Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports (Maximum Ride 3)

Yo, Max. We’re on our way. This better not be a joke. Fang.

He clicked the Send button.

96

You know that old saying “When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”? Well, we were chained in a dungeon in Germany, my mother was a power-hungry, psychotic refrigerator, and my best friend and half my flock were MIA.

These were definitely lemons, so I thought about that saying.

And you know what? Whoever coined the phrase ought to have been smacked senseless. I mean, how lamebrained was that? “Life totally messing you up? Just turn that frown upside down!” What a moron!

“Max? You’re muttering again.” Nudge sounded tired.

> I looked at her. “Sorry.” I sighed and got to my feet. We were each now chained to the wall by one ankle. Our chains were about eight feet long, so we could walk around. See? My mom had a soft heart after all! Instead of being chained by both wrists, we were only chained by one ankle!

I mean, if I’d been looking for proof that she really did love me, this was it, right?

Total reached out and very gently closed his teeth around my ankle as I went past. “Muttering,” he said.

“Sorry.” I moved as far away as my chain allowed.

I was making the kids crazy with my barely suppressed rage and disappointment. And here’s the kicker: I had asked Fang for help. I had asked him to come back because I needed him. My stomach churned just thinking about it. That was me: Maximum Ride, Damsel in Distress.

I know this will surprise you, but I don’t damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.

“I don’t remember you muttering this much, before,” Ari said, crouching next to me.

“I was a little saner then,” I said.

“Oh.” He traced a finger through the grime on the floor. Suddenly I remembered him saying, “I can’t read.”

Knowing he was watching me, I slowly drew the letter A on the floor, making little trails through the dirt. Then I drew an R. And an I.

“That spells Ari,” I told him. I drew it again, slowly. A...R...I. “Now you do it.”

He started the A, then stopped. “What’s the point?” he asked, and I was stung because he was right. He didn’t have much time left. Did it really matter if he knew how to read?

“You should know how to write your name,” I said firmly, pushing his hand toward the floor again. “Come on. First A.”

Concentrating, Ari dragged one ragged claw through the dirt. He made a rickety, asymmetrical A.

“A drunk monkey could do better, but you’ll get there,” I said. “Do the R.”

He started on the R, first drawing it backward. I didn’t know if this was normal for his age or whether his brain had been affected by all the experiments done on him. I rubbed it out and showed him how to do it correctly.

Jeb had taught me and Fang to read. I’d taught Gazzy and Nudge and Angel. We were a little shaky with spelling and grammar sometimes, but all of us could forge signatures like a pro. He hadn’t taught his own son.

“How come you’re doing this?” Ari’s hesitant question caught me off guard.

“Uh—to make up for almost killing you in New York?”

Ari didn’t look at me. “You did kill me,” he said. “They brought me back. Fused some of the bones in my neck.” He ran a meaty paw over his neck as if it still pained him.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times those words have passed my lips. And three of them had been in the last five minutes. “You were trying to kill me first.”

He nodded. “I hated you,” he said calmly. “Dad gave you everything, he really loved you. I was his son, and I didn’t mean anything to him. You were so strong and perfect and beautiful. I just hated you. Wanted you dead. And he used that. He used me as part of your testing.”

I was rattled. Ari seemed so matter-of-fact. “He was proud of you,” I said, dredging up memories of a long time ago, before Jeb had stolen me and the rest of the flock out of the lab. “He liked you following him around in the lab.”