I cursed to myself the whole way to San Diego. We got there in the late afternoon. Fang had called again and said to meet him at the hotel restaurant. This news was met with loud cheers, since of course everyone was starving.
When we got there, I did something completely out of character: I stopped off at the ladies’ room, yanked a brush through my snarls, washed my hands and face, and put on a relatively clean shirt from my backpack. When I came out, six pairs of eyes were staring at me like I’d turned into a porcupine.
“What?” I snapped defensively.
“You look fine,” said Nudge, giving me a little smile.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said frostily.
I didn’t know what I expected to see—I guess the same old Fang I’d always known, the one with the scruffy hair and dark clothes. The one with the crooked smile and midnight eyes. The one who’d broken my heart so, so badly.
I scanned the restaurant quickly, doing an automatic three-sixty, in case, I don’t know, some Erasers or Flyboys or Dumb-bots hadn’t gotten the memo that they’d been retired. Instead, I saw a tall, dark figure standing up, looking right at me. I clenched my teeth, tried to look expressionless, and led the flock over.
Then I saw that he wasn’t alone. Four teenagers were sitting at his table, watching us alertly. These were probably members of the Fang Fan Club—
“Max,” Fang said, reaching a hand out to me, then changing his mind and letting it drop to his side. “Thanks for coming.” We looked into each other’s eyes for a long minute, as if trying to peer into each other’s brains, trying to read the subtext and the unspoken words. Then an irritated cough came from behind me, and Fang’s eyes shot over to Dylan. A tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkle appeared between Fang’s dark brows.
“Dylan,” he said evenly. “I see you’re still hanging around.”
“Yep,” Dylan said.
“Hey, guys,” Fang said to the rest of them, his face softening. “Thanks for coming.”
I felt the others hesitating, so I turned and forced a smile at Nudge and Angel. “It’s okay,” I said. “You can hug him, or whatever.”
Then I plopped down in an empty chair and studied his new group, our replacements. There was a tiny, blond, cold-looking girl; a really pretty Asian girl with hair I’d kill for—and I’m not even that girly; a guy with headphones and some sweet sunglasses; and a scrawny kid who looked friendly, if a little beat up. Only one person was missing.
“Max,” my voice said from behind me. I spun around only to see myself looking down at me with a slight sneer I knew all too well. “Gee, I haven’t seen you since you tried to kill me,” she said. Her smile was snarky, and I saw a couple of Fang’s gang straighten in their seats.
The not-too-surprising thing was that Dylan was studying Max II, then me, while Fang glared at Dylan. Max II kept her eyes locked on mine.
This was going to be interesting.
52
IF BY “INTERESTING” I meant uncomfortable, awkward, infuriating, and horrible… then, yes, it was going to be most interesting.
I met Max II’s eyes coolly. “I distinctly remember totally not trying to kill you.”
I just couldn’t believe it. I’d been so miserable since Fang had left, crying in the shower, crying up in trees, not sleeping, losing weight… so pathetic that they’d made me go to my mom’s house—and in the meantime, Fang had quickly replaced us, gotten a haircut, and bought some new clothes. He looked perfectly fine. I clenched my fists under the table. Plus, he’d totally replaced me with me. It was so unfair.
“Anyway,” I said. “Give me the scoop. And a menu.”
Over the next half hour, Fang told us all the stuff they’d found out about the Doomsday Group, about the rally and Beth and the One Light. We told them about how DG fever was sweeping Arizona, how fast it was spreading. I also told him about seeing the weird computer guy out in the middle of the desert. Fang frowned.
“So basically, these people are talking mass destruction,” said Dylan. “They’ve managed to alter who knows how many people”—he gestured to Fang’s gang—“and to brainwash even more. But where did they come from?”
“We don’t know,” Fang said curtly, not looking at him. “That’s what we’ve been saying.”
I saw Dylan’s jaw set. “Yeah? Is that what you’ve been saying? I must have missed that part. I thought you were still comparing pointless details.”
Hey, wait a minute! Digging Fang was supposed to be my job…
“We’re here to make a difference,” Dylan continned. “So let’s get to the point. The mission.”
Fang’s eyes flashed, and the energy that passed between him and Dylan could have made a hot dog sizzle. Gosh, guys are so cute, with that alpha male stuff. It’s adorable!
“I agree,” Max II jumped in, and somehow I felt like she was trespassing on my territory. “The question is, are we gonna join forces?”
“Yeah, Max,” I said snidely. “That’s a good idea. Put our two happy little families together. Then sit back and watch the fireworks.”
She looked at me matter-of-factly. “My name isn’t Max. It’s Maya.”
“Maya? You’re kidding, right?” Now, I’m not saying I’m not usually obnoxious, ’cause, actually, I admit that I usually am. But I don’t think I’m usually this obnoxious. At least, not to someone who wasn’t a whitecoat or some other misguided, controlling grown-up.
Max/Maya blushed, and I could tell she was clenching her fists under the table. “Shut up,” she said. “Who asked you?”
I stood up so fast my chair tipped backward. The other Max—I mean, Maya—stood up fast too. I was ready to punch someone’s lights out.
“Catfight!” The guy wearing the shades snickered, and the icy blond girl elbowed him in the ribs, but she was smiling.
Dylan pushed back his chair, watching us carefully. Gazzy paused, his fork halfway to his mouth, as if gauging how many bites he could take before a battle broke out.
“Max,” Fang said firmly, “we’re not going to do this. Not here, not now.”
Dylan frowned. “Don’t tell her what to do! This is all your fault anyway!”
Fang looked at Dylan as angrily as I looked at Maya.
“Come on, Max,” Fang said, throwing down his napkin. “Let’s take this outside. You and me. It’s time to settle this.”
“Fine,” I said, turning and stomping to the door. It was about time.
53
THE SMALL PARK next to the hotel was practically empty, and I quickly found a place to take off. I soared into the sky, my heart racing with adrenaline. I was so hyped-up and flooded with emotion that it felt fantastic to burn off some energy, heat dissipating through my wings. My strong primary and secondary feathers made effortless adjustments as I banked and turned, and within a minute I was a couple thousand feet up in the sky, in the wild blue yonder, as they say, where there was no sound except the wind rushing past my ears, nothing in my way, nothing holding me back.
I didn’t even turn to see if Fang was following me. I figured he’d probably stayed behind with his new little wingless gang. I was so angry and hurt and upset that I didn’t know what to say to him. We’d had arguments before, of course, and knockdown, drag-out fights, but not too much recently. Not since we’d—