The Angel Experiment Part 22

87.

The kid quickly started typing in commands, muttering, "I'm gonna track this down. . . ."

Fang and I watched, but a couple minutes later the geek stopped, flicking his computer in frustration. He looked at us with narrowed eyes, taking in everything: the drying blood on my chin, the other kids sleeping near us.

"I don't know how you're doing it," he said, sounding resigned and irritated. "Where's your gear?"

"We don't have any gear," Fang said. "Spooky, isn't it?"

"You guys on the run? You in trouble?"

Jeb had drilled it into us that we shouldn't ever trust anyone. (We now knew that included him. him.) The geek was starting to make me extremely nervous.

"Why would you think that?" Fang asked calmly.

The kid rolled his eyes. "Let me see. Maybe because you're a bunch of kids kids sleepin' in a sleepin' in a subway tunnel. subway tunnel. Kind of clues me in, you know?" Kind of clues me in, you know?"

Okay, he had a point.

"What about you?" I asked. "You're a kid sleeping in a subway tunnel. Don't you have school?"

The kid coughed out a laugh. "MIT kicked me out."

MIT was a university for brainiacs-I'd heard of it. This kid wasn't old enough.

"Uh-huh." I made myself sound incredibly bored.

"No, really," he said, sounding almost sheepish. "I got early admission. Was gonna major in computer technology. But I spun out, and they told me to take a hike."

"What do you mean, spun out?" asked Fang.

He shrugged. "Wouldn't take my Thorazine. They said, no Thorazine, no school."

Okay, I'd been around wack-job scientists enough to pick up on some stuff. Like the fact that Thorazine is what they give schizophrenics.

"So you didn't like Thorazine," I said.

"No." His face turned hard. "Or Haldol, or Melleril, or Zyprexa. They all suck. People just want me to be quiet, do what I'm told, don't make trouble."

It was weird-he reminded me a little bit of us: He'd chosen to live a hard, dirty life, being free, instead of a taken-care-of life where he was like a prisoner.

Course, we weren't schizo. On second thought, I had a voice talking inside my head. Better not make any snap judgments.

"So what's up with your computer, man?" Fang asked.

The kid shrugged again. "It's my bread and b.u.t.ter. I can hack into anything. Sometimes people pay me. I do jobs when I need money." All of a sudden his mouth snapped shut. "Why? Who wants to know? Who wants to know?"

"Chill out, dude," Fang said, frowning. "We're just having a chat."

But the kid had started to back away, looking angry. "Who sent you?" he asked, his voice rising. "Who are you? You just leave me alone! You just stay away!"

Fang raised his hands in a "calm down" gesture, but the kid had turned and run. In about fifteen seconds we could no longer hear his sneakers on the ground.

"It's always refreshing to meet someone crazier than us," I said. "We seem so normal afterward."

"We?" Fang said. Fang said.

"Wha's up?" Iggy asked sleepily, pulling himself upright.

I sighed but forced myself to tell Iggy about the kid's computer, the Voice in my head, the images that flashed through me during one of my attacks. I tried to sound nonchalant, so he wouldn't know I was quaking in my boots.

"Maybe I'm going crazy," I said lightly. "But it will lead me to greatness. Like Joan of Arc."

"But controlling other people's computers?" Iggy said skeptically.

"I don't see how," I said. "But since I have no clue about who or what could possibly be causing it, I guess I can't rule anything out."

"Hmm. Do we think it's connected to the School or the Inst.i.tute?" Fang asked.

"Well, either that or I was born this way," I said sarcastically. "On the off chance I wasn't, wasn't, let's really, really try to find the Inst.i.tute tomorrow. At least now we know what name to look for." let's really, really try to find the Inst.i.tute tomorrow. At least now we know what name to look for."

The Inst.i.tute for Higher Living.

Catchy, huh?

88.

Have you ever woken up about a hundred times more exhausted than you were when you went to sleep?

The next morning-at least, I a.s.sumed it was morning, since we were all waking up-I felt like one of the twelve dancing princesses, who danced all night, wore holes in their shoes, and had to sleep it off the next day. Except, oh, yeah: a) I'm not a princess; b) sleeping in a subway tunnel and having another brain attack aren't that much like dancing all night; and c) my combat boots were still in good shape. Other than that, it was exactly exactly the same. the same.

"Is it morning?" Angel asked, yawning.

"I'm hungry" were, predictably, Nudge's first words.

"Okay, we'll get you some chow," I said tiredly. "Then it's off to find the Inst.i.tute."

Fang, Iggy, and I had agreed to not tell the younger kids about the hacker or about my latest brain attack. Why make 'em worry?

It took a couple minutes for us to wend our way through the subway tunnels, back up into light and air. You know you've been breathing something less than primo when the New York street smells really fresh and clean.

"It's so bright," the Gasman said, shielding his eyes. Then, "Is that honey-roasted peanuts?"

Their incredible scent was impossible to resist. You could have an Eraser selling those peanuts, and we'd probably still go. I focused my eyes on the vendor. No. Not an Eraser.

