Fang (Maximum Ride 6)

Calm down, Max. Relax and enjoy this. This is a special occasion. You see, Dylan is for you. He was designed for you. He’s your perfect other half.

14

I INHALED AND ACCIDENTALLY sucked scone crumbs down the wrong way, setting off an apoplectic coughing fit that had the doctor patting my back hard, looking concerned.

Made for me? My perfect other half? Are you freaking insane? my mind screamed, even as my eyes watered and I coughed and coughed, unable to bear the awful tickle at the back of my throat.

“Here, drink this,” said Angel, handing me some juice. “Can you breathe?” the doctor asked. “Do you need the Heimlich maneuver?”

“Heimlich me and die,” I managed to choke out, trying to take a sip.

Dylan had frozen, a cluster of red grapes in his hand. His eyes were wide and watchful, as if he actually gave a crap about what happened to me.

I’d suspected the doctor had an agenda —’cause nothing was ever given to us just because we were swell. Now I knew that it was sitting across from me, looking like the cover of People magazine’s Sexiest People issue.

“Are you okay?” Dylan asked.

I nodded and took a deep breath. Time to make like a tree and leave. I got ready to stand up.

Max — don’t run away. Stick this out. Don’t be a coward.

I almost started choking again. Stupid Voice.

“Well, if you’re only eight months old,” said Angel, “it’ll take you a while to learn stuff.” She ladled some eggs onto her plate and tucked in. I gave thanks that she was remembering to use utensils.

Again Dylan focused his eyes, the color of the Caribbean, on me. I felt like it was about 110 degrees in there, and took a swig of cold juice. Maybe I had time for another croissant.

“Maybe you could teach me … some stuff,” said Dylan.

“Max is a good teacher,” Angel said with conviction. It made me feel worse about going off on her yesterday. She didn’t make up her pronouncements — just reported ’em.

“That’s an excellent idea!” said Dr. G-H. “Max would be the perfect person to teach you, Dylan.”

“Oh, well. I don’t know,” I said. “Like what?” Do not get yourself sucked into this, Max,

I told myself.

“Could I see …” Dylan hesitated, then his face hardened with determination. “Could I see your wings? I’ve never seen anyone else’s.”

I thought about saying, You show me yours and I’ll show you mine, but I’d already seen his. I pushed a couple strawberries into my mouth and stood up. After making sure I had enough space — and I did, which shows you how big the Wonder Tent was — I shook my shoulders a little and unfolded my wings.

Both Dylan and Dr. G-H stared.

“They’re beautiful,” said Dylan, sounding kind of hoarse. “You really do have them … like me.”

I folded my wings and sat down, feeling weird but not knowing why. “Actually, Dyl, you have them like me. I’ve had mine for fourteen years. Or so.”

A smile played around Dylan’s symmetrical features. “Yes. I guess so. Either way, your wings are incredible. They’re perfect.”

Now I was really uncomfortable, and slathered some butter onto my fourth croissant. Suddenly I just wanted to get out of there, to get back to the others. I’d been sneaking food into my pockets, and my jacket probably weighed several pounds by now. I took one last bite and stood up again.

“Well, this has been fabulous,” I said, my mouth full. “But we better get going and perform more humanitarian aid.”

“Please, stay,” begged Dylan.

“Sorry, no can do,” I said briskly.

“Max, we have so much more to talk about,” said Dr. Seersucker pleasantly.