Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

25

Then Dr. Martinez and I were running toward each other, and it felt like it was all happening in slow motion. I had planned on a cool, casual "Yo? Wha's happ'nin'?" But that dream was gone, gone, gone, baby. Instead I clung tightly to her, trying not to cry, taking a weird, deep, terrifying satisfaction from the sensation of her holding me.

Her hand stroked my hair as she whispered, "Max, Max, Max, you've come back." Her voice sounded broken, and I didn't trust myself to speak.

Then I remembered I was indulging in this revolting display of saccharine emotion right in front of Fang. Who would probably never let me hear the end of it. I turned and looked toward the woods. With my raptor vision, I could barely make out his dim outline.

I raised my hand to him, and Dr. Martinez's gaze shot toward the woods.

"Max? Are you okay?" she asked, her eyes on the trees and shadows.

"Yes. I-I didn't mean to come back," I said hesitantly. "But-I...We were in the neighborhood..."

Dr. Martinez's eyes widened when a stiff-faced Fang slowly emerged from the woods, as if a shadow had taken form and come to life. How's that for a little bird-kid imagery, eh? The soul of a poet, that's me!

"This is my...brother, Fang," I muttered, stumbling over the word brother. Because he'd kissed me. And no southern jokes, please. Ick.

"Fang?" Dr. Martinez said, giving him a slow smile, warming up my day. She held out her hand, and he came toward us as if dragged by an invisible rope, as tense and unyielding as I'd ever seen him. Which is saying something.

He stopped about two yards from us and didn't take her hand.

"Fang? Are you-like Max?" asked Dr. Martinez.

"Nope," he said, sounding bored. "I'm the smart one."

I resisted the urge to kick his shin.

"Well, come in, both of you," said Dr. Martinez, sounding excited and bemused and awestruck. "I was going to run to the grocery store before Ella got home from school. But that can wait."

Inside, the house seemed more familiar to me than Anne Walker's, though I'd only been here maybe forty-eight hours, months ago. Maybe because it had felt like home, the first real home I'd ever been in.

Behind me, Fang stood close to the door, taking in every detail, cataloguing exits, planning courses of action in case violence broke out. As it tended to do around us.

"Are you guys hungry?" asked Dr. Martinez, taking off her jacket and putting down her purse. "I could make you sandwiches."

"That would be great," I said, my stomach growling at the thought.

Fang sniffed the air. "What's that...scent, that..."

Dr. Martinez and I smiled at each other.

"Chocolate-chip cookies," we said at the same time.