Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

65

"I hate you! You're such losers!" Iggy's face was a picture of anger and frustration. "You're just being jerks."

Fang rolled his eyes. Then, remembering, he said, "I'm rolling my eyes, Iggy."

"I'm shrugging my shoulders," said the Gasman, taking a stupendous bite of hot dog. "I have no idea what the heck you're talking about."

"Describe the people on this beach," Iggy said again. "This is Venice Beach! Part of LA. Home of Freak University! And you guys are, like, looking at maps and stuff!"

"Is there really a college named Freak University?" The Gasman looked thrilled.

"No," Fang told him. So much for Gazzy's dreams of higher education. Fang smoothed the map out on the slatted bench in front of them and started looking for landmarks.

Until Iggy kicked him.

"Ow! Dang it! What's wrong with you?"

Unerringly, Iggy's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of Fang's shirt. He pulled Fang's face close to his own. "Describe. The. People."

"There's a million people," Fang said, irritated. "Why? Are you meeting someone in particular here? Should I be looking for a man with a rose in his teeth, holding a New York Times?"

"This is Venice Beach," Iggy said again. "Home of roller disco. I smell coconut oil. I hear high-pitched giggles. I know we must be surrounded by beach bunnies, and you're looking at a map!"

Oh.

"What's a beach bunny?" the Gasman asked, his mouth full.

Fang glanced around. "Beach bunny, schmeach bunny. Who cares? As long as they're not Flyboys."

Iggy groaned so loudly that several people nearby turned to look. Fang kicked his shin lightly, telling him to cool it.

"Who cares?" Iggy whispered, sounding outraged. "Who cares? I do! You can see them. I can't. And God knows I won't be able to get familiar with them by touch. Just do me a favor!"

What would Max do in this case? Fang wondered. Actually, he didn't think Iggy would have talked to Max about it. This was a guy-guy situation.

Sighing, Fang looked around. "Um, okay. There are two girls over there. One's in a white bikini. One has 'Utopia' written across her butt. They have big blond hair. Um, over there is an Asian girl, skating on Rollerblades, with her dog, like a greyhound or something, running beside her. Oops, she almost took out that stroller."

"What's she wearing?" Iggy asked.

"A striped bikini."

"And knee guards," the Gasman put in.

"Oh, man," Iggy breathed. "More, more."

He never would have done this in front of Max, Fang thought. She would have been all over him like ugly on an ape, telling him what a sexist pig he was.

But they were all guys here.

"Um, there's a girl meeting her friend," he went on. "Her friend is giving her an ice-cream cone. Oh-it's dripping. Huh. It, uh, dripped on her...chest."

Iggy drew in a hissing breath.

"It's gonna stain for sure," the Gasman said. "That's chocolate."

"Hmm," Fang said, watching the girl dab at her chest with a paper napkin.

"What's that sound?" the Gasman asked.

"Huh?"

"That sound," the Gasman insisted. "What's that sound? Fang."

Fang blinked a couple times and looked down, where the Gasman was yanking on his sleeve. "Sound?"

Then he heard it. A droning hum. A teeming chorus of metallic voices.

Oh, crap.

"Up and away!" he said. "It's Flyboys. They've found us!"