“Yes,” she said patiently. “You are. You’re the leader, but you’re acting like everyone else’s feelings are more important than your own. Your feelings should be the most important feelings to you.”
“I have to think about what other people feel,” I protested. Especially since I’d been criticized in the past for not caring about other people’s feelings!
“Yes,” Angel agreed. “When it’s a group decision or something that affects all of us. But you don’t when it’s something that’s just about you. You decide how you feel about Fang. You decide how you feel about Dylan. Quit letting everything else get in the way.”
I started to wonder if Angel had been injected with some fancy experimental DNA-type thing that made her sound forty years older than she actually was. And honestly, her face seemed to have lost some of its baby roundness, I noticed, as if in a dream. Her words swirled all around me, like little rays of light clearing paths through my brain.
“Be with one or the other or neither of them,” Angel concluded. “But just do it and quit whining about it.”
I almost said something, then changed my mind. I am not a whiner. I have taken quite a lot without whining. But maybe Angel had a point.
Maybe she had a lot of points.
“The Japanese have an idiom for whining that is translated as ‘vomiting up weakness,’ ” Total said helpfully.
I sat quietly for several moments, thinking, letting my mind sift through the confusion in my brain. When I finally spoke, I felt rock solid for the first time in weeks.
“We all need to fight the Doomsday Group,” I said. “So we need to coordinate our efforts. But, for the most part, it seems to be bad news when Fang and I get together. So the groups should split up, each doing our own thing. But first we’ll make a joint plan. Then we’ll carry out our separate parts.” I looked around. Nudge was nodding, Total was trying to give me a high four, and Fang gave a subtle nod: he agreed.
Dang, growing up was tough.
58
“STEP RIGHT UP and see the amazing superkids!” Fang shouted to the passersby as he shook a tambourine.
Behind him, Kate was juggling a cinder block, a locked safe, and a marble statue.
“Find something too heavy for her to lift!” Fang called. “She’ll juggle anything you bring over!”
Fang had spent the first fourteen and a half years of his existence trying hard not to stand out. He’d developed a habit of extreme stillness that allowed him to blend in with whatever his surroundings were.
So this was not coming naturally to him.
Ratchet was listening in on people’s conversations from ten yards away, then offering to “read their minds” when they came to check out the hubbub.
Star was racing around and sneaking up behind people, catching them unawares. They rubbed their eyes in disbelief.
And Holden? The fast-healing boy was breathing fire. He’d been practicing for almost an hour now and was doing pretty well, having set only two trees ablaze by accident.
“Fang! Check this out!” He took a swig of the flammable liquid and started burping his ABCs—in flame. “Ayyy, Beee, Ceee,” he belched, fire shooting out of his mouth.
A crowd started to form where Fang’s gang was putting on their show, not far from the amazing glass pyramid in the courtyard of one of the world’s most famous museums, the Louvre. As soon as they’d all landed at Paris-Orly airport, Max and the flock had taken off to carry out their part of the plan. Fang’s objective was to bait whatever DG scouts lurked throughout the city. They’d peopled their rally with Gen 77 kids and were probably on the lookout for more. So Fang and his crew were out in public, being as obviously Gen 77 as they could be.
Fang and Maya held hands, ran about twenty feet across the plaza, and launched themselves into the air. They spread their wings wide as people gasped and started taking pictures. While Ratchet and Holden passed the hat down below, Fang and Maya did acrobatic maneuvers, loop-de-loops, somersaults, steep dives, and whatever else they could think of.
By the time they landed, a crowd of at least a hundred people had gathered, taking photos, clapping, and talking excitedly.
“We’ll be here all week!” Fang said, passing the hat. He was amazed at how many people were tossing in euros. They might be able to quit stealing all the time. “Merci! Thank you! Merci!” said Fang, bowing. When he straightened up, a girl about his age stood there smiling at him.
“That was quite a show,” she said in English.
“Thanks,” said Fang.
“I’d like to invite you and your friends to another kind of show,” she said, “the day after tomorrow. At the Place de la Concorde. Do you know it?”
“I’m sure we can find it,” said Fang.
“Excellent,” said the girl. “Here’s a flyer. See you then!”
“Okay, see you then,” said Fang.
After she walked off, he and the gang read the flyer. “Yes!” Fang said. “We did it!”
Let the One Light make your dark days disappear! Join us at the Place de la Concorde and experience the love and acceptance of the One Light. Be part of the solution! We’re going to save the planet! Rejoice!
With love, from your friends at the Doomsday Group
59
“WHY ARE WE HERE?” I asked. “Typically, we don’t do very well in places like this.”
For some reason, we were meeting Fang and his gang at a fabulous restaurant in a superfabulous hotel—the Georges Cinq. It was decked out in a beautiful, opulent, unbirdkid-friendly, gray and gold interior. We usually tear up places like this, which is why I had lobbied for the McBurger on a little side street.
Fang nodded. “I know, but this is everyone’s first visit to Paris. Possibly their last. I wanted to show them something special. Plus we found something that I think—”
“Actually we found something,” I interrupted. “Something major. But let’s get settled first.” I hated how I was acting, trying to one-up him. We didn’t actually have anything real. We’d just overheard something that we couldn’t figure out.
The maître d’ must have been used to rock stars and child actors and other reprobate types, because he didn’t bat an eye as he led us to a long banquet table in an isolated corner. The thirteen of us sat down, all on our best behavior. Total, of course, was thrilled to pieces to be back in Paris, one of the few places on earth so civilized that dogs are allowed in stores and restaurants.
“Oh, my God. I can already smell the vichyssoise,” he rejoiced, inhaling deeply.
“The what?” Gazzy asked, peering at the menu. “Um, this is all in French. I want a burger.”
“Try the boeuf haché,’ ” Maya recommended, and I remembered Angel telling me that Maya had lived mainly in Europe since she’d been liberated from her cage in New York.
“So, what’ve you got?” Fang asked me while we waited for them to bring our drinks.
“Hm?” I asked, keenly aware that Maya was looking at me expectantly. Dylan raised an eyebrow, ready to come to my aid if necessary. “Oh, it’s nothing.” I coughed. “Just… we kept hearing all this stuff about D-day—like, the world ends day, we think—but people were pretty tight-lipped about it, so we don’t know when this whole shebang is going down.”
“Plus, we got a smidge caught up in sightseeing around ol’ Paree,” Total said, oblivious to my sharp glance. “Twelve patisseries, three parks, and four museums.” He put his paws on the table and drank some water from a glass.