The kid stared at him. "What, you grow up under a rock?"
"No," said Gazzy, frowning. "I just didn't know."
The kid made a disgusted face and walked away. Gazzy heard him saying, "Yeah, he didn't know. 'Cause he's from the planet Dumbass."
Gazzy's eyes narrowed, and his hands formed into lethal little fists.
"Where did you get your hair done?" someone asked.
I turned to see a pale, skinny girl smiling at me. I pushed my lunch tray farther down the line. "Um, my bathroom?" Was she speaking in code? I had no clue what she meant. A recurring theme in my life.
She laughed and put a green apple on her tray. "No, I meant the blond streaks. They're awesome. Did you have it done in DC?"
Oh. My hair had blond streaks? Right. "I guess the sun did it," I said lamely.
"Lucky. Oh, look-banana pudding. I recommend it."
"Thanks." I took some, to be nice.
"My name's J.J.," she said, seeming completely comfortable with this social interaction. My palms were sweating. "It's short for Jennifer Joy. I mean, what were my parents thinking?"
I laughed, surprised that she would confide in me like that.
"Max is a cool name," J.J. said. "Sporty. Sophisticated."
"Yeah, that's me," I said, and she laughed some more, her eyes crinkling.
"Here's a couple spots," J.J. said, pointing to an empty lunch table. "Otherwise we'll have to sit next to Chari and her gang." She lowered her voice. "Don't mess with them."
I was halfway through lunch before I realized that J.J. and I had been talking for half an hour, and I apparently had not seemed so freakish that she'd run away screaming.
I had made a friend. My second one in fourteen years. I was on a roll.
45
"Capital of Paraguay?" the teacher asked.
Asuncion. Inhabited principally by the Guarani. Explored by Europeans starting in 1518. Paraguay is a landlocked country in South America. Population, six million and change-I raised my hand. "Asuncion?"
"Yes, that's right. Very good. Tonight I want you all to read about Paraguay in chapter eight of your world studies textbook. And now let's take out our science workbooks."
Feeling like a busy little student bee, I took out my science workbook. What further surprises would the Voice have for me? So far, it had been up on any number of subjects taught in the ninth grade. How handy. For once.
As I flipped past the bone structure of frogs, someone knocked on the classroom door. The teacher went over and had a whispered conversation, then turned to me. What?
"Max? They need you in the office for a moment." She gave me an encouraging smile, which somehow I didn't find all that encouraging.
Slowly I stood up and walked to the door. Was this it? Was it starting now? Was this person about to turn into an Eraser? My breath started to come faster, and my hands coiled at my sides.
Maybe not. Maybe there was something wrong with our paperwork. Something normal.
"In here." The assistant opened a door that led to a small anteroom. On two chairs in the little room were Iggy and the Gasman. Gazzy looked up at me and smiled nervously.
Oh, no. "Already?" I whispered to him, and he shrugged, wide-eyed.
"The headmaster will see you now," said the assistant, opening another door. "That's right now."
46
The headmaster, William Pruitt, according to a gold plaque on his desk, did not look happy to see us. In fact, he looked like he was about to blow his top. The second I clapped eyes on him, I couldn't help it: I hated his guts. His face was red and flushed with anger. His lips were full and wet- looking, a gross dark pink. Sparse tufts of hair ringed his shiny bald head.
I had the sinking feeling that this schmuck's inside was going to match his heinous outside, and I went on full alert.
"You are Maxine Ride?" he said with a sneering British accent that made the hairs on the back of my neck rise.
"Just Max," I said, resisting the urge to cross my arms over my chest and scowl at him.
"These are your brothers Jeff and..." He consulted his notes. "Zephyr?"
"Yes."
"Your brothers have set off a stink bomb in the second-floor boys' lavatory," said the headmaster. He sat back in his chair, lacing his beefy red fingers, and stared at me with cold, piggy black eyes.
I blinked, careful not to look at Iggy and Gazzy. "That's impossible," I said calmly. For one thing, they hadn't had enough time to acquire the materials to make one...
"Oh, is it?" Pruitt asked unpleasantly. "Why is that?"
"They're not troublemakers," I replied, injecting an earnest note into my voice. "They wouldn't do anything like that."
"They say they didn't do it. They're lying," he said flatly. His bushy eyebrows needed trimming. And the nose hair-yuck!
