“The problem is here, now,” I went on. “Nine of the ten hottest years ever recorded have happened in my lifetime. I’m fourteen. More or less. There have been record-setting weather extremes across the globe — tornadoes, hurricanes, typhoons, droughts, wildfires, tsunamis. We’re warming up the planet, and the planet’s ice is melting. If only fifty percent of the world’s ice melts, countless rivers and streams will overflow and then dry up, killing hundreds of thousands of people from disease and starvation. The ocean water level will rise anywhere from four feet to maybe twenty feet. How many of your favorite vacation spots would be under water? Want to see the Eiffel Tower by canoe? Do any of you own beach houses? Kiss ’em good-bye. And not two hundred years from now. Soon. Maybe within this lifetime.”
I swallowed and wished I had like an Icee or something. “We can’t reverse this disaster, even if we all pitched in now and did everything we could, which, face it, we’re not going to do. A small percentage of us will do stuff, and other people will ignore the problem and hope they’
ll be dead before it gets really bad. But there are things we can do that would at least help. It would make a difference.
“The US could ratify the Kyoto treaty. Pretty much every country in the world, except us and Australia, has ratified it. How can we be so pigheaded? Wait — don’t answer that. I know our time here is limited.
“In general, we need to pay more attention to what we do, what we buy, who we buy it from. Use compact fluorescent bulbs. If every house in America replaced just one of its regular lightbulbs with a compact fluorescent, it would be like taking a million cars off the road. I mean, how hard is that? I can do the math, and I’ve never even gone to school!
“Look into other kinds of power. Windmills, water mills, solar power — every year corporations pay a jillion dollars in legal fees to avoid getting fined for pollution violations. What if they took a tiny percentage of that money and put it toward coming up with better energy sources?
“Right now America looks like a fatheaded, shortsighted, gas-guzzling, arrogant blowhard to the rest of the world. And Sweden looks all clean and tidy and progressive. I mean, where’s our sense of pride?
“Why can’t we be the progressive leaders, showing the rest of the world how to clean up its act? Why can’t we, the people, get more involved and push through legislation that will help clean up our air, land, and water? Why can’t we take government funds from stupid things like war and use them for programs that will develop better fuel sources?
“I’m just one kid, and not even a regular kid. But if I can come up with all this, why can’t you? Will you wait until the water is lapping at your feet?”
I stopped abruptly. To tell you the truth, I could have gone on and on. I could have kept them pinned in their chairs all day while I recited facts and figures. But I hoped that at least a little of what I had said would stick, and make them think.
That was all I could do to save the world.
Epilogue
HOW BAD CAN IT BE?
74
“GEE, A FANCY SCHOOL in northern Virginia,” Iggy muttered. “How bad can it be?”
“I’m sure nothing disastrous or life threatening will happen to us while we’re here,” I said, sounding much more gullible than I am.
Here we were at Ye Olde Academy for Mutants and Other Kids. Shortly after my Oscar-worthy speech to Congress, my mom had explained that some important people had gone ahead and created a school for us. Frankly, we’d all been ready to kick back and relax on a non-hurricaned beach for a while, but Mom and Jeb had asked us to give the school a try. So here we were.
It was the ribbon-cutting ceremony, and when I’d taken a gander at the government limos, bigwigs, news teams, and stuff, I’d cottoned on to the fact that this was a big deal.
Plus, my mom; my half sister, Ella; Jeb; and some of the scientists from the Wendy K. were all there, beaming at us. I don’t know who had created this school (actually called the Lerner School for Gifted Children — I thought they’d misspelled Learner, but then found out Lerner was some guy who donated a bunch of money), and I had no idea why anyone who knew us would think that we’d be here for any length of time, but hey! I was willing to try anything once!
So here we were, my flock. Angel’s arm was all better, Akila had fully recovered (but still weighed eighty pounds, which still posed a humongo problem carting her furry butt around when we flew), Total’s wings had continued to grow, and yesterday he’d gotten his two front paws about an inch off the ground. I almost missed Antarctica — not the coldness part but the empty cleanness of it, and the fact that we’d been relatively safe there (until we were captured, anyway), and the meaning of the work we’d done there. I missed the penguins. The leopard seals? Not so much.
We were all clean, and I only mention this because it was something new and different. Cameras were flashing all around us. Our former “lie low and be anonymous” rule was pretty much shot all to heck. I’d had a great visit with my mom and Ella, and do not tell anyone I said this, but I was relieved that Brigid was staying in Antarctica and Fang was staying here.
I wondered if they had rounded up some of the other mutant kids I’d crossed paths with at the Institute and at Itex. I had always felt kinda sorry for them. They seemed lonely, like they didn’t have a flock, or a family, or a purpose in life.
“And now, without further ado, I give you the Lerner School for Gifted Children!” The mayor of this small town stepped forward and cut the ribbon across the front entrance with a big pair of scissors that wouldn’t be good for anything except stuff like this. The wide ribbon fell neatly apart, and everyone clapped and took pictures.
Max?
I didn’t pay any attention for a moment, and then I realized that it was actually my Voice, the one inside my head. (I wonder if that phrase will ever sound less weird.)
What? I thought.
I know you’re in the middle of something here, and I hate to interrupt, but there’s another mission for you.
Huuuh? What are you talking about? I just did my mission! And almost died! A bunch of times!
Max, Max, Max, said the Voice in that irritating way it had. The world isn’t saved yet, is it? You’ve got work to do. Now, get out of there, and I’ll give you the coordinates of where you need to go.
Well. I weighed some unknown, probably difficult, possibly deadly mission, with us not knowing where we were going or what we’d be doing, against this bright, shiny new school building, no doubt full of gleaming desks and Macs everywhere.