Two Schools Out - Forever

by James Patterson

  "Um, sit down," the woman said, watching Iggy.

  He hesitated until he felt me sit down, then he sat next to me.

  "I don't know where to begin," said the woman. She sat on Iggy's other side, and she finally seemed to get it that he wasn't looking around, wasn't meeting her eyes.

  "Um, I'm blind," said Iggy, his fingers plucking nervously at the hem of his sweatshirt. "They, uh-well, I can't see anymore."

  "Oh, dear," said the woman, looking distressed. The man sat across from us, and I saw a look of pain on his face.

  "We don't know what happened," he said, leaning forward. "You-our son was taken out of this house fourteen years ago. You were-he was only four months old. There was no trace. I hired detectives. We-" He stopped, as if the memory was too painful for him to go on.

  "It's a long, weird story," I said. "And we're not one hundred percent positive. But it really does look like Iggy's the baby you lost."

  The woman nodded and then took Iggy's hand. "I feel he is. You might not be positive, but I feel it. I can tell. This is my son."

  I couldn't believe it. How many times had we had this fantasy? Now it was all coming true for Iggy.

  "I have to say-I think you're right." The man cleared his throat. "He-it sounds funny, but he really looks just the same as he did when he was a baby."

  Any other time, Gazzy and Fang would have been all over that, riding Iggy and teasing him mercilessly. But they sat there stone-faced. It was starting to sink in, what was happening, what was about to happen.

  "I know!" Mrs. Griffiths sat up suddenly. "James had a small red birthmark on his side, toward the back. I asked the doctor about it, but he said it was fine."

  "Iggy has a birthmark," I said slowly. I'd seen it a hundred times.

  Iggy wordlessly pulled up his shirt on the left side. Mrs. Griffiths immediately saw the birthmark. She gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

  "Oh, my God!" she said, tears starting to run down her cheeks. "Oh, God. James! It's James!" In the next moment, she had leaned over and pulled Iggy into a tight hug. One hand stroked his strawberry-blond hair. Her eyes were closed, and her tears left a wet spot on Iggy's shoulder. "James, James," she whispered. "My baby."

  My own throat was closing up. I glanced over and saw that Angel and Nudge were both fighting tears. Jeez. It was turning into a real weep-fest.

  I cleared my throat. "So, well, you think this is James, the son you lost?"

  The man, tears in his own eyes, nodded. "That's my son," he said, his voice breaking.

  I hate stuff like this, where everyone's overwhelmed and weeping with joy and emotions are splashing all over the place. Ugh.

  "Wh-who are you?" Mr. Griffiths asked me, as his wife pulled back to look at Iggy's face. He gestured at all of us.

  "We're-friends," I said. "We-were taken too. But you're the first parents we've found." I hadn't meant to say that. What was wrong with me? Usually I was much stealthier and more secretive.

  Mr. and Mrs. Griffiths looked even more surprised and concerned.

  "So, uh, what now?" I asked briskly, rubbing my palms on my jeans.

  The two grown-ups shot quick glances at each other. Mr. Griffiths gave his wife a subtle nod, and she turned to me. "James belongs with us," she said firmly. "I thought I'd lost him forever. Now that we have him back, I'm never letting him go. Do you hear me?" She looked positively fierce, and I held up my hands in the universal "Whoa, Nelly" gesture.

  "No one's going to try to stop you. I think he's James too. But you know he's blind."

  "I don't care," said Mrs. Griffiths, looking at Iggy with love. "I don't care if there are a million problems. We can handle anything, if we have him back."

  Okay, that might cover the whole wing wrinkle...

  "Iggy? Do you want to stay?" I asked.

  His face flushed again, but underneath his reserve I saw the hint of an unbelieving happiness. My heart squeezed painfully, and I thought, I'm losing him.

  Slowly Iggy nodded. "I guess this is where I belong."

  I patted his arm. "Yeah," I said softly.

