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Ratchet squinted at Fang in the dark, as if to confirm that this was the same person he’d seen on the blog. Ratchet nodded tentatively, indicating that he was going to cooperate. For now, anyway.
“You make one misstep when I let you speak, man,” Fang said, “and you lose your teeth.” It felt weird to Fang to be threatening another kid, but he couldn’t risk being the underdog right now. Fang waited. He had his mission, one he knew he’d been destined for.
Ratchet made a muffled response behind Fang’s powerful hand, then Fang released his grip.
“What’s the word?” Fang quizzed.
“Maximum,” Ratchet said, uttering the password they’d agreed on.
Fang let him go, and Ratchet put on his sunglasses, trying to recoup his swagger. “A’ight, dude. S’long as there’re no capes and tights anywhere in your game.”
And so it began. This guy made it into Fang’s new flock—of one.
10
“NO,” I SAID AGAIN.
Just to catch you up, during that brief intermission, all certifiably crazy talk of my producing a feathered dynasty had been dropped, as my mom had insisted. We started eating lunch. But Jeb and Dr. Gunther-Hagen had something else up their dirty sleeves.
“Max, please,” Jeb said.
“We’re asking you to do this for your own good,” said Dr. Über-Goober.
“The stuff you’re asking me to do for my own good would stun a yak,” I said pointedly. “No.”
“My plane is right outside.” Jeb tried again. “Or you can fly yourself. I just want you to see the possibilities.”
“Nope.” I took another bite of PB&J. Even my mom’s peanut-butter sandwiches tasted better than any other peanut-butter sandwiches. I highly recommend having a mom.
“It isn’t far—a twenty-minute flight.” Jeb tried to sound stern.
“Tough,” I said through a mouthful of sandwich.
“Max, this really isn’t optional,” Dr. Hans said firmly. “The Rocco Laurie School for the Gifted houses many of the children you will be leading when the time comes. They need to be able to recognize you and vice versa.”
I gestured at him with my sandwich. “Don’t even talk to me.” Then I turned to our resident blond cherub. “Angel, what do you think of all of this?” I admit it. I was waiting for Angel to step up and volunteer to be Queen of the World. It was what she’d been wanting. She wanted to run the flock. She wanted to take over my job. She wanted to have power. “Are you interested in meeting this little gaggle of Gen 77 kids?”
But Angel remained uncharacteristically quiet. Calculating her next move maybe.
“You can’t just pretend this isn’t happening, that you aren’t destined for this,” Jeb said. I detected a note of frustration in his voice. Good. “The Gen 77 kids need you, whether you acknowledge them or not. Don’t you think it makes sense for you to see them? To know them?”
Angel stood up. Here we go, I thought. “Max doesn’t want to go, Jeb,” she said. “So we’re not going.”
Did she—did she say we’re not going? I glanced at her, and she gave me a sweet smile, just like the old days.
“Yeah,” said Dylan, coming to stand behind me. “Max leads the flock. If she doesn’t want to go, then we don’t go.”
It would have been churlish to remind Dylan just then that he wasn’t part of my flock.
Jeb and Dr. G-H looked like they wanted to tear their hair out.
“Well, you know, I wouldn’t mind seeing the Gen 77 kids.” I looked up as my mom stepped forward. Come again? “Just see them.” She smiled at me apologetically. “I know how you feel, Max,” she went on, noticing the shock twisting my face, “and I don’t blame you. But as a scientist, I have an insatiable curiosity. And I think we need to see some of this new generation, whether you lead them or not. We need to know what’s going on out there. It’s for our own good.”
I sighed, beaten. Oh, like I’m gonna tell my mom no?
11
THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT flying that helps clear the cobwebs from my mind, puts everything into perspective, and makes me feel strong and powerful. And often I can leave annoying people behind on the ground. Always satisfying.
