Note to self: Show Nudge and Angel how to make choc-chip cookies.
If I ever saw Angel again.
Ella’s mom took the first cookie sheet out of the oven and slid in the second. I could hardly wait for the cookies to cool and, seizing one, took a bite, almost burning my tongue.
Incoherent murmurings of pleasure escaped my lips as I chewed slowly, savoring every bite. Ella and her mom watched me, identical smiles lighting their faces.
“You’d think you’d never tasted homemade cookies before,” Ella said.
“Haven’t,” I mumbled, swallowing. It was the best thing I had ever tasted in my entire life. It tasted like home.
“Well, have another,” said Dr. Martinez.
“I have to take off tomorrow,” I told Ella that night when we were getting ready for bed.
“No!” she said, distressed. “I love having you here. You’re like a cousin. Or my sister.”
Funny how something like that can make you feel worse. “People are depending on me—it’s really important.”
“Will you come back to visit?” she asked. “Ever?”
I looked at her helplessly. It was the first time I had ever connected with a nonflock human being—besides Jeb.
It had been really cool. The best.
Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound. Unlike any other parent I’d ever heard of, she didn’t press for details, didn’t lecture, and believed what I said. She actually accepted me. Like she accepted Ella, for who she was.
It was enough to give me a psychotic break—if I let myself dwell on it.
“Probably not,” I said, hating the hurt look on Ella’s face. “I just—don’t think I’ll be able to. If I ever could, I would, but—”
I turned away and started brushing my teeth. Jeb had always said to think with your brain, not your emotions. He’d been right, as usual. So I put all my feelings in a box and locked it.
47
Nudge still couldn’t accept that Max and the others were dead. It was impossible—she couldn’t deal with it—so she forced herself to think other thoughts.
Nudge guessed it was kind of sad that, right now, this scraped-out shallow ledge in the middle of a desert cliff actually felt cozy and comfortable to her. She lay on her back, feet up against the wall, bruised legs out straight, examining the strata of colors—cream, tan, pink, peach—in the solid rock overhead. The sun out there was hot, but it was cool in here, and breezy.
It just goes to show you, she thought. You think you need all your stuff, your favorite cup, your best blanket, soap, your parents—and then you realize that all you really need is to be where the Erasers can’t get you.
She couldn’t get over Ari. He’d been a little kid the last time she’d seen him. She remembered how he’d seemed to get on Max’s nerves, always following her around. Now he was a full-grown Eraser, the worst of them all. How could that have happened in only four years?
Half an hour ago, she and Fang had heard the very distant chop-chop of a helicopter. They’d pulled as far back into the cave as they could, flattening themselves against the cool back wall. After twenty minutes of silence, Fang had decided it was safe and gone to look for food. She hoped he came back soon.
Their house was burned to cinders. Every one of her friends except Fang was dead. She and Fang were really on their own—maybe forever.
Fang flapped up the side of the cliff, landing almost silently on their ledge. Nudge felt a warm flow of relief.
“Can I interest you in a bit of raw desert rat?” he asked, patting his windbreaker pocket.
“Oh, no!” Nudge said, horrified.
He shrugged off his windbreaker and brushed some dust off his black T-shirt. Popping something in his mouth, he chewed and swallowed loudly. “Can’t get fresher,” he said cajolingly.
“Ugh!” Nudge shuddered and turned away from him. Rat! Flying like the hawks was one thing; eating like them was not going to happen.
“Okay, then,” said Fang. “How about some kabobs? You get the vegetables.”