  "Do you have-things?" asked Mrs. Griffiths. "We'll move a bigger bed into what used to be your room. I haven't changed anything in there-just in case you came back to us someday." She touched his face gently. "It's a miracle. I can't believe it. If this is a dream, I hope I never wake up."

  Iggy smiled faintly. "I don't have much of anything, actually," he said. He held up the small backpack that we'd filled with a few crucial supplies from Anne's house.

  "Fine," said Mrs. Griffiths. "We can get you anything you need."

  Spoken like a real parent.

  82

  And that's how one of us found his real parents. I won't bore you with the whole heartrending good-bye scene. Suffice it to say that mucho tears were shed. There was much going on in the "lamenting" department. I really don't want to talk about it.

  Okay, I'll give you one little insight. I'd grown up with Iggy, known him my whole short, horrible life. I'd known him back when he could see, helped him learn how to fly. He was less obnoxious than Fang, quieter than Nudge, and a better cook than any of us. He was the Gasman's best friend. And yeah, friends move away, and it's sad and then you get over it. But there were only five people in the entire freaking world that I cared about and trusted, and I had just lost one of them. I'd had to walk away knowing that Iggy was standing in the doorway as if he could actually watch us leave, watch us leave him behind forever.

  Basically, I felt like my heart had been stomped on by a soccer team wearing cleats.

  But enough about me. I said I didn't want to talk about it.

  83

  Anne was quite the panicky mother hen about losing one of her chicks, especially since we wouldn't tell her squat about it.

  All weekend she made hysterical phone calls and hovered over us, alternately begging, pleading, crying, and threatening. But all we would say was that he had left because he wanted to and he was safe. End of discussion.

  Except Anne didn't understand what "end of discussion" meant. Saying "end of discussion" really only works if the other person actually shuts up about it. Anne didn't.

  By Monday morning, our nerves were all stretched pretty thin. For one thing, I felt like my left arm had been cut off, because Iggy was gone. I'd found Nudge crying in her room twice; and Gazzy seemed practically catatonic without his favorite partner in crime. Angel didn't try to be stoic but climbed into my lap sobbing. Which meant that Total joined us.

  "I'm such a marshmallow," he sobbed, tears making wet spots on his fur.

  It took a lot to make any one of us cry. Losing Iggy was plenty. So with all the tears and heartache and sleeplessness, and then Anne riding me, trying to find out where Iggy was, by Monday morning I was pretty much ready to snap.

  I mean, I was happy for him. Way happy. But more than sad for the rest of us. And knowing that this could happen again, to any of us, made me feel like the Titanic, plowing right toward an iceberg.

  "I'm going to report Jeff missing at school," Anne told us as we filed out to the car.

  "Okay," I said wearily, knowing it wouldn't help. We all piled into her Suburban and she headed to school, back as rigid as a steel pipe.

  "I'm going to call the police," she said, looking at me in the mirror.

  "Whatever," I said, ready to explode. "Why don't you put his face on a milk carton? He's just another one of those missing kids, isn't he? This place is full of them."

  Anne's face in the mirror looked taken aback, almost-was it afraid? Interestingly, after that she dropped it.

  Which meant what?

  84

  "Right! You all have your orders," Ari barked. He rolled his shoulders under his black leather coat. Another Eraser was driving, and twelve more crouched in the back of the van. "We go in, we grab the mutants, we clear out. Like surgery, right?"

  "Right," several Erasers muttered.

  Take the mutants alive, his Voice reminded him.

&
nbsp; "Remember-take the mutants alive," Ari said. He grinned, looking forward to what was about to happen. "And no one touches Max! She's mine." He waited for the Voice to jump in with more advice, but it was silent.

  He rubbed his hands together, already itching to feel his fists connect with Max's face. Sure, Dad had said to bring Max back alive-there was more he wanted to learn about her. But the only thing Ari wanted to learn was what size coffin she'd need. He knew how he'd play it: Despite his orders, another Eraser had "gone crazy," killing everything in sight. Before Ari could stop him, he'd ripped out Max's throat. Then Jeb would kill that Eraser, Max would be dead, and Ari would be sitting pretty.

