Fang (Maximum Ride 6)

“Go jump!” I yelled at him. “How dare you judge me! You’re the one who left us all on our own, when we were much younger than this! You butthead!”

“Let bygones be bygones, Max. I know we’ve had our differences, but we should put them behind us — for the good of the flock.” He gestured to the disaster before us. “This clearly isn’t working. You need help. I think I should come back and live here. I should take up where I left off.”

“Forget it!” I told him in my best voice of authority. “There is no freaking way you will ever live in this house like one of us. I wouldn’t trust you if you were the last life raft leaving the Titanic!”

“You haven’t done much better,” Jeb said. “Look at this place! Not to mention how the other kids are feeling so alienated by you and Fang now that you seem to have become your own cozy flock of two.”

My face went red. No snappy comeback for that one.

“We never intended for that to happen,” Jeb said — like “they” had made a whole flowchart of our lives before we were even born. That was the last straw.

“Guess what? You don’t get to intend squat to happen in my life, ever again!” I shouted. “You don’t get to pick out what freaking socks I wear, much less anything else!”

Jeb glared at me. “You’re not making good decisions, Max,” he said with quiet intensity. “You’re being run by your heart, not your head. That isn’t how I brought you up.”

I thought my chest was going to explode. “You brought me up in a dog crate,” I said, trying not to shriek. “Those days are over. Forever.”

40

I HAD NIGHTMARES THAT NIGHT. I dreamed that I slapped Angel, hard, and her head split open — then her face peeled aside to reveal Mr. Chu, my old nemesis. I dreamed that Fang and I were dressed up and walking down an aisle in a church, but when I turned to look at him, he had the head of an Eraser. I dreamed that Ivory boy Dylan had disgusting boils on his face. Eew. I guess my subconscious was trying to make an oh, so subtle point: People aren’t always what they seem.

It was late morning when I finally woke, feeling almost as if I’d been drugged. The amount of sun coming in the window told me it was almost lunchtime. I padded down the hall, the smell of smoke and charred couch becoming stronger. When I reached the living room, I stopped in surprise.

It was almost empty. All the ruined furniture was gone. The water had been mopped up. Nudge was on a step stool, spraying the sooty ceiling with cleaner. Without a word, I went into the kitchen for some chow.

Gazzy and Iggy followed me in, carrying dirty dishes and a pile of dirty clothes. Iggy dropped the clothes by the washing machine. When did these guys get so industrious?

“What’s all that?” I asked.

“I told them to clean up their pigsty,” Angel said.

“Gaz, put those dishes in the sink. Iggy, start a load of laundry. Some of your clothes have mold on them.”

Was I still having a nightmare? Since when did Angel give orders?

I opened the fridge, but it was empty. I looked around and saw a couple empty cereal boxes, an empty bread wrapper.

“Are we all out of food?” I asked.

“Yeah,” said Angel, tapping a piece of paper with a pencil. “I’ve been making a list. Jeb said he’d stop at a store on the way back from the dump.”

“Bless his heart,” I said sourly. “But I’ve always provided the food for this flock. You’re all acting like I’m not even here or something.” I felt the first prickles of tears starting in the backs of my eyes.

Go figure: I didn’t cry when I had my ribs broken, but the flock taking care of themselves made me weepy. Angel stared at me.

“Give me the list,” I said, trying not to rip it out of her hands. “I’ll deal with it. It’ll be faster, anyway.” Angel pushed the paper over to me. I poured a cup of coffee and sauntered out to the deck.

My chest constricted when I saw Jeb down below. He had a pickup truck with an open-bed trailer hitched to it. Fang was on the trailer, tying down all the ruined, sodden furniture.

Dylan was on the ground, shaking water off books and tossing them into the truck bed. He and Fang were careful not to look at each other.

“Get that lamp, Dylan,” Jeb commanded, checking the hitch of the trailer. Dylan nodded and placed a lamp on top of an armchair. “The dump said they’d take anything.” “Oh, really?” I called down to him. “Do they take reject mutants and scientists too?” It was mean, but Jeb and Dylan didn’t seem to be getting it.

They were not our family.

I grabbed my jacket inside and jumped out the front door, over the canyon.

41