In the next block, I tried “Nudge” and “Angel,” then on a lark I tried today’s date.
They really wanted me to call customer service.
I know what you’re thinking: Did I try our birthdays or our Social Security numbers?
No. None of us knew our actual birth dates, though we had each picked a day we liked and called it our birthday. And the nut jobs at th
e School had mysteriously neglected to register any of us with the Social Security Administration. So none of us could retire any time soon.
I stopped in front of the next ATM but shook my head in frustration. “I don’t know what to do,” I admitted, and it was maybe the second time those words had ever left my lips.
Angel looked up tiredly, her blue eyes sad. “Why don’t you try ‘mother’?” she asked, and started tracing a crack on the sidewalk with the toe of her sneaker.
“Why do you think that?” I asked, surprised.
She shrugged, her arm moving to hold Celeste tighter and then falling emptily to her side.
Fang and I exchanged glances, then I slowly swiped the bank card and punched in the numbers that would spell out “mother.”
WHAT KIND OF TRANSACTION DO YOU WANT TO MAKE? the screen asked.
Speechless, I withdrew two hundred dollars and zipped it into my inside pocket.
“How did you know that?” Fang asked Angel. His tone was neutral, but tension showed in his walk.
Angel shrugged again, her small shoulders drooping. Even her curls looked limp and sad. “It just came to me,” she said.
“In a voice?” I asked, wondering if my Voice was hopping around.
She shook her head no. “The word was just in my head. I don’t know why.”
Once again, Fang and I looked at each other but didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what was on his mind, but I was thinking again about how Angel had been at the School for a few days before we rescued her. Who knows what happened there? What kind of foul, disgusting experiments? Maybe they’d planted a chip in her too.
Or worse.
101
A few more blocks, and we turned left, walking toward the East River. Inside me, the tension mounted. My breath was coming in short huffs. Every step was bringing us closer to what could be the Institute: the place where the secrets of our lives might be revealed, all our questions answered.
And here’s the thing: I wasn’t even sure I wanted my questions answered. What if my mom had given me away on purpose, like Gasman and Angel’s? What if my parents were horrible people? Or what if they were wonderful, fabulous people who didn’t want a freak mutant daughter with thirteen-foot wings? I mean, not knowing almost seemed easier.
But we walked along, examining each building. Again and again the others looked at me, only to see me shake my head no. We walked down several looong blocks, and with each step, I was getting more and more uptight, and so was everyone else.
“I wonder what the Institute is like,” Nudge said nervously. “I guess it’s like the School. Will we have to break in? How do they hide the Erasers from all the normal people? What kind of files on us do you think they have? Like actual parent names, you think?”
“For God’s sake, Nudge, my ears are bleeding!” Iggy said with his usual tact.
Her sweet face shut down, and I put my arm around her shoulders briefly. “I know you’re worried,” I said softly. “I am too.”
She smiled at me, and then I saw it: 433 East Thirty-first Street.
It was the building from the drawing in my brain.
And if you don’t think that’s a weird sentence, maybe you should reread it.
The building rose tall, maybe forty-five stories, and had a greenish facade, kind of old-fashioned looking.
“Is this it?” Iggy asked.