  There were no downsides.

  On the other hand... what if Max "disappeared"? What if Ari took Max and stashed her somewhere where no one could find her and she couldn't escape? He thought he knew a place. If Max was trapped, if she had no hope of escaping, and if Ari was the only one keeping her alive with food and water-then she'd get used to him, right? She'd be grateful to him, even. It would be just the two of them, with no one telling them what to do. They would become friends. Max would like him. They could play cards. She could read to him. They could play outside.

  This was sounding more and more like the best idea he'd had all year. And he knew a good place to take her. Someplace she couldn't escape from. That is, once he'd cut her wings off.

  85

  "I have one more announcement," said Mr. Pruitt, staring balefully at the entire student body. It was Monday-morning assembly, and we were all trapped in the school auditorium, listening to the headhunter spew bile at us. At least it was equal-opportunity bile-not aimed at just the flock. So far he'd vented his feelings about how messy we left the lunchroom, how we thieving little punks had stolen school supplies, and how he doubted our ability to use the restrooms like normal human beings.

  The man definitely had issues.

  "One of our students has gone missing," Mr. Pruitt said, seeming to stare right at me.

  I put on an innocent "Who, moi?" expression.

  "Jeff Walker," the headhunter went on. "From ninth grade. Though he was a new student, I'm sure you all know whom I'm talking about. We're calling in a special detective unit," he said, narrowing his eyes at me. I kept my face carefully blank. "But if any of you have seen him, or know anything, or have any information whatsoever, come forward now. If we later find out that you did know something and did not come forward, it will be very bad for you. Am I making myself clear?"

  Lots of confused nods.

  Many kids turned to look at me, Fang, and the rest of the flock because we were Iggy's "siblings." I realized I should look upset and worried, and tried to change gears.

  "Dismissed," spit the headhunter, making it sound like a terminal sentence.

  I leaped up, anxious to get out of the crowded auditorium. In the hallway, my friend J.J. caught up to me.

  "I'm so sorry, Max," she said, looking concerned. "What happened?"

  Amazingly I had no story prepared. In my twisted freak-show world, people appearing out of nowhere and disappearing into nothingness was kind of everyday fare. Somehow, the idea that Iggy's absence would actually upset and concern people other than Anne had never occurred to me.

  Okay, I'd dropped this ball. I admit it.

  "Uh...," I said, stalling. I didn't have time to think through all the possible stories to see if they had loopholes or bear traps further down the line. Several other kids crowded around us.

  "I can't talk about it," I said. And just like that, thinking about Iggy's really being gone made actual, unfake tears come to my eyes. I let 'em rip. "I mean... I... just can't talk about it right now." I added a tiny sniffle and was rewarded with concerned understanding.

  "Okay, everyone," J.J. said, waving her arms. "She can't talk about it. Let's back off, give her some space."

  "Thanks," I told her. "I still can't believe he's really gone." Completely true.

  "I'm so sorry," said J.J. "If only they had taken my brother instead."

  She actually made me smile, just like a real friend.

  "I'll see you later," she said, heading toward her locker. "Let me know if I can help-if you need anything."

  I nodded. "Thanks."

  The other kids were still looking at me, and paranoia made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Sitting in the auditorium, kids following me to ask me questions-I was way too twitchy to deal with any of it.

  I turned and strode off in the other direction. But in the next hall, more kids looked up and, after glancing at one another, started toward me. Then the headhunter turned the corner. He hadn't seen me yet and was barking at other students. It was only moments before I would come under his fire. This was feeling bad.

  I reversed direction quickly and headed down a third hall, and then I saw a door marked Teachers' Lounge. I'd never been in there. I pushed the door open and ducked in, already preparing my story about being lost.

  Still facing the closed door, I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Then I turned around, ready to start sucking up to any teacher who might be in here.

  There were quite a few teachers here, I observed with surprise. Including a bunch I'd never seen before. One was standing at the front of the room, as if telling a story, and others were grouped at tables. I quickly glanced at their faces, looking for someone I knew. Oh, good, Mr. Lazzara.

