She opened a package of chocolate-chip cookies and put them on a plate on the table. We all dug in—lunch had been hours before, and we’d had only normal-sized meals.
“I could show you how to make cookies from scratch,” I said, then blinked in surprise. Had those words really left my mouth? Everyone else looked surprised too, and I felt defensive. So, what, I was never nice to Anne?
“There’s a recipe on the back of the chip package,” I mumbled, taking another cookie.
“I’d like that, Max. Thanks,” said Anne, her voice softer. She gave me a pleasant smile, then went to the sink.
“Stink bomb,” Total chortled, in between bites of cookie. “That must’ve been great.”
49
No. The bigger playground. Angel looked into her teacher’s eyes and pushed the thought at her gently. They were supposed to go to the younger kids’ playground at recess, but Angel wanted more room. There was no reason they shouldn’t play on the big field.
“I guess there’s no reason you can’t play on the big field,” Angel’s teacher said slowly.
“Yes!” said one of Angel’s classmates, and they turned and ran through the gates and onto the big playground.
“Ariel! Come play with us!”
Angel ran over and joined Meredith, Kayla, and Courtney.
“Can we play Swan Lake?” Angel asked. Their teacher had just read them that story, and Angel had loved it. Her whole life was like Swan Lake. She was a swan. Fang and Max were hawks, kind of big and fierce. Iggy was a big white seabird, like an albatross or something. Nudge was a little pheasant, smooth and brown and beautiful. Gazzy was something sturdy—an owl?
And she was a swan. At least for today.
“Yeah! Let’s play Swan Lake!”
“I’m Odette,” Angel called, holding up her hand.
“I’m the second swan,” said Kayla.
“I’m the littlest swan,” said Meredith, holding out her uniform skirt to make it more tutulike.
Angel closed her eyes and tried to feel like a swan. When she opened them, the whole world was her stage, and she was the most beautiful ballerina-swan ever. Gently she ran in graceful circles around the other kids. She took big, soft running leaps, staying in the air as long as she could. Then she landed, raised her arms over her head, and twirled in little circles.
The other girls were dancing too, tiptoeing across the browning lawn, swishing their arms in slow movements to look like wings. Again Angel tripped lightly over the grass, spinning and jumping and feeling just like Odette, cursed to live as a swan because of Rothbart’s spell.
Another spin, another arabesque, another long leap where Angel seemed to hang in the air for minutes. She wished so much that she could take out her wings and really do Swan Lake the way it should have been done, but she knew she couldn’t. Not now, anyway. Not here. Maybe after Max saved the world. After Max saved the world, most of the regular people would be gone. Jeb had told Angel so, when she’d been at the School again, last month. Mutants like them had a greater chance of surviving. They’d been designed to survive. So maybe when most of the regular people were gone, Angel wouldn’t have to hide her wings anymore, and she could just fly around and be Odette anytime she wanted to.
She could hardly wait.
50
Study Hall was my favorite class. The school had a great library, with seemingly endless books and six computers for kids to do research on.
The school librarian was this nice, smart guy named Michael Lazzara. Everybody seemed to like Mr. Lazzara a lot, even me. So far, anyway.
Today I was in research mode. Maybe if I hit some code-breaking sites I could figure out a different approach for how to find our parents.
All six computers had kids sitting at them. I stood there a moment, wishing I could just tip a kid out of a chair.
“Here, I can get off.”
I looked over at the guy who’d spoken. “What?”
The guy got up and gathered his books. “I don’t need the computer. You can have it.”
“Oh, okay. Thanks.”
“You’re new,” the guy said. “You’re in my Language Arts class.”
“Yeah,” I said. I’d recognized him—years of paranoia had honed my ability to remember faces. “I’m Max.”
“I know. I’m Sam.” He gave me a warm smile, and I blinked, realizing he was cute. I’d never really had the luxury of noticing cuteness or lack thereof in guys. Mostly it was the lethal/nonlethal distinction that I went with. “Where did you move from?”
