Fang

by James Patterson

Distraction from what we need to do

  Unpostedblogs.doc

  Chad, Africa

  Hot, Hungry, and Thankful Not to Have HIV O’clock

  Here we are in Africa, where the focus is not on us and our problems. It’s on the crippling injustice in the world. The GDP (“gross domestic product”—don’t ask me; just look it up!) of Chad is 16.1 billion dollars. The GDP of the USA is 14.3 trillion dollars. Chew on that.

  It’s pretty overwhelming. What can I, in the tiny scope of one life, possibly do to make a lasting and large change in the world? I’m a bird kid and a borderline celebrity at this point … but still, I’m just a drop in the bucket.

  I’m down tonight, so here I am blithering on like Nudge. Max is asleep, and so is everyone else. Strange. We bird kids don’t take sleep for granted, you know? Occasionally things chill out … but they never really chill out. We just forget how crazy everything is… .

  Okay. The bottom line is that what Angel said scared the bejeezy out of me. There. I said it.

  ’Cause I’m going to die “first” and “soon.”

  I could string that sinister little mind-reading Shirley Temple up by her pinafores for her total lack of elaboration. Except Max about beat me to it.

  I’m lucky. Somehow I got the “unable to visually emote” genetic modification. Because inside, when Angel said that, my blood froze and my bird bones ached.

  So what’s her prediction worth anyway? Where does it come from? From a Voice, like Max’s? Doesn’t mean it’s right. We only assume it’s always going to be right, because it has the power to invade her brain and be so FLIPPING CREEPY. But creepy doesn’t mean all-powerful.

  It’s like I’m trying to talk myself out of this. Of course we’re going to die. And it’s probably going to be sooner rather than later. And it’s not going to be fun. Look at the life we lead.

  Twelve hours ago were we not being shot at by crazy guys on camels with semiautomatic weapons?

  That’s what I thought.

  Crap.

  Sigh.

  Fly on,

  Fang

  I’m Not Telling, Colorado

  The Day Before Our Birthday O’clock

  So, we have on The Gift List:

  Iggy—Gory, gooey, blood-spattering audiobook on CD. CHECK

  Nudge—584,395,004,981 fashion magazines. CHECK

  Gazzy—Illustrated history of blowing crap up for eons. CHECK CHECK

  Angel—Angel? A camera, a great gift for a smart, creative kid. CHECK

  Max—…

  Max—… Roses? They die. LAME

  Max—… Poetry? And she beats me up…. OW

  Max—… Jewelry?… Pretty?… Can’t be used (easily) as a weapon?

  What could possibly be right for Max? That girl is fiercer than a rattlesnake. Pft. In fact, the first few times we kissed, I thought she was one. That girl was a regular old teeth-banger. (And they call me Fang.) Thank goodness she was genetically engineered to have good teeth. If she had braces, my gums would have been ground beef. But I wouldn’t care if she was the worst teeth-banger in a pool of every high school student on the planet. In fact, I like her more because of it.

  Man, I don’t know. I’m really not sure. The secret to gifts is… ? Right, ask me, the fifteen-year-old (tomorrow) bird man. I know everything about gift giving. I learned in charm school.

  I think the secret to a great gift is that it should be personal. It has to prove that you know and care about someone enough to know what she’d love. And I’m so dead.

  I hope I made the right choice. That ring, I want it to mean something.

  She’s going to think I’m the corniest guy on the planet.

  Fly on,

  Fang

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  We Won the Jackpot—If by Jackpot You Mean You’re Willing to Deal with Exile—O’clock

  Welcome to the funhouse, Faxness. You’ve arrived in fabulous Las Vegas, otherwise known as the most genetically modified city on the planet. Looks can be deceiving, folks. Unnatural bliss, ladies and gentlemen, unnatural, impossible bliss.

  Last night Max and I arrived in Vacationland—and promptly proceeded to stuff as many corn nuts, funnel cakes, spumoni cones, sushi rolls, heroes, falafels, cheese steaks, burritos, and wasabi peas into our mouths as we could find.

  So romantic, I know. But it was, though. It was awesome. It was about seventy-five degrees and crisp and dry out. It was perfect, walking down the streets, licking spumoni. The city was lit up like neon heaven.

  But it was sad too. I thought that by going somewhere we’d blend in, we’d be able to escape. But the thing about Vegas is that it’s impossible, even for one second, to forget that this city is totally false. There’s even a fake Paris.

