Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

38

The School-the awful, terrifying place we had spent the past four years trying to get over, get away from. At the School, we'd been experimented on, tested, retested, trained. Because of this place, I would never be able to deal with people in long white coats and could never major in chemistry. Because of this place, when I saw a dog crate at a PetSmart, I broke into cold chills.

"Max?" Gazzy's voice sounded dusty and dry.

"Hey, sweetie," I said as quietly as I could.

"Where are we? What's going on?"

I didn't want to tell him, but while I was trying to come up with a convincing lie, the reality broke into his brain, and he stared at me, appalled. I saw him silently say, "The School," and I had no choice but to nod. His head flopped back against his bed, and I saw that his once fluffy blond hair was a dusty, matted gray.

"Hey!" Total said with weak indignation. "I demand a lawyer." But his characteristic belligerence was betrayed by the sad pain in his voice.

"Do we have a Plan B? Or C? Even Z?" Iggy's voice had no life in it, no energy, and I got the impression that he'd given up and was only going through the motions.

I cleared my throat and swallowed. "Yes, of course," I said, scrabbling for any shred of authority I could muster. "There's always a plan. First, we get out of these straps."

I felt Nudge awaken and looked over at her. Her large brown eyes were solemn, her mouth stiffly trying not to quiver. A purplish bruise mottled her cheek, and I saw more on her arms. I'd always thought of her as a little kid, like Gazzy and Angel, but all of a sudden she seemed ten years older.

Because she knew, and it showed in her eyes.

She knew we were way, way up a creek, and that I had no plan, and that we had no hope.

Which pretty much summed it up.