“Uh . . . Missouri.”
“Wow. Midwest. This must be pretty different for you.”
“Yep.”
“So, are you doing schoolwork or more of a personal project?” He nodded at the computer. I started to say, What’s with the questions? but then I thought, Maybe he’s not interrogating me. Maybe this is how people interact, get to know each other. They exchange information.
“Um, more of a personal project,” I said.
He smiled again. “Me too. I was checking out this kayak I want to buy. I’m hoping my Christmas money will give me enough.”
I smiled, trying to act as if I knew what Christmas money was. Voice? A little help here? The Voice was silent. After mentally reviewing possible responses, I went with: “Cool.”
“Well, I’ll let you get to it, then,” he said, looking like he wanted to say something else. I waited, but he didn’t—just picked up his stuff and split. I felt like a Vulcan, studying these odd, quaint humans.
Sighing, I sat down at the computer. I would never fit in. Never. Not anywhere.
51
Fang and I had checked out what we thought were the coordinates of addresses in the coded pages from the Institute. But there had been a few words too, in addition to our names. Today’s mission: Google them. I typed in the first phrase, even though it looked like a typo, a pair of nonsense words: ter Borcht.
Something moving outdoors caught my eye, and I glanced out the window just in time to see Angel practically floating across the main playing field. She and a bunch of other girls were twirling around like ballerinas, but Angel was the only one who could leap eight feet in the air and hang there as if suspended by wires.
I gritted my teeth, watching them. What part of “blend in” did these kids not understand? For crying out loud.
A list of results popped up on my computer screen. How weird. Apparently ter Borcht wasn’t gibberish. I clicked on the first result.
Ter Borcht, Roland. Geneticist. Medical license revoked, 2001. Imprisoned for unauthorized criminal genetic experiments on humans, 2002. A controversial figure in the field of genetic research, ter Borcht was for many years considered a genius, and the leading researcher in human genetics. However, in 2002, after being found guilty of criminal human experiments, ter Borcht was declared insane. He is currently incarcerated in the “Dangerous-Incurable” wing of a rehabilitation facility in the Netherlands.
Well, holy moly. Food for thought. I tried to remember what other words had shown up in the coded pages.
“Sit up!” a voice snapped, and I turned to see the headhunter, Mr. Pruitt, leaning over some terrified kid at a study table. The kid quickly sat up straight. In the background, Mr. Lazzara was rolling his eyes. Even he didn’t seem to like Pruitt. Mr. Pruitt banged his walking stick against the table leg, making everyone jump. “This isn’t your bedroom,” he said snidely. “You may not lounge about like the do-nothing slug you no doubt are at home. In this school, you will sit up straight, as if you actually had a spine.”
He was going on and on, but I very quietly picked up my books, slithered out of my chair, and slunk out the library’s side door.
I could do without a dose of hateful today, thanks.
52
I walked down the hall as quickly as I could without making any noise.
Ter Borcht: evil genetic scientist. Gee, one of the family. Had I ever heard that name before? Clearly he must have been involved with Jeb, the
School, the whitecoats, at some point. I mean, how many independent evil genetic researchers could there be? Surely they all kept in touch, exchanged notes, built mutants together. . . .
This was a huge breakthrough—or another horribly disappointing dead end. Whichever it was, I couldn’t wait to talk to the flock about it. Just as I hurried past an empty classroom, I caught sight of Fang. Excellent—I had five minutes till my next class. I started to head in, then realized he wasn’t alone. A girl was with him, talking to him, looking earnest. Fang was standing there impassively as she went on, brushing her long dark red hair over her shoulder.
I grinned. Poor Fang. Was she selling something? Asking him to join the Chess Club?
In the next moment, the girl had put both her hands on Fang’s chest and pushed him against the wall. I strode forward, reaching out to yank open the door. Even if she was an Eraser, Fang and I could make mincemeat out of her.
Then I froze. It wasn’t an attack. The girl had pressed herself against Fang like static cling, and she went on her tiptoes and kissed him, right on the mouth.
