Saving the World and Other Extreme Sports

ARE YOU WITH ME?

The Gasman finished reading over Fang's shoulder.

"I wish I had an Xbox," he said. Fang rolled his eyes.

"Cool message, dude," said Mike. "I feel like jumping up and starting a rally. Now what?"

"Now," said Fang, starting to type another message, "we go to Germany."

He ignored the way his heart thumped when he thought about seeing her-them-again. If she still had the cretin with her, he was going to be pissed. But cretin or no, splitting up the flock was wrong. If the world was coming to an end, they needed to be together.

Yo, Max. We're on our way. This better not be a joke. Fang.

You know that old saying "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade"? Well, we were chained in a dungeon in Germany, my mother was a power-hungry, psychotic refrigerator, and my best friend and half my flock were MIA.

These were definitely lemons, so I thought about that saying.

And you know what? Whoever coined the phrase ought to have been smacked senseless. I mean, how lamebrained was that? "Life totally messing you up? Just turn that frown upside down!" What a moron!

"Max? You're muttering again." Nudge sounded tired.

I looked at her. "Sorry." I sighed and got to my feet. We were each now chained to the wall by one ankle. Our chains were about eight feet long, so we could walk around. See? My mom had a soft heart after all! Instead of being chained by both wrists, we were only chained by one ankle!

I mean, if I'd been looking for proof that she really did love me, this was it, right?

Total reached out and very gently closed his teeth around my ankle as I went past. "Muttering," he said.

"Sorry." I moved as far away as my chain allowed.

I was making the kids crazy with my barely suppressed rage and disappointment. And here's the kicker: I had asked Fang for help. I had asked him to come back because I needed him. My stomach churned just thinking about it. That was me: Maximum Ride, Damsel in Distress.

I know this will surprise you, but I don't damsel well. Distress, I can do. Damseling? Not so much.

"I don't remember you muttering this much, before," Ari said, crouching next to me.

"I was a little saner then," I said.

"Oh." He traced a finger through the grime on the floor. Suddenly I remembered him saying, "I can't read."

Knowing he was watching me, I slowly drew the letter A on the floor, making little trails through the dirt. Then I drew an R. And an I.

"That spells Ari," I told him. I drew it again, slowly. A...R...I. "Now you do it."

He started the A, then stopped. "What's the point?" he asked, and I was stung because he was right. He didn't have much time left. Did it really matter if he knew how to read?

"You should know how to write your name," I said firmly, pushing his hand toward the floor again. "Come on. First A."

Concentrating, Ari dragged one ragged claw through the dirt. He made a rickety, asymmetrical A.

"A drunk monkey could do better, but you'll get there," I said. "Do the R."

He started on the R, first drawing it backward. I didn't know if this was normal for his age or whether his brain had been affected by all the experiments done on him. I rubbed it out and showed him how to do it correctly.

Jeb had taught me and Fang to read. I'd taught Gazzy and Nudge and Angel. We were a little shaky with spelling and grammar sometimes, but all of us could forge signatures like a pro. He hadn't taught his own son.

"How come you're doing this?" Ari's hesitant question caught me off guard.

"Uh-to make up for almost killing you in New York?"

Ari didn't look at me. "You did kill me," he said. "They brought me back. Fused some of the bones in my neck." He ran a meaty paw over his neck as if it still pained him.

"I'm sorry," I said. I can count on the fingers of one hand how many times those words have passed my lips. And three of them had been in the last five minutes. "You were trying to kill me first."

He nodded. "I hated you," he said calmly. "Dad gave you everything, he really loved you. I was his son, and I didn't mean anything to him. You were so strong and perfect and beautiful. I just hated you. Wanted you dead. And he used that. He used me as part of your testing."

I was rattled. Ari seemed so matter-of-fact. "He was proud of you," I said, dredging up memories of a long time ago, before Jeb had stolen me and the rest of the flock out of the lab. "He liked you following him around in the lab."

"You never even noticed me," Ari said, slowly tracing the I in his name.

"I did," I said, thinking back. "You were a cute little boy. I used to be so jealous of you because you were his son. You belonged to him in a way that I didn't belong to anyone. I wanted to be perfect so Jeb would love me."

Even as I said the words, I was just realizing them myself. Ari looked up at me, surprised. I rocked back on my heels, facing these painful truths. It was like Dr. Phil had apparated right into our dungeon.

"I knew I was a freak," I said softly. "I had wings. I lived in a dog crate. But you were a regular little boy. You were Jeb's real son. I kept thinking, If I'm strong enough, if I do everything he tells me, if I'm the best at everything, then maybe Jeb will love me too." I looked down at my new boots, already dull with dirt. "I was so, so happy when he stole us from the lab." My throat got tight, remembering. "I didn't think it could last. I was afraid. But I was happy that I was going to die away from the lab. Not in a dog crate. And then it went on. No one found us. Jeb took care of us, taught us stuff, how to survive. It was almost like a normal life, like normal kids. And you know, Ari," I said, "I was so happy to be gone, so happy to have Jeb, that I didn't even think about the little boy he'd left behind. I guess I just thought you were with your mom or something."

Ari nodded, and after a moment he swallowed and cleared his throat. "I don't have a mom."

"It's not what it's cracked up to be," I said, and he smiled.

"I understand now," he said. "It wasn't your fault. You were just a kid, like me. It wasn't either of our faults."

I pressed my lips together hard, determined not to make poignant tear streaks down my no doubt filthy face.

"I saw a Shakespeare movie on TV once," I said. "The guy said something like, 'Anyone who fights with me today is my brother.' So-if you fight with me today..."

He smiled again and nodded, understanding. Then we hugged, of course, because the Hallmark moment wouldn't be complete without it.