Brad's flying saucer is successively a class report, a mania, a motorized model that takes his eye off the ballgame, a shining silver in a photo that might, just might, not have another explanation. You have to give him credit for keeping his eyes on the stars but the story itself is a drag, compounded of archaic slang, stiff dialogue, diversionary details and trumped-up anxieties. All in small, closely set type that ill fits the contents.