Fang stood there for a moment, then his hands came up, holding her around the waist. I waited for him to push her away, hoping he would be sensitive about it, not hurt her feelings.
But I watched, dumbfounded, as Fang’s hands slid slowly up her back, holding the girl closer. He angled his head so they could kiss better.
I stepped back, not breathing, feeling like I was going to hurl.
Oh, God.
Spinning on my heel, I raced down the hall and into the girls’ bathroom.
I locked myself in a stall and sat down on the closed seat. Cold sweat was beading on my forehead, and I felt shaky and chilled, as if I’d just fought for my life. The image of Fang holding that girl closer, tilting his head, popped up in my brain. Closing my eyes did nothing to stop it.
Okay. Get a grip. God. What are you doing?
My breaths were shallow and fast, and I felt rage roiling in my stomach like acid.
No, calm down, calm down.
I forced myself to take several deep breaths, in and out, in and out.
Okay. Just calm down. So he kissed someone. Big deal. Why should I even care anyway? Why should I even care if he kissed every girl in this whole school? He was like my—brother. I mean, he wasn’t my brother, not really. But he was like a brother. Yes. That was it. I’d been surprised, but now I was over it. I was fine.
Standing up, I left the stall and splashed cold water on my face. I was fine. I mean, why would I even care?
Maybe you have feelings for him, said my Voice. Nooo, the Voice couldn’t ever respond when I really needed it to. But give me a sensitive situation where I’d really rather just deal with it alone? It was all over me.
Maybe not, I thought snidely.
You can’t stay children forever, said the Voice, gently mocking. People grow up, have kids of their own. Think about it.
I suppressed a shriek of frustration, gripping the edge of the sink hard so I wouldn’t ram my head into the wall. Like I was going to think about anything else, now.
53
“There they are.”
Ari focused the binoculars on the small group on the road, maybe a quarter mile away. Walking to their perfect home from their perfect school. Wasn’t that special. He looked into the back of the van. Six Erasers, already morphed and eager for action, sat waiting for him to give the word. The new Max was sitting in the back with them, wearing headphones.
“She’s up on her soapbox again,” the new Max said.
Ari snorted. Max—the original Max—was so full of herself, so tougher-than-thou. She ran those kids around like they were her slaves.
Slaves. There was a fun idea. Picturing the mutant bird freaks as his personal slaves cheered Ari up. He would make them do everything—take care of everything. They would bring him food and remind him to take his pills, and Max would rub his shoulders where his wings hurt. That would be so great. A tiny buzzer went off—his watch timer. Ari popped a handful of pills and reset the timer.
Unfortunately he wasn’t going to get to make them his slaves. Fortunately he still got to kill them.
“I swear, that girl wouldn’t be happy anywhere,” the new Max said, sounding disgusted.
“Let’s give her something to be unhappy about,” Ari said, and hit the gas pedal. His heart started pumping with anticipation. He hated Max, but he loved fighting her. No one else was as exciting, as much of a challenge—not even Fang. And every time they fought, he learned more about how to defeat her. Someday he would have the last punch, see the surprise on her face. . . .
In seconds the van had caught up to the group, and they wheeled around at the sound of the tires.
“Want a ride, kids?” asked the Eraser in the passenger seat, who hadn’t morphed yet.
“What, no candy?” the original Max practically snarled. Then her eyes fell on Ari.
A laugh rose from his chest as he slammed on the brakes. He loved it! Seeing the flare of hatred and fear in her eyes when she looked at him. “Showtime, folks!” he shouted. “Max is mine!”
Erasers poured out of the back of the van before it had even stopped.
Time to play.
54
So, again, Ari was alive? Ari was back? I needed to think about that later.
“Happy now?” Fang muttered at me, and I took a second to scowl at him before launching myself at the closest wolf boy.
The sad thing was, I was happier. Well, not happy, exactly—just more on solid ground. A boy from class talking to me? Complete washout. Kicking Eraser butt, especially pathetic, off-balance Erasers with too-big wings? It was just more me, somehow.
