Fang (Maximum Ride 6) - Page 47
ous. They stared at the copies of the contract on the table like they couldn’t believe they had actually signed them.
“ ’Kthnxbye!” Angel said brightly, opening the door for them. The men wandered out as if they had just barely survived a crash.
“What did you do to them?” Jeb asked.
“Persuaded them.” Angel’s too innocent face wouldn’t have fooled a kindergartner. “Isn’t that what a good leader would do?”
“Angel, we’ve talked about —,” Jeb began.
“Come on, everyone!” Angel cried. “Press conference by the pool!”
59
“REPORTERS?” GAZZY ASKED. “Max will kill us if she finds out about this.”
“Max isn’t in charge anymore,” Angel reminded him coolly. “It’s time the world knew about our special abilities.”
“I’m not feeling that special right now,” said Iggy, hunched over in a chair. “I’ve been feeling weird all afternoon.”
Nudge frowned. “Me too. Not sick, exactly, but weird. Like, tingly, all over.”
Jeb heard this last bit and he quickly searched Nudge’s face. “Tingly? On your skin or inside?”
“All over,” said Nudge.
“I feel that way too,” said Gazzy. “I didn’t even realize it till you said it. I thought it was just the PowerDrives kicking in.”
“Let’s get through this press conference,” Angel said briskly, “then we can figure out what’s going on.” She was feeling weird herself, but it was showtime, folks.
Ten minutes later, they were stretched out on lounge chairs by the hotel pool.
“Where’s our waiter?” Nudge asked ten minutes after that. She tipped her pink star-shaped sunglasses down on her nose. “I need more iced tea.”
Dylan stood up. “I was going to get some — I’ll get yours too.”
“Here are the reporters,” Angel announced, pointing at a small throng of people who were being let into the fenced pool area. The private security team frisked each one and checked their names off on a list.
Dylan reappeared with the iced teas, and several of the reporters gasped or went speechless at the sight of him. Angel grinned. Who needed Fang when they had Dylan? The flock was a whole lot nicer to look at — and be a part of — with him around.
She motioned for the security people to let the reporters come closer. There were about ten of them, some carrying microphones, some with big video cameras on their shoulders.
“Hi!” she said, putting on a party face. “Thanks for coming! We can answer questions for ten minutes, and then there will be a photo op. Who’s first?”
“Where are your parents?” cried one reporter. “Do they have wings?”
“Our parents were a test tube and a turkey baster,” Angel said. “No wings.”
“Can you actually fly, or has that been a publicity stunt?” called another reporter.
In response, Gazzy shook out his wings, climbed onto the diving board, bounced a couple times, then launched himself into the air. There were gasps and murmurs of excitement as he moved up and down with each flap of his wings, eating an ice cream cone. Then he popped the last of the cone into his mouth, folded in his wings, and cannonballed into the pool. Several reporters got drenched.
“There’s your answer,” Angel said.
“How old are you? Are you all related?” A woman held a microphone toward Nudge.
“We’re … fifteen, twelve, nine, and seven,” Nudge said, still getting used to their new ages. “Gazzy and Angel are the only real brother and sister.”
“You weren’t all from the same egg, so to speak?” asked another reporter, causing laughter.
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