Angel (Maximum Ride 7)

“I don’t even know how to play,” Holden Squibb complained.

Ratchet cackled. “That’s ’cause you’re a baby, Starfish, even if you can regenerate limbs and stuff. What are you, like, twelve?” Holden glared at Ratchet.

“Cut it out, guys,” Fang said. “Look, we’re six really different people. But we need to work together as a team, or we’ll all end up dead.” The surprise on their faces made Fang think that maybe the word dead was a bit too strong. But he knew what he had said could possibly be true.

“All you have to do is say ‘Never have I ever…’ and fill in the blank. Then anyone in the group who’s done it has to raise their hand, including you, if you’ve actually done it. If you want to reveal something about yourself, say something you’ve done. If you don’t want to reveal anything personal, say something that you think someone else in the group might’ve done. Cool?” Fang sighed. He felt like a camp counselor or something. It was exhausting.

But to his surprise, everyone formed a circle, even if they did roll their eyes.

“Great. I’ll start,” Fang said. He sure hated being the leader all the time. Why did Angel always want this job so much? he wondered. “Never have I ever… played a team-building game as stupid as this before.” Maya smiled, but everyone else’s eyes shot daggers at him as he raised his hand.

“Never have I ever… gotten mistaken for a ten-year-old when I was almost fifteen,” Ratchet said, and no one budged.

Star shoved Holden into the center of the circle. “I think that’s you, squirt.”

“Never have I ever… owned a designer bag,” Holden quipped in response, and Star glared, raising her hand.

Fang made himself count backward from twenty by threes.

“Never have I ever… had Cheez Whiz up my nose, in my hair, and between my toes at the same time,” Maya said. Everyone laughed, and they all shot up their hands.

“Never have I ever… played down my strength so no one would look at me funny,” Kate said, holding up her hand.

“Never have I ever… been seriously hungry all day every day because I can’t get enough calories to sustain energy,” Star said, raising her hand along with Fang and Maya.

“Never have I ever… accidentally chopped off my finger and watched it grow back,” Holden said, and mimed hacking his finger off, resulting in a few chuckles and a cry of “Yeah, Starfish!” from Ratchet.

Maya spoke up, her eyes shining at Fang from across the circle. “Never have I ever… felt the wind whip through my hair as I soared twenty thousand feet up with only my wings to carry me.” They both raised their hands.

“Never have I

ever… been thrown out of my house for being a freak,” Ratchet said quietly and raised his hand. Across the room, Star raised her hand too, and they stood like that for a few seconds, just looking at each other.

“Never have I ever… been injected with hypodermic needles and locked in a cage,” Fang said. Every single hand went up, and as they looked around the room, everyone seemed to really get each other for the first time. They had all been abused, and they all needed the same help.

“Never have I ever… received a message telling me that I had to help save the world,” Maya said, staring deeply into Fang’s eyes. He looked back at her, and she nodded almost imperceptibly. His hand slowly went up.

No one, not even Max, knows about that…. He felt a faint shiver run down his spine.

“So… you want to do something about the Doomsday Group, or what?” Holden asked.

Fang nodded. “I read that they’re holding a big rally in San Diego, starting tomorrow,” Fang said. “It’ll be at Comic-Con, that huge convention. I don’t know how the DG will fit in with that, but I think it’s the first thing we should check out.”

“If it means we can get to the butchers who experimented on us, who cut us up, I’m all for it,” Kate said.

Holden nodded, rubbing the scars on his arms.

“Let’s take ’em down,” Ratchet said, and Star actually smiled.

“So… San Diego?” Fang asked.

“San Diego!” the gang agreed.

40

AFTER A DAY of zombified culties shrieking about wiping out the human race and an hour of hysterical panic holding Iggy down while fighting for his mind as he writhed in the bathtub, I’d aged about five years, and I swear I got my first gray hair from that ordeal.

However, we were now back on track. We were six normalish birdkids, one of whom had recently endured a freezing cold deprogramming experience, and a small black dog thrilled that he’d escaped a bath. Together we sat, a little freaked out, around the table, trying to plan our next course of action.