School's Out - Forever

  “You’d think that after fourteen years, it would get easier,” said the woman sadly. “But it doesn’t. It’s the same pain, all the time.”

  My breath caught in my throat. Fourteen years? Griffiths? The reporter’s image cleared and was replaced by a couple. The man had his arm around his wife’s shoulders. They both looked sad.

  One other thing.

  The woman looked just like Iggy.

  67

  Fang looked intently at me, peering through the strands of hair that always covered his eyes.

  “They were standing in front of their house. I saw enough to recognize it if I saw it again,” I told him in a fast whisper. It was late, and everyone else was asleep. I’d waited till now to tell Fang what I’d seen. “Their name was Griffiths. Their kid disappeared fourteen years ago. And the woman was the spitting image of Iggy.”

  Fang shook his head slowly, thinking. “I can’t believe you would just happen to see that.”

  “I know. But how could it possibly be a setup? We weren’t even allowed to watch TV today. I just—I think we have to check it out.”

  Fang shook his head again. “How many houses are there in the DC area?”

  “This house had a big, dark church behind it, like on the next block. It was old-fashioned, and the spire was really tall. How many of those are there?”

  Fang sighed. “About a million.”

  “Fang! This is a huge break! Of course we should go check it out!”

  He looked at me. “But we’re grounded,” he said with a straight face.

  I stared at him for a second, and then we both burst out laughing.

  68

  “What’s wrong?” Fang had been acting a little off all night. Now we were flying high over the lights of DC, and he kept wiping his forehead and rolling his shoulders.

  “I’m way hot,” he muttered. “But I don’t feel sick. Just—way hot.”

  “Like I did?” I raised my eyebrows. “Huh. Give it a week; you’ll be flying like the Concorde. I think. Or, you know, you’re dying.” I shot him a grin, which he didn’t return. “What? You feel really bad?”

  “No. But I just thought of something. I have your blood in me.”

  I looked at him, his wide, dark wings moving smoothly, powerfully through the night air.

  “So? It was just blood.”

  He shook his head. “Not our blood. The red cells have DNA, remember? I got transfused with your DNA.”

  I thought. “Uh, so?”

  He shrugged. “So maybe that’s why this is happening. Maybe it wasn’t supposed to happen to me.”

  “Hmm,” I said. “And we don’t know if that’s bad or good or nothing.”

  “Guess we’ll find out,” he said.

  Turns out there are practically hundreds of freaking tall church steeples in the DC area. Though finding the right one tonight seemed amusingly unlikely, we cruised around, looking for a steeple in a residential neighborhood. We dropped down more than a dozen times, but once I had scanned all the close-by houses, we took to the air again.

  After three hours of this, we were hungry and tired. We didn’t even have to speak—just looked at each other, shrugged, and turned in unison to head back to Anne’s place.

  It was around 3:00 a.m. when we got back to Anne’s. We headed toward the window we’d left open, in a little-used storeroom on the second floor.

  “Fang.” He looked at me, and I gestured at the house with one hand.

  We could see Anne’s silhouette clearly in the window of her room. She was awake and looking for us at 3:00 a.m. Didn’t that woman ever sleep?

  Was Anne just a spy? For the FBI or someone else?

  Suddenly I felt exhausted. We coasted down to the house, tucked our wings in at the last second, and zipped through the window. We stacked hands and tapped them, then went to our separate rooms. I kicked off my shoes and fell into bed in my clothes. I didn’t expect Anne to come to my room.

  She’d already seen everything she needed to see.

  69

  The next couple of weeks were the most surreal ones of my life, and that’s saying something, since it beats growing up in a cage, being on the run, finding other mutants in a lab deep below the subways of New York City, and, oh yeah, having wings.

  This was way weirder than that.

  Nothing awful happened.

  We went back to school, and it was business as usual, except that Gazzy and Iggy somehow managed to get through their days without detonating anything. A first.

  The headhunter stayed out of our way, perhaps for health reasons, trying to avoid an apoplectic fit.