  It reminds me that being here in Vacationland with Max, just being alone together doing outrageous fun things, that’s false too.

  Or short-lived, anyway. How long did it take for Dr. HagenDoodie to find us? Less than twenty-four hours? Exactly.

  I can see it in Max’s eyes—we’re going to last about as long in Vacationland as we did in Max School.

  Surprise! Life isn’t Las Vegas. Or Disney World. For us bird kids, maybe it’s more like Death Valley.

  Fly on,

  Fang

  ForDylan.doc

  Dylan,

  I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone more than I hate you. Maybe evil scientists. But they don’t count. The way I feel about you is different. I can’t control it. I don’t care that you’re a testtube mutant and can’t help it. I don’t care if you’re the nicest and smartest dude in the universe and can sing better than Bono. I want Max to be mine. You have no right to touch her. I don’t care how the wack-job whitecoats programmed you. I’ve been by her side practically since the day she was born.

  But I can’t be around. My anger toward you is getting in the way. Clouding my decisions. I don’t know what is the right thing to do. And this thing with Max … it’s a thing with you too.

  FanQs.doc

  Yo,

  I have no choice but to respond to this. Why? Because it ‘s funny. Never underestimate the power of funny. It moves mountains.

  From Jess:

  FANG.

  I’ve commented your blog with my questions for THREE YEARS. You answer other people’s STUPID questions but not MINE. YOU REALLY ASKED FOR IT, BUDDY. I’m just gonna comment with this until you answer at least one of my questions.

  DO YOU HAVE A JAMAICAN ACCENT?

  No, mon.

  DO YOU MOLT?

  Gross.

  WHAT’S YOUR STAR SIGN?

  Don’t know. “Angel, what’s my star sign?” She says Scorpio.

  HAVE YOU TOLD JEB I LOVE HIM YET?

  No.

  DOES NOT HAVING A POWER MAKE YOU ANGRY?

  Well, that’s not really true….

  DO YOU KNOW HOW TO DO THE SOUL JA BOY?

  Can you see me doing the Soulja Boy?

  DOES IGGY KNOW HOW TO DO THE SOUL JA BOY?

  Gazzy does.

  DO YOU USE HAIR PRODUCTS?

  No. Again, no.

  DO YOU USE PRODUCTS ON YOUR FEATHERS?

  I don’t know that they make bird kid feather products yet.

  WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE MOVIE?

  There are a bunch.

  WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SONG?

  I don’t have favorites. They’re too polarizing.

  WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE SMELL?

  Max, when she showers.

  DO THESE QUESTIONS MAKE YOU ANGRY?

  Not really.

  IF I CAME UP TO YOU IN A STREET AND HUGGED YOU, WOULD YOU KILL ME?

  You might get kicked. But I’m used to people wanting me dead, so.

  DO YOU SECRETLY WANT TO BE HUGGED?

  Doesn’t everybody?

  ARE YOU GOING EMO ’CAUSE ANGEL IS STEALING EVERYONE’S POWERS (INCLUDING YOURS)?

  Not the emo thing again.

  WHAT’S YOUR FAVORITE FOOD?

  Anything
hot and delicious and brought to me by Iggy.

  WHAT DID YOU HAVE FOR BREAKFAST THIS MORNING?

  Three eggs, over easy. Bacon. More bacon. Toast.

  DID YOU EVEN HAVE BREAKFAST THIS MORNING?

  See above.

  DID YOU DIE INSIDE WHEN MAX CHOSE ARI OVER YOU?

  Dudes don’t die inside.

  DO YOU LIKE MAX?

  Duh.

  DO YOU LIKE ME?

  I think you’re funny.

  DOES IGGY LIKE ME?

  Sure.

  DO YOU WRITE DEPRESSING POETRY?

  No.

  IS IT ABOUT MAX?

  Ahh. No.

  IS IT ABOUT ARI?

  Why do you assume I write depressing poetry?

  IS IT ABOUT JEB?

  Ahh.

  ARE YOU GOING TO BLOCK THIS COMMENT?

  Clearly, no.

  WHAT ARE YOU WEARING?

  A Dirty Projectors T-shirt. Jeans.

  DO YOU WEAR BOXERS OR BRIEFS?

  No freaking comment.

