Nevermore: The Final Maximum Ride Adventure mr-8 Page 7

  “Total.”

  “Sheesh, no need to get all snippy,” he said, pouting as effectively as a Scottish terrier can pout. “Just remember: No one likes a self-absorbed person. Always direct the conversation back to your date.”

  “I already know everything about my… about Dylan,” I said. I sighed again and wound my hair into a lopsided bun, then tried to jam in a couple of the chopstick-y things that Nudge uses for her hair. Welcome to the glamorous life of Maximum Ride, ladies and gentlemen.

  “Also, personal hygiene is a must,” Total continued.

  We both looked at my messy hair, my stained jeans, my beat-up sneakers.

  “I’ll get Nudge to choose an outfit for you,” he muttered.

  I stared at my reflection in the mirror, trying not to panic. Do I need to repeat how awful I am at this—this normal girl stuff? No. I don’t believe I do.

  But Sloan was a fifteen-year-old boy. I don’t care how nice the guy might be, that’s a walking hormonal disaster waiting to happen, in my book. There was no way I was just going to sit there and let him whisk Nudge away by herself, so to keep it from being horribly awkward, Dylan and I were double-whatevering with them.

  Kill me now.

  “So what movie are you crazy kids seeing, anyway?” Total asked fondly.

  “Blood City III: The Massacre.” I’d read the summary of it online, and frankly, it sounded like the directors had just decided to film my life.

  “Perfect!” Total crowed, wagging his tail. “A horror movie! You can cling to Dylan during all the scary parts.”

  Flabbergasted, I gaped at him. “First of all, sexist pig much?” I said. “I don’t buy into the whole damsel-in-distress thing, especially when I’ve saved Dylan’s feathery butt more times than he can count. Second of all, no. Just… no.”

  Total ignored me and hopped up onto the counter and opened the medicine cabinet with his nose, taking out a little white box and pushing it toward me.

  “What’s that?” I asked warily.

  Total winked. “Breath mints.”

  30

  “NOOOO!” ON THE screen, a woman’s eyes bugged almost out of her head, and I tried not to scream.

  Tried not to scream in exasperation, I mean. The serial killer was right in front of her, wide open! Clearly, instead of weeping like a moron, she should be lunging forward and administering a swift uppercut to his chin. Then this entire pointless ordeal would be over with, and I could go home.

  Okay. I’ll stop whining. It wasn’t that bad, sitting there in the movie theater next to Dylan. We were in the row directly behind Nudge and Sloan—partly so we wouldn’t get separated, partly so I could knock Sloan unconscious if he tried anything—and, to be completely honest, I was feeling pretty relaxed.

  In a completely nervous, freaked-out way, of course.

  Because as soon as the words AND NOW… YOUR FEATURE PRESENTATION had flickered across the screen, Dylan had tentatively reached out and taken my hand.

  And I hadn’t stopped him.

  So that was the situation: dark theater, warm hands, terrible blood-drenched movie, and so much tension between me and Dylan that it felt like my brain was about to short-circuit.

  Basically, I wasn’t sure whether to just go with it and have fun (like a human) or panic and get the heck out of this pitch-black enclosed space (like a bird kid). So far, the human way was winning, but the jury was still out.

  To absolutely no one’s surprise, the stupid bug-eyed lady got stabbed, and wailed dramatically. I turned to the side and made a face at Dylan.

  “Well, you can’t blame her,” he whispered, and his eyes flashed like blue coins in the dim half-light. “She hasn’t exactly been trained for fights to the death.”

  “Oh, come on! She still totally just sat there and let herself get stabbed,” I protested. “In my humble opinion, she deserved it.”

  He snickered quietly. “You may be the only person who’s rooting for the serial killer.”

  We smiled at each other, and that was when my usual harshness came slamming back into me with a jolt, making me bite my lip and focus on the movie again. No time for blushing and admiring; make sure Nudge is doing okay! Check for escape routes!

  Sometimes my survival skills really get in the way of things.

  I stayed completely still through the rest of the movie, even when Dylan’s thumb began tracing fiery circles on my palm, even when my heart started pounding so loudly I thought people six rows away could probably hear it. Get it together, I told myself. Be calm. Be Zen. You are Buddha.