  Angel’s teacher seemed to behave pretty normally—like, she didn’t suddenly take her class to a toy store and buy them anything they wanted. That would have been a tip-off for me.

  Nudge got invited to a birthday party. A nonmutant birthday party. Anne promised to help her find an outfit that would hide her wings but still look normal.

  And—brace yourself. I saved the best and the worst for last:

  That guy Sam asked me on a date.

  “You what?” Iggy burst out.

  “I got asked on a date,” I repeated, flinging mashed potatoes onto my plate.

  “Oh, Max!” Nudge said.

  “You’re kidding,” said the Gasman with his mouth full. He laughed, trying not to spit food. “What a loser! What’d he say when you shot him down?”

  I busily cut my steak.

  “You said yes, didn’t you?” Nudge asked.

  “Oh, my God,” said Iggy, his hand on his forehead. “Max on a date. I thought we were trying to avoid tears and violence and mayhem.”

  Yet another frustrating instance of dagger glances not working on Iggy.

  “I think it’s great,” said Angel. “Max is beautiful. She should go on dates.”

  “What are you going to wear?” Anne asked with a smile.

  “Don’t know,” I muttered, my face getting hot.

  And did you notice who didn’t say one word?

  Right.

  70

  “Just think of it as a recon mission.”

  Fang leaned against my door frame, watching me stare at myself in the dresser mirror.

  “What?” I asked testily. “I’m fine.” I tucked my shirt in and pulled on the oversize velour hoodie that would hide my wings. I hoped.

  “Uh-huh. Usually when you look like that, I know you’re about to hurl.”

  “I’m fine,” I said tightly, trying not to hyperventilate. What was I doing? How stupid was I to agree to this? Maybe I should call him and cancel. I could say I was sick. I could—

  The doorbell rang. Fang gave me an unholy grin and headed downstairs.

  “Gosh, five brothers and sisters,” Sam said.

  “Yeah. What about you?” We were waiting in line to buy movie tickets.

  “Three older sisters,” he said. “They make my life a living hell. Fortunately, the two oldest are off at college now.”

  I smiled. Talking to Sam was easier than I’d expected. And for the next two hours, I wouldn’t have to talk at all.

  The film we saw was an incredibly violent military-espionage-action thing that looked like home movies from my childhood. Mostly I sat in the dark, analyzing fight scenes and praying that Sam wouldn’t try to hold my hand. What if my palms were sweaty? I nervously rubbed them on my jeans.

  When the movie was over, we decided to get ice cream at a little shop down the block. As I was trying to think of something to say, Sam reached over and took one of my hands.

  Just like that, we were holding hands.

  It wasn’t bad.

  At Ye Olde Ice Cream Shoppe, we got our orders and sat down at a little marble-topped table. I was wondering how far I could throw the table, if necessary, when Sam asked, “So what are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Just having dinner with Anne, I think,” I said.

  “It’s too bad you won’t be with your parents.”

  “True.” I nodd
ed and applied myself to my sundae.

  “We’re going to have hell dinner with the relatives,” Sam said. He held up his maraschino cherry. “Want mine?”

  “Yep.” He put it on top of my sundae and smiled. I smiled back. “Why is it hell dinner?”

  He made a face. “My two oldest sisters will be back. There will be much hogging of the bathrooms, phone, and TV. My uncle Ted will talk nonstop about his business, which is insurance.”

  I winced in sympathy.

  “Mom will try to keep Aunt Phyllis away from the liquor, but it won’t work. Dad will be trying to watch the football game, so he’ll be shouting at the TV and spilling corn nuts on the carpet.” Sam shrugged. I liked the way his chestnut hair sort of fell over his forehead. And he had nice eyes. Hazel colored. Kind of tortoiseshell.

  “Sounds pretty bad,” I said. Was that kind of Thanksgiving common? I had no idea. I only knew what I’d seen on TV. What kind of Thanksgiving would my old friends Ella and Dr. Martinez have?

