plane, pull over!”

“Okay, fine. We’ll land.” Kit sighed, turning the plane towards the harbor. Nothing was going as planned anyway. “Now, how do I land again?”

“You don’t know how to land?” Marty shrieked.

Kit shook his head. “I’ve only successfully landed once, and that was with Baloo helping me.”

Marty kicked Baloo’s arm repeatedly with his tiny foot. “Wake up, fatso!” His high-pitched voice was muffled when the big bear slammed a paw down over him.

Crawling out from under the snoring bear’s hand, Marty said dizzily, “He’s not only a heavy sleeper, he’s heavy!”

Kit racked his brain to remember all of the steps that Baloo performed when he landed the Sea Duck, but the knobs and switches were in different places on the instrument panel and there were more of them. He pushed forward on the stick and pulled back on the throttle. “There’s a lot to remember!”

Marty, perched on the control panel, screamed, “If you don’t get the nose up, we won’t remember anything ever again!” He buried his face in his hands.

The plane dove closer and closer to the ocean. Just before they struck into the water, Kit got the nose up. The Lockhead Mega submerged, then bobbed up like a cork.

“Where are the brakes on this thing?” Kit shouted as a wave engulfed them. He pushed down on every foot pedal there was.

Marty disappeared into the lamp’s spout, whimpering.

What happened next seemed like a horrible, slow-motion dream to Kit. Eyes tight shut, he hung onto the control yoke for dear life as the seaplane smashed into the dock in front of Higher for Hire, sending chunks of wood flying. The wood pummeled the Sea Duck, putting big dents in its fuselage The green plane was propelled over the dock, crashed through Higher for Hire’s warehouse, splintering it to smithereens. It stopped only when its nose touched Rebecca’s desk.

Kit cracked one eye, then the other open. He turned off the engine. He looked, aghast, at the mess he and his new plane had caused.

Baloo awoke. Yawning and stretching, he asked sleepily, “Did I miss somethin’?”

When the dust cleared, Rebecca was coughing and staring at Kit in shocked amazement. Then, she rose from her desk. He had never seen her look so furious.

Rebecca waggled a finger at the boy. She was seething with so much anger that smoke almost billowed from her ears. “GET DOWN HERE, YOUNG MAN! You have a lot of explaining to do! The call I got from Shere Khan about you wrecking his building better be a practical joke! And where did you get that plane? Why were you flying instead of Baloo?”

The wail of police sirens mingled with his boss's ranting made the knot in Kit’s stomach tighten.

“Jeepers,” Kit murmured, quaking with fear as he opened the cockpit door. “I wish we’d never found this lamp.”

“Your third wish has been granted,” Marty said. He snapped his tiny fingers.

Everything whirled around.

One fine afternoon in the tropical city of Cape Suzette, Molly Cunningham and Wildcat were rooting through the scrap pile behind Higher for Hire for a spare clinkenheimer part.

“This it?” asked the six-year-old yellow bear cub, Molly, holding up a cog.

“Nope,” answered Wildcat, a young lion clad in filthy, light blue overalls. “Keep searching, Mollycat.”

“How ‘bout this?” She showed him a rusty clamp.

“Uh-huh. That’s a doohickey. We’re looking for a curly, spring-sprongy thingy.”

Molly tossed it back, wiped her dirty paws on her blue overalls, and kept on digging.

The mechanic pulled out a spring with a beat-up lamp dangling from it. “Here it is.” Getting to his feet, he tossed the lamp aside. “Now, we can make the Sea Duck feel aaaaalllll better.”

“Can I help?” Molly begged.

"You betcha." Wildcat handed her a package of bubble gum. “Start chewing, Mollycat.”

A puppy trotted around the corner of Higher for little brown and white terrier chomped the lamp’s handle between its teeth and scampered off to bury its new-found treasure.

Inside the jolting lamp, Marty’s voice echoed, “Hey, Fido! Put this thing down! This lamp is not a chew toy! Sit! Heel! Stay! Oh, no, not the tennis court! Heeeeeellllllppp!”

The End

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