“Yeah.” Sam looked like he wanted to kiss me again, but his sister tapped the horn once more. Looking regretful, he went down the steps and across the dark driveway. “Talk to you tomorrow,” he called back over his shoulder.
“Yeah.”
They drove off, leaving me alone with feelings I didn’t even have words for.
73
Anne was waiting for me inside. “How was it?” she asked, standing up and smiling.
“Fine,” I said. “Well, good night.” I kept walking and went up the stairs. I wasn’t trying to be rude, not that that usually bothers me, but I just couldn’t talk to her about anything that mattered. I went up to my room and sat on my bed, reliving the last ten minutes.
My door opened slightly, and Fang put his head around it. He came in holding one hand over his eyes. “Whoa,” he said. “Your happy glow. It’s blinding.”
I rolled my eyes at him, then pulled off my hoodie. I wiggled my shoulders and let my wings untuck a little bit. Ahh. That felt better. I’d been holding them in tight all night. I wondered if Sam had felt them at all. He hadn’t screamed or looked horrified, so I guessed not.
Fang shut the door. “They wanted to stay up to wait for you, but Anne made them go to bed.”
“Good thinking on Anne’s part,” I said.
“So? How was it?” Fang leaned against my desk and crossed his arms over his chest. I heard something in his voice and looked up at his face. As usual, he looked completely impassive, but I knew him so well that I could read the almost indiscernible twitch of his jaw muscle, the slight tightening around his eyes.
“I saw him—what’s the phrase? oh, yeah—‘stuck to you like glue.’ So I guess you got along all right.” Fang waited as I tried to figure out what was going through his head.
“Yeah,” I said finally. “There’s a lot of that going around.”
He looked a little embarrassed, and I kicked off my sneakers. Fang sat down next to me, leaning against my headboard. “So you like him. I don’t have to kill him.” His voice was tense.
I shrugged. “Yeah. He was really nice. We had a good time.”
“But . . . ?”
I rubbed my temples with my hands. “But so what? He could be the nicest guy in the world, but it doesn’t change anything. I’m still a mutant freak. We’re still in a situation I hate more every day. We can’t trust anyone. We can’t solve the code mystery. We can’t find our parents—not that it would help if we did.”
Fang was quiet.
“I saw Ari tonight,” I said, and his head came up. “He was standing outside the ice cream shop. He smiled at me. And there was someone with him. . . .” I paused, thinking back to that flash of blond hair. “I saw—” Then it hit me. I’d thought I’d seen my reflection in the window. But I hadn’t.
I turned slowly and looked at Fang. “Ari had me with him. There was a me outside the window.” My stomach took a dive.
Fang blinked: his version of complete astonishment.
“I saw a flash of blond-streaked hair in the van that day they attacked us,” I said. “And tonight I saw that same hair, outside with Ari. I thought it was my own reflection in the window. But it wasn’t a reflection. It was a me.”
He didn’t bother asking me if I was sure. He knew he didn’t have to.
“Holy crap,” he said, trying to process this. “A Max on the dark side. Pretty much the worst thing I can think of. Jesus. Another Max. A bad Max. Crap.”
“That’s not all,” I said slowly. “You know how I said if I went bad, I’d want you to—do anything you had to, to keep the others safe?”
&nbs
p; He looked at me warily. “Yeah.”
“The reason I asked about that . . .” I took a deep breath and looked away. “A couple times, when I’ve looked into a mirror, I’ve—seen myself morph. Into an Eraser.”
Fang didn’t say anything.
“I touch my face, and it feels just the same. Human, smooth. But the mirror shows me as an Eraser.” I looked down. I couldn’t believe I was admitting this out loud.