  Sam shrugged again. “It’ll suck. But then it’ll be over, and I’ll have four weeks to brace myself for Christmas.”

  I laughed, and he grinned back at me. A slight movement behind him caught my eye. Sam had his back to the big plate-glass window, and someone had walked past it. No—someone was still there.

  My hand froze in midair, and my heart felt encased in ice.

  Ari was outside, giving me a predator’s grin and a thumbs-up sign.

  71

  Right in the middle of my freaking date.

  Quickly I glanced around the shop. There was an exit behind the counter. I could knock over this table to slow him down . . .

  “Max? Are you okay?”

  “Uh-huh,” I muttered absently, my eyes locked on Ari. He grinned again at me, then walked past the window. I saw a flash of streaked hair next to him, and then I saw my reflection in the window.

  Sam turned to see what I was looking at just as Ari slipped out of sight.

  I sat very still, waiting for Erasers to burst through the window, drop through the ceiling.

  Sam was still looking at me quizzically. “You okay?” he asked again.

  “Um-hmm.” I tried to look normal. “Just thought I saw something.”

  Believe what you know, not what you see.

  Okay, so not only Erasers butting in, but don’t you just hate it when the little Voice inside your brain starts talking at you during a date? I know I sure do. And what did it mean? I already knew Ari was still alive.

  “Max?”

  I gave Sam my attention again. “Sorry—got distracted.” I smiled apologetically at him. I was on full alert, ready to spring into action, but nothing was happening.

  “I like how you’re eating a whole sundae,” said Sam. “Some girls would be like, Oh, just a small fat-free scoop in a cup. But you’re all over that thing.”

  I laughed, startled, wondering if I should feel embarrassed. “I don’t worry about what I eat.” Just, you know, if I’m going to eat.

  “I like it,” Sam said again.

  And I am liking you, I thought.

  72

  We got a ride back to Anne’s with Sam’s third-oldest sister, who’d just gotten her license. Sam walked me up to Anne’s front porch.

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling awkward and at a loss again. “I had a really good time.”

  “Me too,” said Sam. “You’re not like other girls I’ve met.”

  You can say that again, pal.

  “Is that good or bad?” I asked.

  “Good. Definitely good.” Sam really did have a nice smile. He moved closer to me, put one hand on my shoulder and the other under my chin. My eyes went wide when he kissed me. We were almost the same height, and he wasn’t as lean and hard as Fang. He kissed me again, angling his head the other way, and he put his arms around my waist.

  You know what? My wings didn’t even cross my mind. I closed my eyes and just went with it. Oh, my God, kissing.

  Go with the flow, Max.

  For once, the Voice had something worthwhile to say.

  An irritated little beep came from the car—Sam’s sister wanted to get home.

  We broke apart, both of us wide-eyed and laughing a little.

  “Whoa,” Sam said, and I nodded in agreement.

  “You better go,” I said. “But thanks again, for everything. It was great.”

  “Yeah.” Sam looked like he wanted to kiss me again, but his sister tapped the horn once more. Looking regretful, he went down the steps and across the dark driveway. “Talk to you tomorrow,” he called back over his shoulder.

  “Yeah.”

  They drove off, leaving me alone with feelings I didn’t even have words for.

  73

  Anne was waiting for me inside. “How was it?” she asked, standing up and smiling.

  “Fine,” I said. “Well, good night.” I kept walking and went up the stairs. I wasn’t trying to be rude, not that that usually bothers me, but I just couldn’t talk to her about anything that mattered. I went up to my room and sat on my bed, reliving the last ten minutes.

  My door opened slightly, and Fang put his head around it. He came in holding one hand over his eyes. “Whoa,” he said. “Your happy glow. It’s blinding.”

  I rolled my eyes at him, then pulled off my hoodie. I wiggled my shoulders and let my wings untuck a little bit. Ahh. That felt better. I’d been holding them in tight all night. I wondered if Sam had felt them at all. He hadn’t screamed or looked horrified, so I guessed not.

