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Now everything was upside down.
"You are really pretty, Max," said a small voice next to me.
I pressed my face into my pillow and squelched some extracolorful words. Way to go, ace—have embarrassing personal thoughts while you're two feet from a mind reader.
Yes. Along with the wings and the raptor eyesight and the weird bones, the insane scientists who'd created us had given us the potential to suddenly develop other skills. Iggy can feel colors. Nudge can draw metal stuff toward her and hack any computer. Fang can pretty much disappear into whatever background he's near. Gazzy can imitate any voice, any sound, with 100 percent accuracy. His other skill is unmentionable. I can fly faster than the others, and I have a Voice in my head. I don't want to talk about that right now.
But it was Angel who'd hit the genetic jackpot. She can breathe under water, communicate with fish, and read people's minds. We're talking about a six-year-old. And, you know, six-year-olds are famous for having excellent judgment and decision-making skills.
"You have nice hair and really pretty eyes," Angel went on earnestly.
I rolled over a bit. "Yeah. Brown and brown." Have I mentioned how much Fang loves red hair? I believe I have.
"No, your hair has little sun streaks in it," Angel informed me. "And your eyes are like—you know those chocolates we had in France? With the gooey stuff in the middle, with the alcohol in 'em except we didn't know, and Gazzy ate a million and then barfed all night? Those chocolates?"
As much as I had tried to suppress all memory of that incident, it rushed back to me in vivid Technicolor. "The color of my eyes is like barfed-up chocolate?" Despair settled over me. There was no hope.
"No, the chocolates before they were barfed," Angel clarified.
So there you have it, the extent of my charms: brown hair and eyes like unbarfed chocolate. I'm a lucky girl.
"Max," said Angel. "You know Fang is the best guy ever. And he loves you. 'Cause you're the best girl ever."
With anyone else, I could ask them how they know that and then discredit them. Not Angel. She knew because she'd seen it, in his mind.
"We all love each other, Ange," I said impatiently, hating this whole conversation.
"No, not like this," she went on relentlessly. "Fang loves you."
Here's a little secret you might not have picked up on about me: I can't stand gushy emotion. Hate crying. Hate feeling sad. Am not even too crazy about feeling happy. So all this—the vulnerability, the longing, the terror—I desperately wanted it to all go away forever. I wanted to cut it out of me like they'd cut out that chip. (See book three; I can't keep explaining everything. If I'm gonna take the trouble to write this stuff down, the least you can do is read it.)
But right now, I needed Angel to shut up.
"Okay, maybe I'll give him a break," I said, rolling over and closing my eyes.
"Maybe you should give him more than that," Angel pressed
.
My eyes flared open as I didn't dare to think what she might mean.
"He could totally be your boyfriend," she went on with annoying persistence. "You guys could get married. I could be like a junior bridesmaid. Total could be your flower dog."
"I'm only a kid!" I shrieked. "I can't get married!"
"You could in New Hampshire."
My mouth dropped open. How does she know this stuff? "Forget it! No one's getting married!" I hissed. "Not in New Hampshire or anywhere else! Not in a box, not with a fox! Now go to sleep, before I kill you!"
Oh yeah, like I got any sleep after that.
7
YOU'VE NEVER SEEN just how mega a megalopolis can be until you've seen Mexico City. I guess there might be bigger burgs in like China or something, but boy howdy, Mexico City seems endless.
Anyway, the Bane of My Existence and I had agreed to one more air show, and of course it was the one in Mexico City, where Dr. Wonderful would be meeting us.
So we were over a ginormous open-air stadium, the Estadio Azteca, which held about 114,000 people. Every seat was filled. We'd changed the choreography and order of stunts since the last show, so if anyone had made a plan to take us out, they'd have to rethink it. Around us, mile upon mile of densely packed buildings stretched as far as we could see, and we can see pretty dang far.
