Two Schools Out - Forever

14

"And what's your name, sweetie?"

"Ariel," said Angel.

"Okay, Ariel. Have you ever heard of anyone named Jeb Batchelder?"

The agent held up a photograph, and Angel looked at it. Jeb's familiar face looked back at her, and it hurt her heart.

"No," she said.

"Um, okay... can you tell me what your relationship is to Max?"

"She's my sister. You know, because of the missionaries. Our parents."

"Okay, I see. And where did you get your dog?"

"I found him in the park." Angel fidgeted and looked over at Max. She thought, Okay, enough questions. You can go.

The agent sitting across from her paused and looked blankly at the notes she was writing.

"Uh-I guess that's enough questions," the agent said, looking confused. "You can go."

"Thanks," said Angel, slipping out of her chair. She snapped her fingers for Total, and he trotted after her.

"And how do you spell that?" the agent asked.

"Captain, like the captain of a ship," the Gasman explained. "And then Terror, you know, T-E-R-O-R."

"Your name is Captain Terror."

"That's right," the Gasman said, shifting in his chair. He glanced at Max, who was speaking very quietly to her agent. "Are you really FBI?"

The agent smiled briefly. "Yes. How old are you?"

"Eight. How old are you?"

The agent looked startled. "Uh... um, you're kind of tall for an eight-year-old, aren't you?"

"Uh-huh. We're all tall. And skinny. And we eat a lot. When we can get it."

"Yes, I see. Tell me... Captain, have you ever seen anything like this?" The agent held up a blurry black-and-white photo of an Eraser, half-morphed.

"Gosh, no," said the Gasman, opening his blue eyes wide. "What is that?"

The agent seemed at a loss for words.

"And you're blind?"

"Uh-huh," Iggy said, trying to sound bored.

"Were you born that way?"

"No."

"How did you become blind, uh, Jeff, is it?"

"Yeah, Jeff. Well, I looked directly at the sun, you know, the way they always tell you not to. If only I had listened."

"And then I had, like, three cheeseburgers, and they were awesome, you know? And those fried pie things? Those apple pies? They're really great. Have you ever tried them?" Nudge looked hopefully at the woman sitting across from her.

"Uh, I don't think so. Can you spell your name for me, sweetie?"

"Uh-huh. It's K-R-Y-S-T-A-L. I like my name. It's pretty. What's your name?"

"Sarah. Sarah McCauley."

"Well, that's an okay name too. Do you wish it was something different? Like, sometimes I wish my name was kind of fancier, you know? Like-Cleopatra. Or Marie-Sophie-Therese. Did you know that the queen of England has, like, six names? Her name is Elizabeth Alexandra Mary. Her last name is Windsor. But she's so famous she just signs her name 'Elizabeth R,' and everyone knows who it is. I'd like to be that famous someday. I would just sign 'Krystal.'"

The agent was silent for a moment, then she seemed to recover herself. "Have you ever heard of a place called the School?" she asked. "We think it's in California. Have you ever been to California?"

Nudge looked thoughtfully at the ceiling. "California? Like, surfers and movie stars and earthquakes? No. I'd like to go. Is it pretty?" Her large brown eyes looked innocently at the agent.

"You can call me Agent Mickelson," he told me with a smile. "What about you? Is Max short for something? Maxine?"

"No, Dean. It's just Max."

He blinked once, then referred back to his notes. "I see. Now, Max, I think we both know your parents aren't missionaries."

I opened my eyes wide. "No? Well, for God's sake, don't tell them. They'd be crushed. Thinking they're doing the Lord's work and all."

Dean looked at me, I dunno, as if a hamster had just snarled at him. He tried another tack. "Max, we're looking for a man named Jeb Batchelder. Do you have any knowledge of his whereabouts?" The agent held up a picture of Jeb, and my heart constricted. For a second I was torn: give that lying, betraying jerk up to the FBI, which would be fun, or keep my mouth shut about anything important, which would be smart.

I shook my head regretfully. "Never seen him."

"Have you ever been to Colorado?"

I frowned. "Is that one of those square ones, in the middle?"

I saw Dean take a deep breath.

Quickly I glanced around. Angel was on the floor by the door, eating my muffin, sharing it with Total. Iggy's and Nudge's agents were conferring, whispering behind some papers, and Iggy and Nudge lounged in their chairs. Nudge was looking around curiously. I hoped she was memorizing escape routes. The Gasman got up, cheerfully said "Bye" to his agent, and went over to Angel.

"Max, we want to help you," Dean said quietly. "But you've got to help us too. Fair is fair."

I stared at him. That was the funniest thing I'd heard in days.

"You're kidding, right? Please tell me you have a stronger motive for me than 'fair is fair.' Life isn't fair, Dean." My voice strengthened, and I leaned forward, closer to the agent's impassive face. "Nothing is fair, ever. That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. I need to help you because fair is fair? Try, 'I need you to help me so I won't rip out your spine and beat you with it.' I might respond to that. Maybe."

Dean's jaw clenched, and two pink splotches appeared on his cheeks. I got the feeling that he was more mad at himself than at me.

"Max," he began, his voice tense, but was interrupted.

"Thank you, Dean," said a woman's voice. "I'll take over from here."