  Except I highly doubt that Buddha would be experiencing the same tingles down his spine that I was. And because of Dylan! Someone, anyone, just put me in a straitjacket and be done with it.

  Finally, the screen went black and the end credits started rolling. I shot to my feet, dropping Dylan’s hand like a hot potato. “Okay, well, that was fun! Let’s head home now!”

  “No way,” Nudge said, frowning. “It’s only nine o’clock.”

  “Yeah,” said Sloan. He nudged Nudge—no pun intended—and gave her a little smirk. “Let’s you and me go back to my place.”

  I choked, not sure whether to be horrified or revolted or amused. For one thing, if this guy thought there was even a slim chance that I’d let him get his hands all over my Nudge, he was sorely mistaken. For another thing, gross. For a third thing, what “place”? Didn’t this kid have parents? I mean, true, we didn’t, but we weren’t exactly the norm.

  “No, I think we’ll be going home now,” I growled, grabbing Dylan’s wrist and practically pushing him out into the aisle. “C’mon, Nudge.”

  Nudge sulked, but she followed obediently, with a glowering Sloan right behind her. He probably hated me, which I cared absolutely zero about. He wouldn’t be the first one.

  As soon as we stepped out of the theater and into the cool night air, I let out a sigh of relief. No matter how many amazingly attractive guys held my hand, no matter how many dates I went on, I would always, always prefer to be out in open space, with room for flying.

  Unless, of course, that space was filled with three hulking figures.

  “We’ve been waiting for you guys,” said Ari.

  31

  FOR A FEW moments, I couldn’t even speak. All I could do was stare dumbly at the person who’d died in my arms. Twice.

  Ari.

  And he wasn’t alone. Two big, snarling Erasers flanked him, looking oddly similar to their ringleader.

  “How are you… alive?” I asked shakily. Sloan visibly tensed at my words, and I remembered that, while undoubtedly a sleazy moron, he was still a relatively innocent human. If this turned into a fight, it would be bad.

  “I’m not a zombie,” Ari said in his gruff voice. “Just a better version of myself.”

  I tensed, my hands twitching. The previous versions hadn’t been particularly pleasant.

  Ari chuckled. “Don’t look so nervous, Max. I didn’t come on this friendly little visit to see you, anyway.” He looked pointedly at Dylan. “ ’Sup, Dyl.”

  “Do I know you?” Dylan cocked his head, confused and understandably wary. “Max? Who is this?”

  This weird man-wolf-child? I didn’t really know how to answer that. Ari and I had been mortal enemies—his first death had been caused by me accidentally breaking his neck in a New York subway tunnel—and then we’d been kind of friends. And then he’d died. What was I supposed to make of this new Ari?

  When in doubt, play it safe. I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, Ari, tell us. Who are you this time? Good? Evil? Still deciding?”

  “Relaaax, sis. We’re buds. My third coming is in peace. Actually, I already did you a favor.” His wolfy grin just sent more adrenaline hurtling through me.

  “What kind of favor?”

  Ari crossed his arms proudly. “I killed your clone.”

  “Clone?” Sloan said shrilly, but we all ignored him.

  My stomach clenched. “You what?” I snarled, but I knew it was true ev
en before Ari elaborated.

  “ ’Fraid so,” he said, smirking. “A scratch, a smash, wham, bam, Max II is dead—just like you always wanted.”

  I swallowed. Admittedly, I’d flirted with the idea, but not for real.

  “Anyway, on to business,” Ari said lightly before I could respond. He looked again at Dylan, who, taking a cue from me, had assumed a hostile stance. “Jeb wanted me to tell you not to worry about Dr. G.-H. and your little mission.”

  “Jeb?” Dylan asked, clearly confused.

  “Jeb!” I exclaimed, my voice rising. “What does Jeb have to do with—”

  “We’ve got the situation covered,” Ari said with finality, his eyes boring into Dylan’s. I scowled. His smile was playful, but in his eyes there was a definite threat.

  “What does he mean, Dylan?” I demanded impatiently.