  But-my heart took a beat and froze.

  These were teachers, in the teachers' lounge.

  Why were three of them pulling out Tasers?

  86

  Because they were whitecoat plants, ready to capture a mutant bird kid? I'm just guessing here.

  In a split second I opened that door and whirled to run-

  - right into the headhunter.

  His ugly face split in an unholy grin, and he grabbed both my arms with an iron grip. "Leaving so soon? Surely you're not tired of our hospitality," he snarled. He shoved me back into the teachers' lounge as I wrenched my arms free.

  "Why, what's happening?" Mr. Lazzara asked in surprise.

  "Keep away!" one of the other teachers barked at him.

  I backed up and looked at the headhunter, disappointed but not surprised to see him pulling a plastic cord out of his pocket, no doubt intended for my wrists.

  "I always knew there was a reason I hated you," I said tightly. "Besides just your personality, I mean." Then I leaped into the air, aiming a kick at his head. I caught him off guard and whipped his head sideways, but he sprang up and came for me. I jumped onto a table, grabbed the light fixture hanging from the ceiling, and swung fast, hard kicks at everyone coming toward me.

  Guess what, Voice? I thought. This time I'm believing what I'm seeing.

  The headhunter grabbed for me again. "Oh, no you don't, you wretched little blister," he spit at me. "You're my prize, my reward for suffering through day after day of ignorant, pestilent little swine."

  "I miss the gold-watch tradition, myself," I said, then I spun out of the way, kicking him hard as he lunged for me across the table. He fell and slid sideways, knocking down some other teachers, including the ones with Tasers. Note to self: Crack up later.

  Some teachers were huddled against a back wall, looking terrified. Michael Lazzara looked as though he was about to throw himself into the action on the good-guy side. But the bad-guy teachers were closing in on me from all angles, pointing their Tasers at me. I didn't know who they were or who they worked for, but a good general rule of thumb is to avoid people with electric stun guns.

  With a huge jump, I cleared several teachers and crashed through the door into the hallway. I wasn't sure exactly which classrooms the flock would be in at this time, so I just streaked down the hall, shouting at the top of my lungs.

  "Bandada! Bezheet! See-chass! Move, move, move!"

  87

  I ran as fast as I could down both classroom halls, yelling, and saw Nudge and then Fang burst out of their rooms. I felt both frantic and incredibly pisse
d: Here was the proof I'd needed all along to convince the others to leave before now.

  Other kids were streaming into the hallway, wondering what all the commotion was. Angel! Thank God, there she was, racing out of her classroom in front of me. She looked back, nodded, and poured on the speed toward the exit.

  "Max! In here!" I saw Sam twenty feet ahead, standing in the doorway of an empty classroom. He motioned urgently with his hand. "Come on! Through here!"

  But was he starting to look kind of Erasery around the edges-teeth a tiny bit too long, hair a shade thicker? I couldn't tell and couldn't take a chance.

  "You can trust me!" he said, as I saw the Gasman rush out of his room, almost running into Nudge.

  Sam stepped forward as if to intercept me, but I made one of my famous split-second decisions. I plowed right through him, knocking him to the ground.

  "The thing is," I said, "I can't trust anybody!"

  "Max!" Fang shouted, standing at the exit doors. The four of us raced toward him, and together we burst through to the parking lot. Behind us, the whole school was in chaos-kids filling the halls, people screaming, yelling, running around.

  Looks like school's out, I thought.

  "Up and away!" I shouted, hearing a car's engine race. The rest of the flock took to the air just as I realized the headhunter's fancy car was screeching toward me at full speed. He was going to run me down-if he could.

  I ran straight at the car and, right before it crashed into me, I jumped into the air. As my wings gathered wind beneath them, I kicked hard, shattering the headhunter's windshield. Then I was ten, fifteen, twenty feet in the air, looking down.

  Within seconds the headhunter had lost control of his car, and it squealed, sliding sideways right into several parked cars.

  "Cool!" said the Gasman.