Chapter 4: The Flock Goes to JBA
Fang and I exchanged glances as the doorbell rang.
Dr. Martinez was in the kitchen. She grabbed a towel and wiped her hands off as she began waling to the door, still wearing her kitchen apron. The doorbell rang again.
"I'm coming!," Dr. Martinez said, increasing her pace. "Just be patient," she muttered under her breath as she hung her apron on the hook behind the kitchen door. The bell rang a third time as the oven timer went off.
"Ugh," Dr. Martinez said in frustration. "Max, will you get that, I have to take the chicken out of the oven."
"Ok," I said reluctantly. I looked at Fang. He gave me a barely perceptible nod, reassuring me that I would be fine.
Wait, since when did I have to ask? Hadn't I always been fine; hadn't I always been able to rely on myself? Why did I need to have Fang's reassurance, and for something as stupid as answering the door? I've knocked out Erasers, dumped oil on that waiter's head, and jumped out of 25 story windows without even a second thought. Why would I have to turn to Fang to make sure I was alright?
I pushed the thoughts out of my head and took a deep breath as I walked to the door. It rang a fourth time and I was almost ready to punch his lights out, God he was impatient. I opened the door and Jeb was standing there. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and smiled.
"Hi, Max," he said.
Oh, that's why. I thought as I stared dumbfounded at Jeb. Had I known he was coming? Yes. Did that really make that much of a difference. Not really.
"Max?" he said, noting that I was staring off into space. "May I come in?"
My gut was telling me to say no, but I couldn't. My mom had invited him, so it must be important. "Sure," I said. I opened the door and started walking away.
What? I said I'd let him in; I didn't say I'd be nice to him.
Jeb and I have an interesting relationship. About five years ago, he had kidnapped us from the School, where they did horrible experiments on us (Hint: why we have wings). Back then, he was like our savior, our protector. For two years he looked after us, almost like a dad. Then, he vanished. We all knew he was dead and we'd accepted it. I took on the role of leader and watched after my flock, tackling every scrape, every need, any thing to protect my family. About a year ago, the flock and I went to pick strawberries and Angel was kidnapped. That was when we found out that Jeb was alive. He was a whitecoat, a traitor. He didn't die trying to protect us, in fact he became the very thing that was trying to kill us, again. Since I learned of my world-saving mission, he's been trying to help the flock, but I still don't trust him. I don't think I ever will and honestly, I don't really care. My mom trusted him, and I trusted her, but that is about as far as it will ever go.
I walked back to the table and sat down next to Fang, letting out a deep breath as I tried to contemplate what was going on in my mind.
"You okay?" Fang asked only loud enough for me to hear. I nodded, not sure if I really believed it or not. He nudged my knee with his under the table and, somehow, that made me feel loads better.
"Hey, Jeb," my mom said as she walked into the dining room, carrying the chicken. "Long time, no see." She placed it on the table.
The flock was practically drooling, and with good reason. We had been flying for hours and we have pretty fast metabolisms. We don't get to eat very often and when we do, it's usually dumpster diving for a protein bar or something. So, putting a big plate of baked chicken in front of us was pure torture. I motioned the rest of the flock to wait until everything was on the table.
Dr. Martinez brought in plate after plate of food and finally, it was time to eat. I motioned the rest of the flock that it was ok and they fell on their food like starving hyenas. Well, we were starving hyenas. Dr. Martinez burst out laughing.
"I almost forgot how much food you all could eat," she said between chuckles.
"So, Max, how have you been?" Jeb asked, hoping for an answer.
Yeah, like he was going to get one. "Fine," I replied. I knew he wasn't done trying.
"Has anyone been bothering you lately?" he asked.
"Nope." It was a total lie. Anytime we went out in public, someone ran up and took pictures or hug-attacked us or something. Luckily, we had perfected the art of disguise.
"Good," Jeb said. "Angel, has your arm--"
"We're fine," I interrupted. I turned to Fang. "Could you pass the salt?"
Fang nodded as he reached across the table for the salt, in front of Jeb's plate, taking the time to stare Jeb dead in the eyes. A subtle warning that made your blood run cold.
Jeb ignored it. "Max, I think it's time to discuss your next step," he said, casually taking a bite of chicken.