  Dylan shook his head, but he adjusted his stance almost imperceptibly. He seemed to be deciding whether or not to spring.

  “Someone had better tell me what’s going on,” I snapped, ready to fight both of them. “Now.”

  “What I mean is that I’ll be defanging your buddy Fang.” Ari finally looked at me, smiling cheerfully.

  Nudge gasped.

  “What?” I exclaimed, heat rising to my cheeks even as my blood ran cold.

  “And I just stopped by to make sure I wouldn’t have to add Dylan to the list while I’m at it,” Ari continued calmly. “Maxy here can tell you I’m a bit hard to keep down.” He flashed a conspiratorial grin. “So cease and desist, bud. Cease and desist.”

  We all regarded one another suspiciously, and I tensed with growing fury and confusion. Ari wanted to kill Fang? And he was warning Dylan about it, even though Dylan hated Fang? And somehow Jeb was involved?

  “Who’s this Fang guy, and what do you mean, ‘defang’?” Sloan asked nervously, a little slow on the uptake. “Like, you’re gonna knock his teeth out?”

  Ari turned toward him and cracked his knuckles.

  “Naw, kid,” he said. “I mean like I’m gonna tear his heart out through his chest.”

  “That’s it,” I snapped, but as I lunged forward, Ari and his posse unfurled their wings, as if choreographed, and kicked off from the ground, hard.

  I began to shrug off my jacket to do the same, but Dylan reached out and put his hand on my shoulder.

  “You can’t take him right now,” Dylan murmured in my ear. “Too many people around.”

  I eyed Sloan, who was stammering “Wh-what the…” next to a horrified Nudge, along with a small group of onlookers who were pointing and taking pictures.

  I ground my teeth, but nodded and took a deep breath, unclenching my fists. Fang could take care of himself, I reminded myself. He’d be fine.

  “Nice chatting with you guys,” called Ari from above. “Remember what I said, Dylan. Cease and desist.”

  And with that, he rose into the darkness and was gone.

  32

  I WAS JUST rolling into my third hour of sleeplessness when the door to my room creaked open.

  I was on guard instantly, bolting upright and wrapping one hand around my bedside lamp. Sound extreme? Not when you’ve been ambushed in your sleep as many times as I have.

  “Who’s there?” I whispered. “Nudge?” She had been utterly devastated over stupid Sloan, crying for at least forty minutes after he had called her a freak and hightailed it out of the parking lot. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wanted yet more comforting. Even if I wasn’t necessarily the best comforter in the world.

  “No, it’s me.” Very recognizable voice. Completely unexplainable, what he was doing here, but recognizable.

  I put the lamp down and flicked it on. Standing in the doorway was Dylan, looking tired and rumpled and sheepish.

  “What the heck are you doing in my room?” I asked, incredulous. “It’s past midnight. I’m sleeping.” Well, trying to.

  We hadn’t talked after Ari’s little visit. I’d been too freaked out by his news about Fang, and too preoccupied with Nudge’s tears, and then I’d stalked off to my room to try to make sense of things. No luck there.

  Dylan shuffled awkwardly. “I… was wondering… if there was any way I could… stay in here tonight.” He mumbled the last words, but I still got them.

  I made a sound reminiscent of a dying cat. “What?”

  “I hate being alone at night,” he muttered while I gaped. “I know it’s stupid and lame, but I mean—I’m not like you. I haven’t been alive for fifteen years.”

  The truth of that statement hit me harder than it should have. It was just so easy to forget that Dylan had been created only two years ago when he looked my age.

  “A lot’s been happening lately,” he went on in a rush. “Usually I’d just deal with it, but it’s a lot to absorb, and I was lying there in bed thinking about all the screwed-up things that Ari guy said, and… I don’t know.” Yeah, sounded a bit like my evening.

  He looked up at me hopefully. “So can I stay in here? Just for tonight? On the floor or something.”

  I hesitated a second more, then sighed heavily and gave a tiny nod.

  Relief crossed his male-model face. He came in, dragging his quilt behind him like a little kid, and closed the door quietly. “Thanks.” He looked embarrassed to be needing something, to be this vulnerable. I could have eviscerated him just then, but I hadn’t.

