The Final Warning (Maximum Ride 4)

“The plane tilted,” she said.

“Yeah, of course,” I agreed. “But . . . just to see, just for our own amusement, let’s . . .” I took the can away from her and put it back on the table. I reached for it. It stayed put.

Nudge reached for it.

It slid toward her.

Our eyes wide, we stared at each other.

“The plane tilted again,” Nudge said.

“Hm,” I said. I took the can away and had her come at it from a different angle. The can slid toward her.

“I’m magnetic,” she whispered, half awed and half horrified.

“I hope you don’t start sticking to fridges and stuff,” I said in disbelief.

Fang dropped down next to me, and the Gasman joined us, squishing in next to Nudge.

“What’s going on?” Fang asked.

“I’m Magnet Girl!” Nudge said, already coming to terms with her new skill.

Eyebrows raised, Fang picked up a metal pen and held it against Nudge’s arm. He let go, and it dropped to the floor.

Nudge frowned. Then she reached down for the pen, and it flew into her hand from a few inches away.

Gazzy gave a low whistle. “You’re kind of magnetic. Cool!”

“No, that’s not it,” said Fang quietly. “It’s that you can attract metal — maybe only when you want to.”

Well. The rest of the flight zipped by as we played with Nudge’s bizarre newfound ability. When we got close to DC, Jeb came over to give us a ten-minute heads-up. One glance at our faces and his eyes narrowed.

“What’s going on?” It was the same dad-like, no-nonsense tone that he had used years ago, when it was just us and him in our secret house in the Colorado mountains. He’d made that exact face the day he found the frogs in the toilet. I remembered it so clearly, but it seemed like three lifetimes ago.

Before I could say, “Nothing,” Nudge blurted, “I can make metal come to me!”

Jeb sat down, and Nudge demonstrated.

“I don’t know why you can do that,” he said slowly. “As far as I know, it was never programmed in.” He looked around at all of us. “It’s possible . . . It’s possible that maybe you guys are starting to mutate on your own.”

6

You are reading Fang’s Blog. Welcome!

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Whatever the tally counter at the top tells you, your number is actually way higher than that. Our counter thing broke, and we finally got it working again. But it started again at zero. Anyway, thanks for checking in.

We’re all okay, but we just buried a friend. I know some of you out there have lost someone close to you, and now I get a little bit of what it’s like. The guy who died — I knew him for a long time, but not that well, and for the past six months, I’ve hated his guts. Then I suddenly didn’t. Then he died.

For me what was harder than losing him was watching what it did to people around me. The one thing I really can’t stand is when Max and the others are in pain or upset. Not upset like in angry or teed off, ’cause God knows if that got to me I’d be totally out of luck. But upset like in crying, sadness, regret — all that stuff. I hate it. It kills me. I know what it takes to make these kids cry, to make Max cry, and I hate that they had to go through that.

But enough of all that emo stuff. The end result is: We’re all good. We’re all alive. I’m glad about that, about the six of us. They’re who matter to me. Even when Max is being a pigheaded, stubborn idiot dictator, she’s still the one I want by my side. Though I can feel myself getting ulcers and gray hairs from dealing with her.

Anyway! We’re on our way to a hush-hush meeting with some top-secret bigwigs, ooh. Yep, fighting to the death one day, drinking frosty little drinks on a private jet the next. It’s enough to make anyone schizo.

I don’t have too much else to say right now, so I’ll answer some questions that you guys have sent in.