Max

But the flock had different ideas. While I was healing, they’d taken a vote.

They wanted to try Jeb’s Day and Night School.

16

“WE STILL HAVE NO SIGHTINGS of the girl Maximum Ride,” reported one scout.

The team leader glanced up from the radar images on his desk. “What about the others?”

“We’ve been tracking them for three days,” his subordinate confirmed. “We’ve triangulated their origination point to within a half mile.”

The team leader looked up, but his frown was lost on the combat robot, who hadn’t been upgraded to recognize emotion.

“What’s the fastest they were clocked at?” he asked.

“The large dark one can achieve speeds of more than two hundred fifty miles per hour,” said the scout. “When they are aiming downward, they have been recorded at more than three hundred fifty miles per hour.”

The team leader nodded, wondering why the upgrade also apparently hadn’t been programmed to use metric. He sighed. The history of these genetic mistakes was a litany of embarrassing failures. Even Itexicon – with its massive, global resources, the years of research, the trillions of dollars spent – had ended up a shattered shell, unable to stop six children. And the Erasers! People were still making jokes about them.

When he’d first heard about the Erasers, he’d thought they were simply an amusing experiment. Despite their speed, relative intelligence, and overwhelming bloodlust, they’d proved quite ineffective. So they’d decided to dispense with the biological base and went to robots covered with flesh – inexplicably designed to look like Erasers. Then they’d made Flyboys – basically, Erasers with wings. All of which the mutant kids had already defeated.

Since then, it had been basically the same old, same old – one generation of enhanced individual tracking and killing machines after the next. Given all kinds of fancy names, tweaked this way and that. None of them seemed up to the task.

The team leader was truly surprised that Devin had failed. Truly, truly surprised. Devin had never failed at a job for as long as the team leader had known him. He’d lost a hundred dollars on that bet.

However, there did seem to be a sufficient quantity of version 5.0 to perhaps stall or contain the mutated kids until someone better, smarter, more experienced, more focused came along.

Someone like him.

“Should we pinpoint their location and destroy them?” the robot asked.

The team leader shook his head. “No. Just surveillance at this point.”

He’d lost a bunch of good men in Mexico City, and he wanted payback.

So did Mr. Chu.

17

MY DAY:

1) Back in America. In one of the western states with all the ninety-degree angles.

2) Wing still messed up; perhaps need longer than three days till it’s fully functional.

3) Had to say good-bye to Mom and Ella. Many mushy tears, soggy hugs. All that stuff I love.

4) Strong sense of betrayal by flock about Day and Night School. But without a 100 percent fly-ready wing, I couldn’t soar off in a huff the way I wanted to.

5) Fang has hardly spoken to me for three days. He doesn’t seem mad – more like thoughtful. Watching me. What is on his freaking mind?!

“School, school, school,” Nudge sang as she got ready. My mom had gotten her some stuff to put in her hair, and now it floated around her face in delicate, caramel-colored tendrils.

Delicate, caramel-colored tendrils. I’m really starting to worry myself.

Anyway. We all got ready. We were wearing clean clothes. We went to school with various levels of enthusiasm.

The school was long and low and spread out, painted in dusty pastels so it coordinated with the desert. It was not fenced in. There was a ton of open space around it, plenty of places to take off from, land, escape from.

Jeb stood by the car, knowing better than to try to hug any of us good-bye. I was almost inside when he called my name.

“Max.”

I went back over to him. “Please don’t impart any pearls of wisdom. I just ate.”

He shook his head. “Just – beware of Mr. Chu. He makes Itex look like Sesame Street.”

Then, while I stared at him, he got in the car and drove away, headed for a plane to California. Which cheered me up but only a little.

We were met at the door of the school by a woman holding a clipboard. “Hello,” she said, smiling. Her smile reached her eyes, an important trait. “I’m Ms. Hamilton, Max. It’s good to finally meet you. Your mom and I went to college together. Welcome to the Day and Night School. I hope you’ll be happy here.” She paused, only momentarily taken aback at the sight of Total, trotting along by Angel’s side.

Don’t hold your breath, I thought. That’s when it hit me: when had I last heard the Voice? I frowned, trying to remember. I couldn’t. It was ages ago, or at least a week. A week can seem like a really long time in my life. Was I down to just one personality inside my head?

“First we need to test your knowledge, so we’ll know your strengths and weaknesses,” Ms. Hamilton went on cheerfully. “Then we’ll know what classes will be best for you.”

Nudge skipped along at Ms. Hamilton’s side, glancing back to beam at me. I managed a slight grimace in return. We walked down a couple of hallways. There were exits at reassuring intervals. Through glass-paned doors, we saw large, su

Ms. Hamilton took us to an empty classroom. We sat down in chairs that were designed to accommodate the wingless. I shot pained looks at everyone who met my eye, letting them know that this was not my idea of a good time.

I couldn’t believe they had decided to do this. It was like – my plans for our lives weren’t good enough anymore. They actually thought this situation would be better – which, I might add, included not being led by me.

Now my stomach hurt, and I felt weighed down by a gray cloud.

“First, we’ll see how you do at math.”

I tried not to groan out loud. We’re street-smart, not book-smart. How many people had tested us over the years?

“Math, okay, bring it,” said Total, hopping up on a chair. “Are we allowed to use calculators? Do you have some that are, you know, paw-ready?” He held up his right paw.

Ms. Hamilton stopped and stared at Total. I snickered to myself. I had almost forgotten how much fun it could be to bait people. I sat up a little straighter.

Then Ms. Hamilton smiled.

At Total.

“No, we don’t have any paw-ready calculators,” she said. “But you probably won’t need one for these questions, anyway.”

Just like that, this grown-up had accepted the talking dog.

Four hours later, Ms. Hamilton told us that our reading levels ranged between first grade and twelfth grade and that we had amazing vocabularies. (Angel was not the one who read on a first grade level, and Fang, Iggy, and I were not, sadly, the ones who read on a twelfth grade level.) We spelled about as well as four-year-olds do but had off-the-chart visual memories. We were majorly lame at math but could solve most problems anyway.

“In short, you’re very, very, very bright kids who haven’t had much schooling,” said Ms. Hamilton.

I could have told her that before we’d wasted all this time. And she didn’t even know about the other stuff we could do, like hack computers and jack cars and break into most buildings.

“Angel, you’re so far off the chart that we’ll have to invent a special chart just for you.” Ms. Hamilton laughed.

“I thought you might,” Angel said.

I’d been here five hours, and so far I hadn’t really wanted to take anyone apart. Weird.

But that didn’t mean I wanted to stay at the Day and Night School.

Was I the only one?