Nudge’s jaw dropped.
“And if Max is late because she’s busy, then our going to her won’t speed things up—she’ll come when she’s good and ready. So for right now, we do a general look-see. But we’re not going all the way back.”
Nudge heard Max’s voice in her head: Think before you speak. So she shut her mouth and thought. She had no idea how Fang could not get Max, even if it meant they might get captured or hurt themselves. They all might get captured or hurt saving Angel, right? Why was Max different from Angel? Max was more important than Angel, Nudge thought, feeling guilty. Max took care of them, helped run their whole lives.
She snuck a look at Fang. Fang was good, if not very warm or huggy. He was strong and handsome and capable. But would he stick around to take care of everyone if there were no Max? Or would he take off and go live by himself somewhere and not be bothered with them? Nudge didn’t know what Fang was really thinking.
Suddenly, Nudge was brushing tears out of her eyes, swallowing down the lump in her throat, feeling her nose clog up. Oh, God. She couldn’t bear it without Max. Blinking, she tried to clear her vision, tried to think about something else. She saw a white truck down below and focused on it, forcing herself to wonder what it was carrying, where it was coming from. Like any of it mattered.
She drew in deep breaths and held them, refusing to cry in front of Fang. She might have to start being very strong, very soon. She might as well practice now.
The truck headed toward an intersection that had signs marking a junction. Nudge blinked and looked as the signs became clear
and she could read them. One said, California Welcome Center, 18 miles. One said, Las Vegas, North, 98 miles. One said, Tipisco, 3 miles.
Tipisco! Tipisco, Arizona! Where Nudge was from! Where her parents had been! Oh, God—could she still find her parents? Would they want her back? Had they missed her so much all these years?
“Fang!” she shouted, already beginning the descent. “It’s Tipisco, down below! I’m going there!”
“No way, Nudge,” Fang said, flying closer to her. “Don’t get sidetracked now. Stay with me.”
“No!” said Nudge, feeling daring and desperate and brave. She hunched her shoulders and tucked her head down, feeling herself lose altitude. “I have to go find my parents! If Max is gone, I’m going to need someone.”
Fang’s dark eyes widened in surprise. “What? Nudge, you’re crazy. Come on, let’s talk about it. Let’s find a place, take a break.”
“No!” said Nudge, tears coming to her eyes again. “I’m going down—and you can’t stop me!”
39
“We’re pretty safe, unless the Erasers catch our scent,” the Gasman whispered to Iggy. The two of them were tucked inside a narrow fissure in the side of a cliff, up high. Scraggly bushes obscured the opening. The Erasers would have to rock climb to get them, or use the chopper.
Iggy kicked back and rested his hands on his knees. “Well, this is a total suckfest,” he said grumpily. “I thought with those two Erasers taking dirt naps, we’d be free and clear, at least for a while. They must have sent for backup even before they attacked the cabin.”
The Gasman ground dust between his fingertips. “At least we took two of them out.” He wondered if Iggy felt as weird and bad about it as he did. He couldn’t tell.
“Yeah, but what now? We’re kinda all dressed up with no place to go,” Iggy said. “There’s no way we can go home—they’re probably everywhere. What are we supposed to do with ourselves? And what if Max and the others come back just to fly into an ambush?”
“I don’t know,” the Gasman said in frustration. “I hadn’t thought beyond just blowing them the heck up. Maybe you should come up with a plan.”
The two boys sat in the semidarkness of the fissure, breathing the stale air. The Gasman’s stomach rumbled.
“Tell me about it,” Iggy said, resting his head on his knees.
“Okay, okay,” the Gasman said suddenly. “I have an idea. It’s risky, and Max will kill us when she finds out.”
Iggy raised his head. “Sounds like my kind of idea.”
40
Never in my fourteen looong years have I felt the slightest bit normal—except for my day with Ella and her mom, Dr. Martinez.
First, we ate a real breakfast together, around the kitchen table. On plates, with forks and knives and napkins. Instead of, like, a hot dog stuck on a barbecue fork, burned black over an open flame, then eaten right off the fork. Or cereal with no milk. Or peanut butter off a knife. Beanie weenies from the can.
Then Ella had to go to school. I was worried about the jerks from before, but she said her teacher was good at keeping kids in line, and so was the school bus driver. A real school bus! Like on TV shows.
So it was me and Dr. Martinez. “So, Max,” she said as she unloaded the dishwasher.
I tensed.