15
“YOU GUYS ARE TALKING about us like we’re not even here. You’re sitting there deciding our fate without even asking us,” I said.
“Maximum, while children are often encouraged to express a preference, typically, responsible adults determine what’s best for them. Children just don’t have the life experience or education to understand the big picture.” The silver-haired senator gave me a reassuring smile, which, call me paranoid, I didn’t find at all reassuring.
A teen magazine would have encouraged me to get in touch with my inner feelings. So I searched deep within myself and realized that my inner feelings were telling me to punch all of them in the face. Which is why teen magazines just don’t seem to apply to my life.
“Life experience?” I repeated tightly. “Big picture? I’ve had more life experience in fourteen years than you’ve had in — what are you, like, a hundred?”
The senator’s face started turning pink.
“You’re the ones who don’t have the life experience,” I said. “Have you ever woken up with your mouth duct-taped shut, not knowing where you are or where your family is? Are you afraid of everything and everyone? Have you foraged for food in Dumpsters? Do you sleep with one eye open because at any second someone might try to kill you? Have you ever opened a pizza box only to find a bomb? You guys don’t have any idea.”
Some of the committee members looked horrified, and I wondered just how complete their files were.
“Angel’s only six,” I went on. “But ten bucks says she’s been in more fights to the death than any of you. You guys have unreal ideas about us that you wish were true. The kids you designed this school for are probably clean, polite, grateful, agreeable. Sadly, that isn’t us.”
The flock stood up around me, and I guessed they were all making their toughest faces, the ones that crack me up ’cause they’re so cute. But this committee wouldn’t know that.
“We don’t need to be ‘rehabilitated,’ ” I went on. “We’re survivors, and that pretty much cancels out good manners or patience or a burning desire to please. Your fancy school, your plans — none of that has anything to do with us, the real us. You go on and have fun spinning your wheels. But include us out.”
I rose and stalked past the line of grown-ups trying to figure out snappy comebacks. Good luck with that, I thought. I burst out the heavy door, ready to slug anyone who tried to stop me. But no one did, and I glanced back quickly to see the flock, Total, my mom, and Jeb all hurrying behind me. At the end of the hallway was another conference room. It had huge windows, some of which were cranked open for cleaning or something.
Without thinking, without planning — in other words, in true Max style — I gave my mom a fast, hard hug, put on my jacket, then stepped to the window and jumped out. I thought I heard her gasp, but the sound was torn away by the air rushing past me as I snapped my wings open. Then I was aloft, held securely by the air, supported and cradled by the atmosphere. I couldn’t help smiling, pulling cold air into my lungs, feeling free.
“Where are we going, Max?” Gazzy called. My flock was sailing powerfully alongside me, all looking as happy and relieved as I felt.
“Does it matter?” I called back, and he shook his head.
“Didn’t think so,” I said to myself, and surged upward.
16
“LOOK, THE PENTAGON!” Gazzy said suddenly, pointing. He wheeled into a tight left turn and headed for it. “I always wanted to see it!”
“Me too!” said Iggy sarcastically, already flying after Gazzy.
“Yeah, you can touch it and feel that it’s white,” I said.
The rest of us turned to follow them, and it felt good to see how happy everyone was to be flying.
“Dive-bomb!” Gazzy cried, tucking in his wings and angling downward toward the Pentagon.
“No, Gazzy, don’t!” I yelled after him. “It’s a government building! They’re even more paranoid than we are!”
Cackling maniacally, Gazzy swooped down to within fifty feet of the Pentagon’s roof, then tucked into a fast flip and aimed upward again. The six of us soared and tilted and raced, remembering the tricks we’d learned from the hawks and the bats, performing split-second formations and upside-down turns like the kind swimmers make at the end of the pool.
“Okay,” I called finally. “Let’s head out —”
The air was filled with a roar, and I turned my head to see two jets streaking toward us, their pointy noses looking mean.
“What’s wrong with them?” Nudge cried, rushing closer to me.
“We violated the Pentagon’s airspace,” Fang guessed as the jets roared closer at incredible speed.
Total, in Fang’s arms, nodded. “I should have stopped you! I, at least, should have known better!”
“Let’s get out of here!” I yelled, and we turned as fast as we could, heading away from the Pentagon. I didn’t know how determined those jets were, and I didn’t know who had scrambled them. Had they been sent automatically to eliminate anything over the Pentagon’s airspace? Had the Surprise Mutant Solution Committee not taken no for an answer?