  DO YOU FIND THIS COMMENT PERSONAL?

  Could I not find that comment personal?

  DO YOU WEAR SUNGL ASSES?

  Yes, cheap ones.

  DO YOU WEAR YOUR SUNGL ASSES AT NIGHT?

  That would make it hard to see.

  DO YOU SMOKE APPLES, LIKE US?

  Huh?

  DO YOU PREFER BLONDES OR BRUNET TES?

  Whatever.

  DO YOU LIKE VAMPIRES OR WEREWOLVES?

  Fanged creatures rock.

  ARE YOU GAY AND JUST PRETENDING TO BE STRAIGHT BY KISSING LISSA?

  Uhh …

  WERE YOU EXPERIMENTING WITH YOUR SEXUALIT Y?

  Uhh…

  WOULD YOU TELL US IF YOU WERE GAY?

  Yes.

  DO YOU SECRETLY LIKE IT WHEN PEOPLE CALL YOU EMO?

  No.

  ARE YOU EMO?

  Whatever.

  DO YOU LIKE EGGS?

  Yes. I had them for breakfast.

  DO YOU LIKE EATING THINGS?

  I love eating. I list it as a hobby.

  DO YOU SECRETLY THINK YOU’RE THE SEXIEST PERSON IN THE WHOLE WORLD?

  Do you secretly think I’m the sexiest person in the whole world?

  DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRT Y THOUGHTS ABOUT MAX?

  Eeek!

  HAS ANGEL EVER READ YOUR MIND WHEN YOU WERE HAVING DIRT Y THOUGHTS ABOUT MAX AND GONE “OMG” AND YOU WERE LIKE “D:”?

  hahahahahahahahahahah DO YOU LIKE SPONGEBOB? He’s okay, I guess.

  DO YOU EVER HAVE DIRT Y THOUGHTS ABOUT SPONGEBOB?

  Definitely.

  CAN YOU COOK?

  Iggy cooks.

  DO YOU LIKE TO COOK?

  I like to eat.

  ARE YOU, LIKE, A HOUSEWIFE?

  How on earth could I be like a housewife?

  DO YOU SECRETLY HAVE INNER TURMOIL?

  Isn’t it obvious?

  DO YOU WANT TO BE UNDA DA SEA?

  I’m unda da stars.

  DO YOU THINK IT’S NOT TOO LATE, IT’S NEVER TOO L ATE?

  Sure.

  WHERE DID YOU LEARN TO PLAY POKER?

  TV.

  DO YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE?

  Totally.

  OF COURSE YOU HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE. DOES IGGY HAVE A GOOD POKER FACE?

  Yes.

  CAN HE EVEN PL AY POKER?

  Iggy beats me sometimes.

  FanQs.doc DO YOU LIKE POKING PEOPLE, HARD?

  Not really.

  ARE YOU FANGALICIOUS?

  I could never be as fangalicious as you’d want me to be.

  Fly on,

  Fang

  Dearmaxdraft.doc

  Dear Max—

  You looked so beautiful today. I’m going to remember what you looked like forever. And I hope you remember me the same way—clean, ha-ha. I’m glad our last time together was happy.

  But I’m leaving tonight, leaving the flock, and this time it’s for good. I don’t know if I’ll ever see any of you again. The thing is, Max, that everyone is a little bit right. Added up all together, it makes this one big right.

  Dylan’s a little bit right about how my being here might be putting the rest of you in danger. The threat might have been just about Dr. Hans, but we don’t know that for sure. Angel is a little bit right about how splitting up the flock will help all of us survive. And the rest of the flock is a little bit right about how when you and I are together, we’re focused on each other—we can’t help it.

  Jeb and Dr. Hans are even a little bit right. Jeb with his weird way of showing up at the most random times—with the most random but kinda relevant advice. Dr. Hans about mutants being the way of the future and about how we should learn about ourselves. Not that I want to be injected with anything, ever. But the world is changing, and there are others of us out there. I can’t tell you how I know. But I do. And how we save the world, that’s a huge question. It’s complicated, Max. It’s so very large.

  The thing is, Maximum, I love you. I can’t help but be focused on you when we’re together. If you’re in the room, I want to be next to you. If you’re gone, I think about you. You’re who I want to talk to. In a fight, I want you at my back. When we’re together, the sun is shining. When we’re apart, everything is in shades of gray.