“And Celeste really likes it too,” Angel added.
“The thing is, Angel,” I said, “I’m not sure how practical tutus are-given how much we’re on the run and all.”
She looked at the tutu and frowned. “I guess.”
“We ready?” Iggy asked with a touch of impatience. “Not that I don’t adore shopping.”
“You look like you stuck your finger in a light socket,” the Gasman said.
Iggy’s strawberry-blond hair was spiked like Gazzy’s and tipped with black on the ends.
“Really?” Iggy asked. “Cool!” He’d gotten his ear pierced before I’d noticed: His thin gold wire loop was the only thing I’d had to pay for.
We walked out into the late afternoon. I felt free and happy, even though the Institute was on hold at the moment. I bet not even Jeb would recognize me.
My stylist had picked up my long braid and simply whacked it off. Now my hair floated in feathery layers. No more hair getting in my eyes when I flew. No spitting wisps out of my mouth in the middle of an escape.
Not only that, but they’d streaked it with chunky strands of hot pink and, despite my protest, gone to town with makeup. So now I looked both totally different and about twenty years old. Being five-eight helped.
“There’s a little park up here,” Fang said, pointing.
I nodded. It would be darker than the street, and we’d have enough room to take off. Five minutes later, we were rising above the city, leaving the lights and noise and energy behind. It felt fabulous to stretch my wings out, stroking hard, feeling so much faster and smoother and cooler than I did on the ground.
Just for fun I flew in huge, banking arcs, taking deep breaths, enjoying the feel of my newly weightless hair. The stylist had called it “wind-tossed.”
If only she knew.
111
Up this high, I could clearly see the outline of Manhattan. Right across the East River was Long Island, which was much, much bigger than New York City. We flew above its coast as the sun went down, barely able to see the curly ridges of white-capped waves breaking along the shore.
After an hour and a half, we saw a long stretch of black beach with few lights, which meant few people. Fang nodded at me, and we aimed downward, enjoying the heady rush of losing altitude. Roller coasters had nothing on us.
“Looks good,” Fang said, scoping out the beach after we landed on the soft sand. It was undeveloped, with no attached parking lots. Huge boulders sealed off both ends, so it seemed even safer. Plus, other large boulders formed a natural outcropping that created a bit of shelter maybe thirty yards inland.
“Home, sweet home,” I said drily, taking off my new backpack.
I rummaged in it for food, passed out what we had, and sank down on a large chunk of driftwood. Twenty minutes later, we stacked fists, tapped, and then curled up in the sand beneath the outcropping.
I winced slightly as the Voice drifted into my head. Time to learn, it said.
Then I was pulled into unconsciousness as if getting dragged beneath a wave. Dimly, I heard bits of foreign languages that I didn’t understand, and the Voice said, This is on a need-to-know basis, Max. You need to know.
112
The ocean. Another new and incredible experience. We’d grown up in lab cages until four years ago, when Jeb had stolen us. Then we’d been in hiding, avoiding new experiences at all costs.
Now we were doing something different every day. It was a trip.
“A crab!” the Gasman yelled, pointing at the surf by his feet. Angel ran over to see, holding Celeste so her back paws barely touched the water.
“Cookie?” Iggy asked, holding out a bag.
“Don’t mind if I do,” I said. This morning I had toned down my appearance a tad, then Nudge and I had hit the closest town. We’d stocked up on supplies at a mom-and-pop store that sold their own fresh homemade cookies.
My mission, and I chose to accept it, was to find chocolate-chip cookies as good as the ones I’d made with Ella and her mom. So I’d brought back a couple dozen.
I took a bite of cookie and chewed. “Hmm,” I said, trying not to spit crumbs. “Clear vanilla notes, too-sweet chocolate chips, distinct flavor of brown sugar. A decent cookie, not spectacular. Still, a good-hearted cookie, not pretentious.” I turned to Fang. “What say you?”
“It’s fine.”
Some people just don’t have what it takes to appreciate a cookie.
“I give them a seven out of ten,” I pressed on dutifully. “Though warm from the oven, they lack a certain je ne sais quoi. My mission will continue.”
Iggy laughed and rummaged in a bag for an apple.
Nudge ran up, her clothes wet past her knees. “This place is so cool,” she said. “I love the ocean! I want to be a scientist who studies the ocean when I grow up. I would go out to sea, and scuba dive, and find new things, and National Geographic will hire me.”
Sure, Nudge. Probably around the same time I become president.
Nudge ran back to the water, and Iggy got up and ambled after her.
“They’re happy here,” Fang said, looking at them.
I nodded. “What’s not to like? Fresh air, peace and quiet, the ocean. Too bad we can’t stay here.”
Fang was quiet for a moment. “What if we were safe here?” he asked. “Like, we just knew no one would come hassle us. Would you want to stay?”
I was surprised. “We have to find the Institute,” I said. “And if we find out anything, the others will want to track down their parents. And then, do we find Jeb and confront him? And who’s the Director? Why did they do this to us? Why do they keep telling me I’m supposed to save the world?”
Fang held up his hand, and I realized my voice had been rising.
“What if,” Fang said slowly, not looking at me, “what if we just forgot about all that?”
My jaw dropped open. You live with someone your whole life, you think you know them, and then they go and drop a bomb like this. “What are you-” I started to say, but then the Gasman ran up with a live hermit crab, which he plopped in my lap, and then Angel wanted lunch. I didn’t have a chance to grab Fang’s shoulders and yell, “Who are you and what have you done with the real Fang?”
Maybe later.
113
The next morning, Fang came back from town and placed the New York Post at my feet with a little bow. I flipped through the paper. On page six, I saw “Mysterious Bird-Children Nowhere to Be Found.”
“Well, good for us,” I said. “We’ve gone two days without causing a huge commotion in a public place and getting our pictures splashed all over the news.”
“We’re going swimming!” Nudge said, tapping Iggy’s hand twice. He got up and followed her, Angel, and Gazzy down to the water.
The sun was shining, and though the ocean was still pretty cold, it didn’t bother them. I was glad they were having this little vacation, where they could just have fun and eat and swim without stressing out about everything.
I was still stressing, of course.
Next to me, Fang read the paper, absently working his way through a can of peanuts. I watched the younger kids playing in the water. Iggy started a sand castle, built by touch, just out of reach of the waves.
How come the Erasers hadn’t found us yet? Sometimes they tracked us so easily, and other times, like now, we seemed to be truly hidden. Did I have a homing signal in my implanted chip or not? If I did, why weren’t the Erasers here by now? It was like they were just toying with us, keeping us on our toes, like a game…
Like a game. Like a freaking game.
Just like Jeb had said back at the School. Just like the Voice kept telling me, that everything was a game, that you learn through playing, that everything, every single thing, was a test.