  Because I am a freaking princess about other people’s feelings.

  “No prob,” I said. “Pull up a patch of floor.”

  He shook the quilt out and lay down with a lithe grace, his smooth muscles rippling. I swallowed, trying not to think of how those arms had brushed against mine in the theater. He tucked his wings behind him as he lay on his side—none of us were back sleepers, for obvious reasons. With one hand he reached back and pulled the quilt over him.

  He looked big and strong and vulnerable and really, really… appealing.

  I flicked off the light and threw my pillow down to him. It landed on his face.

  “Thanks,” he said again, pulling the pillow off and bunching it up under his head. “This is just for tonight.”

  “Better be,” I muttered, then drifted back to the thoughts that had been eating away at me. Everything that Ari had said had been growing larger in the quiet of the night.

  “Dylan?” I said after a few minutes.

  “Hmm?”

  “What did Ari mean, about ‘cease and desist’? Why would he come looking for you if you’d never even met him before?”

  Dylan didn’t answer for such a long time that I thought he’d fallen asleep. Finally, he sighed. “I don’t understand any of it. I never understand why anyone involves me in anything.”

  I rolled my eyes. I had little patience for self-pity, and if I’d had another pillow, I would’ve chucked that at him, too.

  “He said not to worry about Dr. Gunther-Hagen,” I pressed, my voice sounding small and shrill in my ears. “Maybe he meant you shouldn’t worry about being my perfect other half, like Hansy said. Maybe he meant you should stop pursuing me.”

  “Maybe,” he said quietly, and my heart thundered in my chest. I was glad I couldn’t see his face in the darkness. “But I can’t, Max. You know I can’t.”

  We were quiet again, each of us listening to the other’s breathing. Finally, Dylan exhaled, long and slow. “Good night, Max.”

  I stared at the ceiling, willing my thoughts away from his body, his breath. “Good night, Dylan.”

  33

  FANG

  DYLAN

  Knows me better than anyone (both a positive and a negative).

  Practically just met me (less blackmail material).

  Can completely trust him (probably).

  Seems trustworthy (so far).

  Helps me stay tough.

  Helps me admit I can’t always be tough.

  Doesn’t care about social skills. Like me.

  A freaking social butterfly. Complements my antisocial behavior.


  Has eyes that seem to see inside me. Not good.

  Has eyes that make me forget myself. Not good.

  Is capable of bringing the meaning of “irritating” to whole new levels.

  Is capable of… pretty much the same thing.

  Almost like a brother (ack).

  Not like a brother. At all. In any way.

  Closed off.

  Makes darn sure that I know every single emotion going through his head.

  I don’t know how to act around him anymore.

  Easy to be around.

  Never told me he loved me. (Writing it in a letter right before he deserted me doesn’t count. Coward.)

  Loves me. And told me so. Right to my face. Gulp.

  Intense. Powerful. Moves in a way that makes me ache to touch him.

  Strong. Beautiful. Looks at me in a way that makes me ache to… scratch that.

  Still having dreams about the way he kissed me.

  Ditto.

  Don’t know where he is right now. Because he

  freaking left

  .

  Is right here with me. Now. Always.

  IT WAS A pretty complete list. The kind of list one makes when one cannot fall asleep because one’s thoughts keep swirling through one’s brain like a bunch of sparrows on crack. I put down my notebook, rolled over, and gazed at the floor.

  Dylan had rolled over onto his other side and was facing the opposite wall, his quilt balled up at his feet. He was a turbulent sleeper. Unlike Fang, who was quiet and self-contained. I started to add that to the list, but then thought, Who cares?

  I frowned at Dylan’s sprawled limbs. He couldn’t possibly be comfortable. He was probably cold.

  “Hey… you cold down there?” I whispered, leaning over the edge of the bed.

  He didn’t answer. Seeing as how he was asleep and all. I watched his breathing, slow and steady, the shadow of his abdominal muscles rising and falling under his bunched-up T-shirt. I tried to slow my own breath, but it thundered quick and ragged in my ears.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I was out of bed with my own comforter. I felt sorry for him. Yeah, that was it. Really sorry for him. As anyone would.