PART 6
WHO’S YOUR DADDY, WHO’S YOUR MOMMA?
110
“That is so cool,” Nudge said approvingly as I turned to let her see the back of my new jean jacket. Of course, I would have to cut huge slits in it to let my wings out, but other than that, it was great.
I looked at her and grinned. She looked so not Nudge, I was still startled every time I saw her. Her dark brown supercurly hair had been blow-dried perfectly straight and cut in layers. Then they’d streaked it with blond highlights. The difference was incredible—she’d gone from scruffy adolescent to slightly short fashion model in under an hour. I’d never noticed that she had the potential to be gorgeous when she grew up. If she grew up.
“Check this out!” The Gasman had outfitted himself in camouflage, down to his sneakers.
“Okay by me,” I said, giving him a thumbs-up.
In this barnlike secondhand shop, we were in the process of completing our total physical transformation. Some of Gazzy’s pale blond hair had been bleached white. They’d spiked it with gel and colored just the spiky tips bright blue. The sides were supershort.
“I still wish you’d let me get ‘Bite Me’ shaved into the back of my head,” he complained.
“No,” I said, straightening his collar.
“Iggy got his ear pierced.”
“Nein,” I said.
“But everyone does it!” he said in a perfect imitation of his stylist.
“O-nay.”
He made an exasperated sound and went over by Fang, whose hair had been cut short also, except for one long chunk that flopped over in front of his eyes. It had been highlighted with several mottled tan shades and now it looked exactly like a hawk’s plumage. Quelle coinkydink. In this store, he’d exchanged his basic black ensemble for a slightly different basic black ensemble.
“I like this,” said Angel, holding up something froufrou. I’d already outfitted her in new cargo pants and a T-shirt, and she’d picked out a fluffy blue fleece jacket.
“Um,” I said, looking at it.
“It’s so pretty, Max,” she coaxed. “Please?”
I wondered if I would be able to tell if she was putting thoughts into my head. Her eyes were wide and innocent looking.
“And Celeste really likes it too,” Angel added.
“The thing is, Angel,” I said, “I’m not sure how practical tutus are—given how much we’re on the run and all.”
She looked at the tutu and frowned. “I guess.”
“We ready?” Iggy asked with a touch of impatience. “Not that I don’t adore shopping.”
“You look like you stuck your finger in a light socket,” the Gasman said.
Iggy’s strawberry-blond hair was spiked like Gazzy’s and tipped with black on the ends.
“Really?” Iggy asked. “Cool!” He’d gotten his ear pierced before I’d noticed: His thin gold wire loop was the only thing I’d had to pay for.
We walked out into the late afternoon. I felt free and happy, even though the Institute was on hold at the moment. I bet not even Jeb would recognize me.
My stylist had picked up my long braid and simply whacked it off. Now my hair floated in feathery layers. No more hair getting in my eyes when I flew. No spitting wisps out of my mouth in the middle of an escape.
Not only that, but they’d streaked it with chunky strands of hot pink and, despite my protest, gone to town with makeup. So now I looked both totally different and about twenty years old. Being five-eight helped.
“There’s a little park up here,” Fang said, pointing.