Moonshot Max

Max loved space. He had glow-in-the-dark stars on his ceiling and a rocket ship duvet. Every night before bed, he pressed his face against the window and stared at the moon. "One day," he whispered. "I'm going to go up there." One Saturday morning, Max decided today was the day. He grabbed his helmet. Well, his bike helmet. Close enough. "Come on, Rocket," he said to the dog. "We've got a mission." Rocket wagged his tail. He did not understand the mission. Attempt one. The super bounce. Max dragged the trampoline to the bottom of the slide. "By my calculations," Max told Rocket, "I'll bounce all the way to the moon." Rocket tilted his head. Max climbed to the top of the slide. He put his helmet on. He looked at the moon. "TEN! NINE! EIGHT!" Rocket barked. "THREE! TWO! ONE! BLAST OFF!" Max pushed off. He flew down the slide. WHOOOOSH! He hit the trampoline. BOING! He shot up into the air. Higher than he'd EVER bounced before. "IT'S WORKING! IT'S—" He came back down. FLUMP! Face first into the sandpit. Max lay there for a second. Sand in his hair. Sand in his ears. Sand up his nose. Rocket slid down the slide after him. BOING! WOOF! He landed right on top of Max. "...Okay," said Max, spitting out sand. "New plan." Attempt two. Rocket power. Max found Dad's leaf blower in the shed. "This could work." He strapped it to the back of the swing with a skipping rope. "When I turn this on," Max told Rocket, "I'll swing so fast I'll fly straight to the moon." Max sat on the swing. He reached back and flicked the switch. VROOOOOOM! The swing shot forward. WHOOOOSH! And back. WHOOOOSH! "IT'S WORKING!" It was not working. Then the skipping rope came loose. The leaf blower dropped to the ground. Rocket grabbed it. And RAN. VROOOOOOM! Rocket tore across the garden with the leaf blower in his mouth. Leaves EXPLODED off the ground. The washing flew off the line. WHOOOOSH! WOOF! WHOOOOSH! He zoomed past Dad's deckchair. WHOOOOSH! Dad's sandwich landed on his face. He zoomed past the paddling pool. WHOOOOSH! Water sprayed across the garden. "ROCKET! DROP IT!" shouted Max. Rocket thought this was the BEST game ever. He finally dropped the leaf blower and sat down. Tongue out. Tail wagging. The garden was a disaster. "...Okay," said Max. "NEW plan." Attempt three. Fly. Max found a chair. He found every balloon in the house and blew them up one by one. Every colour he could find. He tied them to the chair. One after another after another. "This is it, Rocket." He sat down. Nothing happened. He blew up MORE balloons. Tied them on. Nothing. MORE balloons. The chair creaked. Max held his breath. The chair lifted. Just a tiny bit. Max's eyes went wide. "It's WORKING!" He looked up at the moon. It was coming out in the evening sky. Big and round and silver. "I'm coming," whispered Max. Then Rocket trotted over. He looked at Max. He looked at the balloons. He looked at the chair. And he jumped right onto Max's lap. THUMP. The chair sank back to the ground. Rocket curled up. Tail wagging. Head on Max's knee. He wanted to come too. Max looked at the moon. He looked at Rocket. He put his hand on Rocket's head. "Maybe next time, buddy." Max sat in the garden as the sky got dark. Rocket on his lap. Balloons still tied to the chair. Moon shining above them. Dad came outside and sat down next to him. "Didn't make it to the moon?" "No," said Max quietly. "Well, I got you the next best thing." Dad pulled out something long and silver. A telescope. He pointed it at the moon. "Have a look," said Dad. Max looked. And there it was. The moon. Right THERE. So close he could almost touch it. Craters and mountains and big dusty valleys. "It's beautiful," whispered Max. Dad smiled. "Still want to go up there?" Max looked at the moon. He looked at Rocket. He looked at the balloons still tied to the chair. "Definitely," said Max. "But we're going to need more balloons." Rocket wagged his tail. THE END.