01. Wishes

Our lives suck.

But you know this. Whether you're blog readers, or bookworms, or just fans... well, it's pretty obvious, right? I bet our biggest fans could even tell me why this is.

So who can explain why it was hitting me so hard at this particular moment?

It was about six or so hours after we'd left my mom's house, and we were over a park somewhere near Arizona. It was dark. I was weary, especially since I'd just found out that Dr. Martinez was my mother and Ella was my half-sister (we had different fathers. I don't know who hers was, but I'll take a -- no pun intended -- flying leap and assume he was better than mine... but more on that later) and hadn't been able to spend much time with them.

Of course, I did have my real family back (there are six of us, I'm the oldest, and I'm not gonna explain our whole lives to you here so go look us up on Wikipedia or something if you're so curious), but even that had a downside. You know that awkward stage between friendship and more, or, more specifically, that stage where you've just reunited from a separation brought on by your accepting a formerly evil Eraser into your flock, thus causing your best friend of 14 years to not support you for the first time ever, and to leave, taking half of your flock of flying mutant bird kids with him? Well, I bet you don't. But still, that's what Fang and I were going through. At least, I was. I hadn't picked up anything weird from him, besides the fact that he seemed somewhat happy.

Also, I had not too long ago seen someone -- my half-brother, actually -- die before my eyes. He'd been seven years old, and led such a horrible, twisted life... well, it still hurt to think about it.

Anyway, in addition all this, which, I realize, has sounded -- in the most general sense -- fairly normal so far, I still had a Voice in my head that wouldn't stop telling me to save the world. Actually, it was Jeb: my father. Yeah. See why I'm not exactly rushing out and buying a '#1 Dad' coffee mug for him? I'm 14. Now, I don't know how old you are, but to me, that seems like a lot to take on at any age.

Anyway, this was taking its toll on me pretty hard, because of the state of my emotions, and although I'm the strong, fearless leader, I think it was starting to show.

"Max, are you okay?" Nudge asked, looking concerned. "I mean, I know it's been, like, six hours and we're all tired, but, come on, you were so happy earlier, I mean, you found your mom! And she was who you wanted her to be! And Ella's cool, too, she's only a year or two older than me and -- and, well, I know it was weird with Jeb, how he's, you know, the Voice and all, and then now he's your father too... I know that must be weird, but--"

"Nudge." I silenced her with a hand. Yeah, that's her... and I bet you thought I was ranting at the beginning. "I'm fine," I promised her, trying to convince myself. I had been okay earlier... I'd been really happy. But now... I don't know, now something was just getting me.

"Anyway, can we stop here? I'm getting really tired," said the Gasman, and his sister Angel nodded.

You can't say no to Angel (and that's not just due to the fact that she has mind control powers, although that is part of it), and I was exhausted, so I agreed.

"There's a park here," Fang said, unnecessarily. Um, obviously? But I didn't say it. I still had no idea how to act. So instead I just nodded, and started downwards into the darkness.

When we hit the ground (well, we didn't hit it, we're much more graceful than that, honest), Iggy automatically rested his back against a tall tree. Blind or not, he always seemed to scope out the best places for himself. "So what's our next move?" he asked.

I didn't answer right away. If you've ever been a leader in anything, you'll know how hard it is to admit you don't know something. I was no exception. "Well," I finally said, "we still have to save the world, right? I think we should look into that. Make a plan." All you leaders out there will also recognize the "vague and evasive" approach... but it worked. The kids -- Nudge the mile-a-minute-mouth is 11; the Gasman, or, formally, Gazzy is eight; and Angel, my baby, is only six and Iggy (who's 14, like me and Fang, but acts eight most of the time) -- always bought it. They trusted me to always know what to do, and to make everything happen. Fang, though -- well, he knew me better than that. Always has.

After we ate (oh yeah -- if you left a bag of groceries behind in a secluded park, I swear I know nothing about it), we settled down to sleep. Tired though I was, I stayed up until everyone else had fallen asleep, doing... leader-y stuff. Yeah, I know, real eloquent: we only went to school for a few months, in Virginia, and it had only helped me realize how much I'd hate to have to go every day.

But would I? It would be a normal life, a normal existence... no ridiculous complications, like wings or microchips. Yeah... I could have someone take care of me, for once, rather than always having to know what to do. If I were normal, I could actually say the words "I don't know" and not feel like a horrible person. I could have friends, and CDs, and a family I was actually related to.

Not that I hated my real life or anything... well, I did hate having to worry about the little things (food, shelter, survival, you know, nothing really important), and my childhood had been less than perfect. I spent mine in a cage, you spent yours in a sandbox. How are these different? Let me count the ways... But... wait a minute, there was no "but". I saw no reason being normal wouldn't, at that moment, be totally preferable to anything else.

So, naturally, I saw a shooting star. Storyline purposes, right? My whole life is a freaking movie. Now, I'm not a lame Disney character or whatever, and I swear to God I don't believe in that sort of thing, but I had to try -- come on, what would you have done in my situation?

"Sometimes," I actually whispered out loud, keeping my voice so low even Iggy and his hyper alert ears wouldn't hear me, "I just wish I... we... could be normal. No wings, no Voice, nothing. Just... normal."

Obviously I felt really stupid once I'd done it. I mean, did I actually expect it to work? Next thing you knew I'd be believing in Santa Claus and the Tooth Fairy.

Ridiculous. Even Angel didn't believe in those two.

Eventually I had recovered and swallowed enough stupid pride to sleep, and I lay down on the hard ground, wishing it were a soft bed.

And, the next morning, I woke up in one.