  Fang shut the door. “They wanted to stay up to wait for you, but Anne made them go to bed.”

  “Good thinking on Anne’s part,” I said.

  “So? How was it?” Fang leaned against my desk and crossed his arms over his chest. I heard something in his voice and looked up at his face. As usual, he looked completely impassive, but I knew him so well that I could read the almost indiscernible twitch of his jaw muscle, the slight tightening around his eyes.

  “I saw him—what’s the phrase? oh, yeah—‘stuck to you like glue.’ So I guess you got along all right.” Fang waited as I tried to figure out what was going through his head.

  “Yeah,” I said finally. “There’s a lot of that going around.”

  He looked a little embarrassed, and I kicked off my sneakers. Fang sat down next to me, leaning against my headboard. “So you like him. I don’t have to kill him.” His voice was tense.

  I shrugged. “Yeah. He was really nice. We had a good time.”

  “But . . . ?”

  I rubbed my temples with my hands. “But so what? He could be the nicest guy in the world, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still a mutant freak. We’re still in a situation I hate more every day. We can’t trust anyone. We can’t solve the code mystery. We can’t find our parents—not that it would help if we did.”

  Fang was quiet.

  “I saw Ari tonight,” I said, and his head came up. “He was standing outside the ice cream shop. He smiled at me. And there was someone with him. . . .” I paused, thinking back to that flash of blond hair. “I saw—” Then it hit me. I’d thought I’d seen my reflection in the window. But I hadn’t.

  I turned slowly and looked at Fang. “Ari had me with him. There was a me outside the window.” My stomach took a dive.

  Fang blinked: his version of complete astonishment.

  “I saw a flash of blond-streaked hair in the van that day they attacked us,” I said. “And tonight I saw that same hair, outside with Ari. I thought it was my own reflection in the window. But it wasn’t a reflection. It was a me.”

  He didn’t bother asking me if I was sure. He knew he didn’t have to.

  “Holy crap,” he said, trying to process this. “A Max on the dark side. Pretty much the worst thing I can think of. Jesus. Another Max. A bad Max. Crap.”

  “That’s not all,” I said slowly. “You know how I said if I went bad, I’d want you to—do anything you had to, to keep the others safe?”

&nbs
p; He looked at me warily. “Yeah.”

  “The reason I asked about that . . .” I took a deep breath and looked away. “A couple times, when I’ve looked into a mirror, I’ve—seen myself morph. Into an Eraser.”

  Fang didn’t say anything.

  “I touch my face, and it feels just the same. Human, smooth. But the mirror shows me as an Eraser.” I looked down. I couldn’t believe I was admitting this out loud.

  There was a long silence. Seconds ticked by like hours.

  “I bet you looked kind of Pekingesey,” Fang said finally.

  I snapped my head up to look at him. He seemed very calm, very normal, despite what I’d just told him. “What?”

  “Bet you were kind of cute, pup girl.” He bared his teeth as if they were fangs and made a little growling sound. “Rrrff!” he said, and made a pouncing motion at me.

  I smacked him upside the head. He dodged to one side, laughing, but I jumped to my feet, angry. He held his hands up in surrender and with difficulty stopped laughing.

  “Look,” said Fang, trying to keep a straight face. “I know you’re not an Eraser. I don’t know why you saw that in the mirror, and I don’t know who the other Max is, but I know who you are, all the way through. And you’re not an Eraser. And even if I saw you as an Eraser, I would still recognize you. I know you’re not evil, no matter what you might look like.”

  I thought of the Voice telling me to believe what I knew rather than what I saw, and tears started to my eyes. I sank back down onto the bed, just wanting to go to sleep and not think about anything.

  “Thanks,” I told Fang in a broken voice.

  He stood up, then smoothed my hair with his hand. “You’re fine,” he said quietly.

  “Don’t you dare put any of this in your blog,” I warned him. “Don’t even think about it for a millisecond.”

  “Don’t flatter yourself,” he said, and left my room.

  PART 4

  THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME