Angel_ A Maximum Ride Novel - James Patterson [12]
Ratchet eyed Star’s school uniform, her designer bag, and her immaculately painted nails, and scowled. “We don’t have very much in common, Twinkle,” he huffed. “But sushi’s a barfathon, I’ll give you that.”
“How can you not like sushi?” Fang said, spearing another California roll and trying to be sociable to ease the tension. “Wasabi. It’s like a party in my mouth.”
Star regarded the two of them coolly, her light blond hair swinging softly around her shoulders. “You guys don’t get it. It’s not that I don’t like it. It just isn’t enough. I need more. Bigger. Better.”
“Ooh, daddy’s little girl is used to bigger,” Ratchet said in a high, mocking voice. Then returning to a coarse rumble, he said, “I guess size matters to you, huh?”
Star’s glare was so icy that Fang almost felt a chill in the air. If it was possible for a Catholic schoolgirl to look lethal, at that moment Star certainly did.
She turned to Fang and said, “I can’t work with him.”
Then she picked up her chopsticks and began shoveling pieces of sushi into her mouth like a bulldozer. Fang gaped, letting some sushi fall from his chopsticks. This girl was rail thin, and she was putting away more than he and Max could eat—combined. And that was really saying something.
“Will there be anyone else?” Star said, slapping down her chopsticks. She’d managed to eat half the menu in thirty seconds without getting a single drop of sauce on her crisp white blouse.
“Yes,” Fang said. “At the hotel. And you also mentioned you had a friend?”
Star nodded. “Kate. She goes to my school. She won’t be here for a while yet. She’s strong, but I’m fast.”
“Guess so,” Fang said. “You got here way sooner than I expected. Weren’t you coming down here from almost twenty miles north?”
Star shrugged. “I ran.”
“In those shoes?” Ratchet snorted. “That’s likely.”
Fang had to wonder. After all, a twenty-mile run would’ve had to result in at least a minor sweat, if not a few stray hairs. But Star looked yearbook-photo ready.
“Show us, Star,” Fang said with a faint smile of curiosity.
And that was how they ended up “drag racing” until the wee morning hours. Except that it was Fang’s wings against Star’s feet against Ratchet in a hot-wired Camaro. Star got so bored with winning after a dozen races that she started to give the guys a head start. The more they lost, the more they wanted to win, until Ratchet couldn’t stand the embarrassment anymore.
“I give up,” he yelled, climbing out of the car and slamming the door extra hard.
“Me too,” Fang said, out of breath as he landed, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow.
“So did I pass my audition?” Star asked, with no bead of sweat on her brow to wipe.
“Just barely,” Fang grinned. “Okay, folks. Let’s get this girl another boatload of sushi. She must be starving.”
17
WHEN THE FUSELAGE hit the ground and exploded, I saw my future right below me, just seconds away. My wings were burning, as I gulped air, my muscles shaking from the strain of keeping us both aloft. We were going to land hard—and soon.
“Max!” my mom cried, looking down in horror. For her, Jeb was almost out of sight, dropping to earth like an unaerodynamic rock. Unfortunately for me, because of my raptor vision, I could still make out his terrified expression with utter clarity.
“Gazzy couldn’t hold—” I started to say, but then something big dropped past me, actually brushing my feathers and bumping my feet. It was Dylan shooting down to Jeb.
“Go!” I shouted to Gazzy. “Help Angel!”
Gazzy angled his body in a tight arc that brought him close to the others with just a few strokes. He braced himself under Nudge, taking half her weight—possibly reducing her speed enough to keep her from imploding when she hit the ground. Angel focused on guiding Iggy down for what she hoped would be a less-than-fatal landing.
“When we get there, land on your feet, then fall sideways,” I told my mom.
Ordinarily,