MANY THINGS IN America are really big. Big Macs, for example. And stretch pants, and cars. Not so much in Europe. In general, things there seem to be scaled down, more people sized. And it's charming. It's approachable.
Except when your hotel's only elevator is maybe two feet by two feet and is apparently powered by aging chipmunks running frantically, and you're stuck in it with someone who stomped on your heart. Because you chose not to walk up the stairs like a sensible person.
I stood as far away from Fang as possible, which was about four inches, and looked down at my feet. I feigned huge interest in my sneakers and the fact that one of them was held on my foot with bent paper clips because the shoelace had broken.
"So, the whole Doomsday Group thing is getting pretty creepy," Fang said lamely above the sound of the wheezing elevator cables. I wondered when they had last been inspected. This building dated from the late 1600s, a plaque downstairs said. Had the cables been replaced since then?
"Max?" Fang asked.
My head snapped up. I couldn't avoid this anymore. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You figure?" I said. "What with the whole everyone must die shtick?"
Fang sighed, and I tried unsuccessfully to inch away from him.
"The flock looks to be in good shape," he said after a moment. "I know you're worried about your mom and Ella." Someone must have filled him in on everything that had been quietly plaguing me for days. I'd been keeping all of that to myself.
I nodded. This superficial conversation was torture. This was the person I'd spent countless hours with, kissing, talking to about everything in our hearts, our minds. How was it that it suddenly felt like Dylan was the one whom I'd known forever and Fang was the total stranger? I knew that life as a genetic experiment sucked, but I hadn't realized just how much worse it might suck as a teenage genetic experiment.
"So… you're not going to talk to me anymore?" Fang sounded angry.
And then, something inside me snapped. "How could you stop loving me?"
As soon as my words came out, they hung in the air between us, and I wanted to disappear. The sound of hurt in my voice, even asking him that question—it was like painting a big target on my chest. I looked away and shrugged, like, never mind, but of course it was too late. Once spoken, words can't be unspoken.
Fang smacked his hand against the elevator wall, no doubt startling the chipmunks.
"Is that what you think?" he asked. "Do you think I like seeing you with that… experiment?"
Okay, pot calling the kettle black, but—
"Do you think I like seeing you with that… clone?"
"But this is what you decided!" he said.
"This is what you decided!" I said, stung. "You're the one who left! You're the one who immediately replaced all of us! Replaced me!"
"She's not a replacement for you!" His face softened for a moment. "No one could replace you. But I needed another good fighter. And… she's really very different from you, in lots of ways."
"That's special!" I snapped. "Glad to hear it!"
"What about you and superboy?" Fang demanded. "You think I don't know what's going on?"
"Yeah? Then tell me, 'cause I have no freaking idea what's going on!"
Our voices had gotten louder and louder in the tiny space, and the elevator had been moving so slowly that we didn't even notice when it groaned to a halt. But suddenly
the doors opened, and our voices spilled out into the elegant hallway. Then my eyes locked on Angel's small, determined face.
She crossed her arms and had obviously been waiting for us. "Okay, you guys," she said briskly, "you can argue later. Right now you need to listen up. I have a plan."
Oh, there you go, I thought in dismay. If there were ever words guaranteed to strike fear into my heart…
I sighed.
"Let's hear it," I said.