I looked indignant. "My brothers don't lie!" Of course, we all lie like rugs when we have to, but I wasn't going to tell him that.
"All children lie." Mr. Pruitt sneered. "Children are born knowing how to lie. They're dishonest, disrespectful, unhousebroken animals. Until we get to them."
Which made me question his career choice. Nice school you picked out, Anne. Sheesh.
I raised my chin. "Not my brothers. Our parents are missionaries, doing the Lord's work. We would never lie."
This seemed to give Mr. Pruitt pause, and again I congratulated myself on the brilliant backstory I'd given us. "Did anyone see them set off a stink bomb?"
"What is a stink bomb, anyway?" Gazzy asked, all blue eyes and innocence.
"There, you see?" I said. "They don't even know what one is."
Pruitt's small eyes narrowed even more. "You're not fooling me," he said with clear venom. "I know your brothers are guilty. I know you're protecting them. And I know something else: This is the last time you'll get away with anything at this school. Do I make myself clear?"
Actually, not really, but I was going to let it slide.
"Yes," I said crisply, and motioned to Gazzy to get up. When Iggy heard him, he rose also. I moved purposefully toward the door. "Thank you," I said, right before we slipped out.
We slunk out into the hall, and I started marching them to their classrooms.
"We're going to talk about this later, guys," I said under my breath.
After I dropped off Iggy, I realized I had a throbbing headache. One that seemed to have been caused by regular garden-variety tension, rather than by, say, a chip, or a Voice, or some wack-job whitecoat torturing me. What a nice change.
47
"You ignorant little sah-vages," Gazzy said, puffing and screwing up his face. As usual, his imitation was uncanny. I almost wanted to turn around to make sure the headmaster hadn't snuck up behind us.
Angel and Nudge were cracking up at Gazzy's recounting of the tale.
"You malignant little fiends," he added, and I couldn't help laughing.
"But sir," Gazzy went on in my voice, "our parents are missionaries. Lying is the Tenth Commandment. They're innocent of all wrongdoing. What's a stink bomb?"
Now even Fang was laughing, his shoulders shaking. In his white dress shirt he hardly even looked like himself.
"Is lying really the Tenth Commandment?" Iggy asked.
"No idea," I said. "Let's cut into the woods. This road's making me nervous."
We'd walked along the main road until we were out of sight of the school. Now we headed into the woods at an angle, knowing we would meet up with one of Anne's orchards soon.
"So who really did set off the stink bomb?" Nudge asked.
I rolled my eyes. "They did, of course." I glared at Gazzy, frustrated that my look was lost on Iggy. "I don't know how, I don't know why. I just know they did."
"Well, yes," Gazzy admitted, looking a tiny bit embarrassed. "This kid was a total jerk to me on the playground, and someone stuck a Kick Me sign on the back of Iggy's shirt."
"I told you I'd take care of that," Fang said to Iggy.
I sighed. "Guys, you're going t
o meet jerks in every situation. For the rest of your lives." However long that would be. "But you can't be doing stuff like stink bombs-not right now. We're trying to blend, remember? We're trying to not make waves, to not stick out. So making a stink bomb, setting it off, and getting caught was not the right way to go."
"Sorry, Max," said Gazzy, sounding almost sincere.
Inside, I understood why they'd done it. I even wished I'd been able to see the headhunter's face when he'd found out about it. But this stunt had been totally uncool. And dangerous.
"Listen, you two," I said sternly, as we crested a ridge and found ourselves at the edge of Anne's property. "You put us all at risk. From now on you're going to toe the line at that stupid school or you're going to answer to me. Got it?"
"Got it," Gazzy mumbled.
"Yeah, got it," Iggy said reluctantly. "We'll be more stupid and idiotic in the future. We'll blend."
"Good."
48
Anne was not thrilled with us when we got home.
"I got a phone call" were her first words as we hung our jackets up neatly in the hall. "I guess you're all adjusting. Well, anyway. Come on into the kitchen. There's hot chocolate and cookies."
Way to reward the buggers, Anne. Great mothering. I took the opportunity to give Gazzy another glare, and his small shoulders hunched.
"Let me just say that I'm very disappointed in your behavior," Anne said, as she started pouring mugs of hot chocolate. She plopped two marshmallows in mine, and I tried not to think about the time Jeb had done the same thing for me, not too long ago.
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 human
s, 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.
Two Schools Out - Forever Page 8
