“I figured you got ’em for the comics,
” I said, pulling the pile closer.
Up to now, our main survival strategy had been to stay inconspicuous, to hide as much as possible. I guess having our pictures plastered on the front page of the New York Post under the huge, screaming headline “Miracle or Illusion? Superhumans or Genetic Freaks?” blew that strategy out of the water.
Fang had gotten four different papers, and fuzzy pictures of us swooping gaily around the Garden Tavern were on every front page.
“Saw them when we were out,” Fang explained, draining his juice. “Guess we better lie low for a while.”
“Yes, thank you, Tonto,” I said irritably. I mean, would it kill him to speak in full sentences? I checked out the New York Times. Under a blurry photo, it said, “No one has taken credit for what may be this year’s most unusual stunt . . .”
Finally, I sighed and picked up my muffin again. “The upshot is, we might as well glow in the dark in terms of staying inconspicuous. So it looks like it’s ix-nay on the Institute, at least for a while.” I felt so frustrated I could have screamed.
“Maybe we could wear disguises,” the Gasman suggested.
“Yeah, like glasses and funny noses,” Angel agreed.
I smiled at them. “You think?”
109
That afternoon, we had to venture out to get food again. Six pairs of glasses with funny noses hadn’t materialized, so we went as is.
At the nearest deli, we stocked up on sandwiches, drinks, chips, cookies, anything we could carry and eat at the same time.
“So I’m thinking we should leave the city as soon as it gets dark,” I said to Fang.
He nodded. “Where to?”
“Not too far,” I said. “I’m still bent on getting to the bottom of the Institute, so to speak. Maybe upstate a bit? Or somewhere by the ocean?”
“You!”
I recoiled and dropped my soda as a young guy with a mohawk haircut jumped in front of us. Nudge bumped into my back, and Fang went very still.
“You guys are perfect!” he said excitedly.
How nice that someone thought so. But who was this wing nut?
“Perfect for what?” Fang asked with deadly calm.
The guy waved a skinny tattooed arm at a storefront. Its sign said, U ’Do: Tomorrow’s styles today.
“We’re having a makeover fest!” the guy explained, sounding like we had just won a million dollars. “You guys can have total makeovers for free—as long as your stylist gets to do whatever he or she wants.”
“Like what?” Nudge asked with interest.
“Makeup, hairstyle, everything!” the guy promised ecstatically. “Except tattoos. We’d need a note from your parents.”
“So that’s out,” I said under my breath.
“I want to do it!” Nudge said. “It sounds so fun! Can we do it, Max? I want a makeover!”
“Uh . . .” I saw a couple teenage girls emerging from U ’Do. They looked wild. I bet their own friends wouldn’t have recognized them.
Hello.
“I’m up for it,” I said briskly, as Fang’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. I gave him a meaningful look. “We’d love to be made over. Make us look completely different.”