Within moments I had cracked one’s kneecap with a hard side kick, and he crumpled to the ground. Very cheering. Watch it! said the Voice, just before another one clipped my jaw, swiveling my head. Go with the flow. Okay. I went with the momentum, completed the turn, and came out swinging with a hard right that smashed his jaw. Howling with pain, he fell to his knees, holding his face. Seconds later he bounced up, his eyes red with fury, in time to have Gazzy smack both hands over his ears, blowing his eardrums. Screaming, he went down again.
Fang had taken one out and was working on Ari. A quick glance showed me that Angel was dealing with a female Eraser—using her mind control to make the Eraser run headfirst into a tree, hard. Yowch. Then Angel flashed me an angelic smile, and I remembered again that we had to have a clear-the-air ethics talk sometime soon.
Max—focus! A huge thud against my back knocked the wind out of me. Wheezing for air, I whirled to see Ari, grinning, swinging hard at my head. I ducked, whirled, and put all my weight into a roundhouse kick that spun him sideways and almost knocked him off his feet. The other Erasers were mostly down for the count: It was me against him. Slowly we circled each other. Ari grinned, and fury washed over me, coloring everything red. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Fang herd the younger kids into the woods and then up into the air.
“Cute uniform.” Ari sneered, showing his sharp canines. “It’s a good look for you.”
“Where’d you get those wings?” I countered. “Wal-Mart?” I kept my weight centered as we circled each other like tigers.
The other Erasers were staggering back to the van, piling into it like circus clowns. Ari saw them.
“Guess it won’t be today, guys,” Ari called to his team. “Next time I’ll let you eat the little one. I hear they taste like chicken.”
Angel.
Growling, I lunged for Ari. He stepped aside and swung at me. I easily ducked. Rage fueled my fight, and I did a quick running start, then hit him with a flying side kick, both feet ramming hard against his ribs. He fell over heavily, banging his head on the road.
I jammed my foot against his neck and leaned over him. “How many times do I have to kill you?” I snarled. “Rough estimate.”
I saw fiery hatred in his eyes, and it really hit me: This wasn’t even Ari any longer, the little kid who
’d watched us from a distance when we were at the School. His own father had turned him into a monster, and any Ari that was left was being burned away from the inside. The idea made me feel sick, and I took my foot off his neck and stepped back.
Ari sat up quickly, gagging. “Point to you this time,” he said, his voice raspy as he rubbed his neck. “But you have no hope of winning.” He jumped to his feet. “I’m just playing with you, like a cat with a mouse.”
I was already backing toward the woods, unfolding my wings, ready to leap into the air. “Yeah,” I said, my voice dripping with hostility. “An awkward Frankenstein puddy-tat against a fierce, bloodthirsty, undefeated, well-designed mouse.”
His lip curled and he lunged at me again, but I’d already done an up-and-away and was hovering about fifteen feet off the ground. I rose higher and watched Ari stomp heavily to the van and throw himself in through the back doors. Inside the van, I caught the barest flash of blond-streaked hair.
None of the Erasers had long streaked hair.
55
“What happened to you?” Anne cried.
We trailed into the house and automatically hung up our jackets, most of which were blood-spattered. Total trotted around our feet, sniffing and growling. Angel reached down and hugged him, talking gently, and I just barely heard Total say, “Those wankers.”
“Erasers,” said the Gasman. “I’m hungry. Is there a snack?”
“What are Erasers?” Anne asked, sounding genuinely confused.
Could she possibly not know? Or maybe she just didn’t know the hip insider’s slang for them. “We’re human-avian hybrids,” I said, walking down the hall to the kitchen. I could smell popcorn. “Erasers are human-lupine hybrids.”
“Rabbits?” Anne asked, still sounding confused. She followed me.
I giggled. “That’s lapin. Or, more correctly, leporid. Not lupine.”
“Oh. Wolves,” Anne said, getting it.