“Yes, ma’am,” Fang said sweetly.
Yeah, him and all his split personalities, I thought. I turned back to Nudge.
“Okay,” I said, reaching deep into my well of leaderly patience. “But you still need lots of protein.?
??
Iggy ordered the same thing as Fang, and I paid for him. Fang waited for him to get his food and unobtrusively led him to the most private booth.
“Um, let’s see,” I said, stepping up. “Could I have two fried-chicken sandwiches, two double cheeseburgers, four fries, six apple pies, two vanilla shakes, one strawberry shake, and then two triple cheeseburgers, only hold the hamburger?”
“You mean, just cheese on the bun? No meat?”
“Yes. That would be great.” I looked over at Nudge, who nodded.
I was about to faint from hunger, and smelling all the food was killing me. Standing beside me, the Gasman was shifting from foot to foot, looking eager. It seemed like a lifetime before we got our three loaded trays, paid, and joined Fang and Iggy in the back.
Another glance around showed happy families, kids blowing straw wrappers, women talking together, teens hanging out. I sat down warily, and Nudge slid in next to me. The Gasman squeezed in next to her.
Am I tough? Am I strong? Am I hard-core? Absolutely.
Did I whimper with pathetic delight when I sank my teeth into my hot fried-chicken sandwich? You betcha.
Nudge was tearing into her cheese bun things, Fang was on his second burger, Iggy could hardly breathe through all the food in his mouth, and the Gasman was wolfing fries by the fistful. We probably looked like starving orphan children. Hey! We were starving orphan children. For several minutes all you could hear were disgusting chomping noises. I had a sudden flashback to the fun, civilized meals with Ella and her mom, where we used napkins and good manners and talked about normal things.
Great. Now I was choking up and having trouble swallowing.
I’m not sure when it happened, but slowly I became aware that my neck muscles were tensing. I glanced at Fang, who was looking at me sideways while he ate his french fries. I knew that look.
Acting trés casual, I glanced around again. The couple of families who’d been sitting close by were gone. Now it looked as if a bunch of male models had suddenly gotten the munchies. They were surrounding us, tables of them.
All good-looking, thick-haired guys with big, pretty eyes and the voices of angels.
Oh, man. My stomach dropped like a wheelbarrow full of lead.
57
I gave Fang an almost imperceptible nod and glanced back at the fire exit door behind him. He blinked to show he understood. Then he tapped Iggy’s hand.
“Nudge,” I said under my breath. “Gazzy. Don’t look up. In three seconds, jump over Fang and out that exit door.”
Giving no sign they had heard me, Nudge and Iggy kept chewing. Nudge casually took a sip of her shake. Then, in a burst, she leaped up, sprang off our table, and practically crashed through the fire door. The Gasman was practically glued to her back.
I was so proud of them.
The alarm started clanging, but I was right behind them—and Fang and Iggy were on my heels. We made it to the van before the Erasers were out the door.
Inside, I jammed the key into the ignition and cranked the engine. Erasers were swarming into the parking lot, already starting to become wolflike.
I stomped on the gas and reversed fast, crying out when we felt the thunk of an Eraser being hit. Then I yanked the gear stick into D and we roared over the curb, right through the shrubs that lined the parking lot. The tires squealed as I careened out into traffic, causing a bunch of angry honking from other cars.
I cut right through a gas station on the corner, narrowly avoiding hitting several cars. On the other side, I roared back into traffic.
“Max!” Nudge screamed, but I had seen the semitrailer too, and swerved out of its way at the last second. Behind me, I heard the crunch of metal as the truck scraped a car. Then I was weaving in and out of traffic, wishing I knew how to drive better, wishing we had stolen something besides a van.
“It’s so bulky!” I cried in frustration as we teetered on two wheels again just turning a corner. Okay, turning fast. But still.
“It’s a van,” Fang said, as though blaming me for not stealing a race car.