Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment

40

Never in my fourteen looong years have I felt the slightest bit normal - except for my day with Ella and her mom, Dr. Martinez.

First, we ate a real breakfast together, around the kitchen table. On plates, with forks and knives and napkins. Instead of, like, a hot dog stuck on a barbecue fork, burned black over an open flame, then eaten right off the fork. Or cereal with no milk. Or peanut butter off a knife. Beanie weenies from a can.

Then Ella had to go to school. I was worried about the jerks from before, but she said he teacher was good at keeping kids in line, and so was the school bus driver. A real school bus! Like on TV shows.

So it was me and Dr. Martinez. "So, Max," she said as she unloaded the dish washer.

I tensed.

"Do you want to talk about . . . anything?"

I looked at her. Her face was tan and kind, her eyes warm with understanding. But I knew if I started talking, I would never stop. I would break down and start crying. I would freak out. Then I wouldn't be Max anymore, wouldn't be able to function, take care of the others, be the alpha girl. To save Angel. If it wasn't already too late.

"Not really," I said.

She nodded and started stacking clean plates. I fantasized about actually being friends with Ella and her mom long after I left here and went home. I could come back and visit sometimes . . . Yeah, and we could have picnics, exchange Christmas cards . . . I'm so sure. I was totally losing my grip on reality. I had to get out of here.

Dr. Martinez put away the clean plates and loaded the dirty ones into the dishwasher. "Do you have a last name?"

I thought. Since I didn't have an "official" identity, there wasn't anything she could do with the information.. I rubbed my temples - a headache had been creeping up in me since breakfast.

"Yeah," I said finally. I shrugged. "I gave it to myself."

On my eleventh birthday (which was also the day I picked for myself), I had asked Jeb about a last name. I guess I was hoping he would say, "Your name is Batchelder, like me." But he hadn't. He said, "You should choose one yourself."

So I'd thought about it, thought about how I could fly and who I was.

"My last name is Ride," I told Ella's mom. "Like Sally Ride, the astronaut, Maximum Ride."

She nodded. "That's a good name. Are there others like you?" she asked.

I pressed my lips together and looked away. My head was throbbing. I wanted to tell her - that was the awful part. Something inside me wanted to blurt out everything. But I couldn't. Not after years of Jeb telling me I couldn't trust anyone, ever.

"Do you need help?"

My eyes flicked back to her face.

"Max - with your wings - can you actually fly?"

"Well, yeah," I was startled into saying. That's me: mouth-like-a-steel-trap Maximum. Yep, you have to use all your tricks to get me to talk. Jeez. That's what I get for sleeping on a soft bed and eating homey food.

"Really? You can fly?" She looked fascinated, alarmed, an a little envious.

I nodded. "My bones are . . . thin," I began, hating myself. Shut up, Max! "Thin and light. I have extra muscles. My lungs are bigger. And my heart. More efficient. But I need to eat a lot. It's hard." Abruptly, I clammed up, a furious blush heating my cheeks. That folks, was the most I've ever said to a non-flock member. But when I spill the beans, I spill big! I might as well have hired a skywriting plane to scrawl, "I'm a mutant freak!" in huge letters across the sky.

"How did this happen?" Ella's mom asked softly.

My eyes shut of their own volition. If I'd been alone I would have put my hands over my ears and hunkered down into a little ball on the floor. Fractured images, memories, fear, pain, all came crashing together inside my brain. You think being a regular teenager with growing pains is hard? Try doing it with DNA that's not your own, not even from a mammal .

"I don't remember," I told her. It was a lie.