by Melinda Metz
“You’ve got to help me close the hole,” he choked out.
She rushed over to him and pressed her hands against his neck. The others joined her, placing their hands on Max, too, centering their connection in his body.
“I think if we can break Max free of the consciousness, the hole will close,” Isabel shouted, her voice almost overpowered by the sucking of the wormhole.
She gathered up her energy and blasted out an image of Max teaching her how to ride a bike. You’re Max, she thought. Max. My big brother. You’re not some little insignificant piece of the consciousness.
She chose another memory—Max dressed up as a mad scientist for Halloween and shot it out. You’re Max, the science geek.
The others started showing Max images of himself, too. Images of Max the boyfriend. Max the best friend. Max the son. Max the mouse healer. Max the teacher of the toaster. Max the saint. Max the heart of their group.
The horrible sucking sound of the wormhole lessened. “It’s working,” Liz cried. “Keep going.”
Liz was right. The patch of skin under Isabel’s fingers was growing softer and fleshier, as if it was rehydrating. “We need you more than the consciousness does, Max,” she yelled. That should get him. Mr. Responsibility.
She grinned as the wormhole snapped shut. The grin practically stretched to her ears when Max sat up. “You look almost like a person again,” she told him. He still had a few of those freakish withered spots, but he really did look basically okay.
“He looks a lot better than I do,” one of the DuPrises complained.
Max’s eyes widened as he took in their appearance. “I can fix that,” he said. He reached out and touched the whiny DuPris’s face. A few moments later Maria had her own look back. She gave her blond curls a happy shake.
Isabel reached up and pressed her fingers against her forehead, disgusted by the feel of the oily hair. She started to change herself back. “The guy should rethink his styling products,” she complained, the words coming out distorted as the DuPris lips changed into her own.
“I don’t think he’ll have to worry about it where he is,” Max answered. “He probably doesn’t even have hair anymore.”
Isabel glanced around. Only one DuPris left to go—Alex. She felt a pang of self-consciousness about touching him. It felt sort of weird again now that they weren’t fighting for their lives. She told herself to get over it and reached out and cupped Alex’s face in her hands.
Alex snickered. “Am I tickling you?” she asked.
He didn’t answer. He just narrowed his eyes and glared at her as she began concentrating on moving the molecules back in the right place. Isabel stared at him. She couldn’t get his face to change back.
“Having trouble? That’s because there’s no point in changing me … into me!” he shouted, his eyes bulging. “I hope your friend likes his new planet!” DuPris said as he dashed out of the room.
Isabel started to tremble. “What have we done?” she asked.
Max replied slowly, “We sent Alex through the wormhole.”