We got some peanuts, and then we walked down Fourteenth Street, chomping, as I tried to figure out a sensible way to comb the city. First, a phone book. We saw a phone kiosk up ahead, but it had only a chain where the phone book had been. Would a store let us use theirs? Hey! Information! Hey! Information! I dug some change out of my pocket and picked up the phone. I dialed 411. I dug some change out of my pocket and picked up the phone. I dialed 411.

"In New York City, the Inst.i.tute for Higher Living," I said when the automated operator came on.

"We're sorry. There is no listing under that name. Please check and try again."

Frustration was my constant companion. I wanted to scream. "What the he-eck are we supposed to do now? now?" I asked Fang.

He looked at me, and I could tell he was mulling over the problem. He held out a small waxed-paper bag. "Peanut?"

We kept walking and eating, gazing in constant amazement at the store windows. Everything you could buy in the world was for sale on Fourteenth Street in New York. Of course, we couldn't afford any of it. Still, it was awesome.

"Smile, you're on Candid Camera, Candid Camera," said Fang, pointing at a window.

In an electronics store, a short-circuit camera was displaying pa.s.sersby on a handful of TV screens. Automatically, we ducked our heads and turned away, instinctively paranoid about anyone having our images.

Suddenly, I winced as a single sharp pain hit my temple. At the same time, words scrolling across the TV screens caught my eye. I stared in disbelief as Good morning, Max, Good morning, Max, filled every screen. filled every screen.

"Jeez," Fang breathed, stopping dead in his tracks.

Iggy b.u.mped into him, saying, "What? What is it?"

"Is that you?" the Gasman asked me. "How do they know you?"

Playing is learning, Max, said the Voice inside my head. It was the same one as last night, and I realized I couldn't tell if it was adult or child, male or female, friend or foe. Great. said the Voice inside my head. It was the same one as last night, and I realized I couldn't tell if it was adult or child, male or female, friend or foe. Great.

Games test your abilities. Fun is crucial to human development. Go have fun, Max.

I halted, oblivious to the gobs of people streaming around us on the street. "I don't want to have fun! I want some answers!" I blurted without meaning to-the crazy girl talking back to her little Voice.

Get on the Madison Avenue bus, said the Voice. said the Voice. Get off when it looks fun. Get off when it looks fun.

89.

I don't know about the rest rest of you who have little voices, but something about of you who have little voices, but something about mine mine made me feel completely compelled to listen to it. made me feel completely compelled to listen to it.

I blinked and discovered the flock gazing at me solemnly, watching me sink further into total insanity right before their eyes.

"Max, are you okay?" Nudge asked.

I nodded. "I think we should get on the Madison Avenue bus," I said, looking for a street sign.

Fang looked at me thoughtfully. "Why?"

I turned slightly so the others couldn't see me and mouthed, "The Voice."

He nodded. "But Max," he whispered, barely audible, "what if this is all a trap?"

"I don't know!" I said. "But maybe we should do what it says for a while-to see."

"Do what what what says?" the Gasman demanded. says?" the Gasman demanded.

I had started walking toward the corner. I heard Fang say, "Max has been hearing a voice, inside her. We don't know what it is." So much for not worrying the others.

"Like her conscience?" Nudge asked. "Do the TVs have anything to do with it?"

"We don't know," said Fang. "Right now it wants us to get on the Madison Avenue bus, apparently."

The bus stop was fourteen blocks away. We got on, and I pushed our fares into the machine. The driver waved us through, saying, "Pa.s.s, pa.s.s, pa.s.s" in a bored voice.

I hoped the Voice didn't want me to keep spending money-we were dangerously low.

For people who get nervous in small, confined s.p.a.ces or surrounded by other people, riding a bus is pretty much a living nightmare. It was so crowded we had to stand in the aisle with people pressed up against us. I figured we could always kick a window out and jump, but the whole thing frayed my few remaining nerves. My head was swiveling constantly, scanning for Erasers suddenly morphing out of our fellow pa.s.sengers.

Well, Voice? I thought. I thought. What now? What now?

I'm sure this will surprise you, but the Voice did not answer.

Next to me, Angel trustingly held my hand, watching the city go past the bus windows. It was up to me. I had to keep everyone safe. I had to find the Inst.i.tute. If my brain attacks killed me, Fang would take over. But until then, I was numero uno. I couldn't let the flock down. Do you hear that, Voice? If you're going to make me let everyone down, you're going to be sorry you ever . . . entered my brain. Do you hear that, Voice? If you're going to make me let everyone down, you're going to be sorry you ever . . . entered my brain.

Oh, my G.o.d, I was so freaking nuts.

"Okay, people," the bus driver said over the PA system. "Fifty-eighth Street! This is where the fun is!"

Startled, I looked at Fang, then started hustling everyone out the back door of the bus. We stepped into the sunlight. The bus pulled noisily away, leaving us choking on its exhaust. We were at the bottom of Central Park.

"What-" I began, then my eyes widened as I saw a large gla.s.s-fronted building across the street. Behind its gla.s.s were an enormous teddy bear, a huge wooden soldier, and a fifteen-foot-tall ballerina up on one pointed toe.

The sign said AFO Schmidt.

The world's most amazing toy store.

Well, okay.

90.