A/N: I would like to give a shout out to a reviewer here. The reviewer is Feniasol and this person recently sent me a very interesting review.
Feniasol said that he/she had a friend named Em who was tired of FanFiction because she found that the stories were too difficult to update. She decided to go ahead and make a blog, which I visited and you can too (http : / ems-write. blogspot . com/) (remove spaces). I went ahead and checked it out. Scrolling down the page, I found a post that read (and I quote) : So! I finished the first chapter! yaaay! You should be proud of me |-) lololol!
But!
There is a very slight, tiny, minuscule, so-small-that-my-flu-virus-has-to-use-a-microscope-to-see-it, small, pretty little detail:
Where do I post it?
I am so sorry, honey. There is a wonderful site right here called Fanfiction where it is very easy to post stories and people will actually read them. Although judging from your grammatical skills (you spelled Writing wrong on your website name, sweetheart) I don't even think people who were lucky enough to stumble across your blog would read it. I think that if you spent 5 minutes with the page where you add chapters you'd probably be able to figure it out. (Another actual quote from this site: I know you know I hate FanFiction and that I'm too useless to figure out how to use it, so... ) God!
I am sorry. I hate people like this. Plus, this Feniasolwasn't even reading my story – they were just advertising this stupid blog. Please, people. If there is anyone out there doing this now, just stop. No one wants to hear it.
I have now gone over my self-allotted word count for this chap. Whatever. Disclaimer: Activated.
"So what's your big plan for finding the Institute?" Iggy asks as we walk along.
Max opens her mouth, but Nudge cuts over her. "I'm tired of walking," she says. "Can we just sit for a minute?" Conveniently, as she says this, we're passing a building with these big stone steps. Without waiting for an answer, she sinks onto a step and lets her head fall into her hands, closing her big brown eyes.
"Uh." The situation is slipping out of Max's control as Gaz and Angel sit on either side of Nudge and Iggy slouches against the rail. Her eyes unfocus as she looks at them, and I sense she's scrambling for a lifeline. I jump in to help.
"How about a phone book? Every once in a while I see one," I suggest.
"Yeah, that's a possibility," she says, inserting her pinky into her mouth and chewing on the nail.
"No, I want to hear our leader's great plan," Iggy mutters under his breath, but she doesn't seem to hear him. She blinks a few times, and I lean into Iggy, muttering in his ear.
"Is it just me, or does she seem totally out of it?"
"It's not just you," he mutters back, then says louder, "So what are we going to do?"
She's silent for a moment more, and I'm about to go and peer into her eyes, maybe hold up a few fingers and have her count them, when a look of enlightenment comes over her face.
"We're going to start in here," she says briskly. I look for the first time at the building kindly letting the younger three use its stone steps. New York Public Library of Humanities and Social Sciences? What? The only thing I got out of that was that it was a library. How on earth did she get so lucky? Clapping her hands to get the younger three on their feet, she starts up the stairs. "I figure they've got computers, databases…" Unable to think of anything else – like, oh, I don't know, books –she lets her voice trail off and the younger three follow her inside.
"How does she do that?" I mutter to Iggy, who just shakes his head and sighs.
None of us had ever been to a library before, and so it doesn't really need to be said that the extreme size of this one hit each and every one of us like a jackhammer. I even let my jaw drop a little, and Nudge gives a little gasp and puts her hands up to her face.
This library is bigger than my life.
"May I help you?" A bored looking teenage guy was lounging behind a desk, looking like he was about 18 or 19. Not really much like an Eraser, but you never know.
"Yes." Max steps forward, putting her serious face on. "I was hoping to find information about a certain institute that I think is in New York." Then she does something utterly disgusting – turns on the charm, smiling at the guy in a way that I knew if it was directed at me, I'd be completely weak at the knees. I let out a little gasp and watch as the guy blinks at her, stunned. "Unfortunately, I don't know the whole name or where in New York it is. Is there a computer I could use to search? Or some sort of database?"
The guy is floored. I can see him thinking, Jeez, hot and smart. I want to punch the guy.
"Fourth floor," he says, coming out of his reverie. "There are computers in a room off the main reading room. They're free, but you have to sign in."
"Thank you so much," Max smiles. I turn and give the douche the evilest death glare I can muster. Then I catch up with the others in the elevator.
Gaz cheerfully presses the 4.
"Well, aren't you the charmer," I say, not looking at her.
"What?" she says, sounding surprised. I ignore her.
Hating being in small spaces is something that I guess comes with being raised in dog crates. By the time we get to the fourth floor all of us are seriously hyperventilating. Jumping out of the elevator as if it'll close and never reopen if we don't, I let out the first deep breath in what feels like years. Max heads over to a computer bank and reads the instructions quickly. She turns to a sign-in chart and signs in with a flourish. Feeling apprehensive – she's not stupid enough to sign in with her own name, is she? – I approached the sheet and read the name Ella Martinez.
What?
Before I can ask Max about that, though, she's already started searching on her computer, so, grudgingly, I sit and help her.
It's in vain. We search for an hour and a half. Nothing. By the end my head is pounding from staring at the screen for so long, as well as Nudge and Gaz's bickering over their hangman game – neither of them can spell worth crap, and they rarely agree on how anything is actually spelled. Angel's lying near Max's feet, murmuring quietly to herself, and Ig is sitting tense in a chair, listening to every miniscule noise around him.
Max types in one last command, and then her eyes go wide in panic as the system crashes – orange letters proclaiming fail, fail, fail, before the screen goes blank.
"It's almost closing time, anyway," I murmur, putting a hand on her bony shoulder.
"Can we sleep here?" Ig says softly, his voice like rust from disuse. "It's so quiet. I like it in here."
"Uh, I don't think so," Max says, looking around. I do the same, and realize with a start that we're the only ones left in the room. Wait, did I say the only ones? Scratch that. There was a security guard headed right for us.
"Let's split," Max mutters, pulling Ig out of his chair. Holding tight to his hand, she leads the rest of us out of the library and down the stone steps. Surprisingly, no one is following us, but we run a couple blocks just to make sure.
"Can we take the subway back to the park?" Nudge asks, her eyes drooping.
It's dark out. The whole afternoon passed away while we were glued to the computer. Well, they say that media is addicting, after all.
"It's only eighteen blocks to walk," Max says, the stops, seeing how tired Angel is as well, and how lame her argument is. "Let's see how much it would cost."
We find the nearest subway entrance and start heading down. Almost immediately I start to get an uneasy feeling. I look at both Max and Ig, who are both clearly feeling jittery as well.
Max checks the prices, sighing – it's expensive. I tap her shoulder and nod to the fare booth, which is empty. A calculating look comes over her face, and she nods and slips under the turnstile, the rest of us following suit.
We waited at the tracks for ten minutes, after which we realized that there was no train coming. Max looks exasperated. At least we didn't pay.
Ig starts and leans out over the tracks, listening intently. I quickly grab his hand so that he doesn't fall as Max says, "What?"
"People," he says softly. "In there."
"Workers?" Max's eyebrows furrow.
"I don't think so."
Max peers down the tunnel as well, her gaze focusing on something I couldn't see. Then, her expression not even changing, she makes one of those snap decisions we all love so much and jumps down into the railway.
"Let's go," she said, and we had no choice but to follow.
"What does that mean?" Gaz asks, pointing to a sign that reads "Stay off the third rail!"
"It means the third rail has seven hundred volts of direct current running through it," I say. "Touch it and you're human popcorn."
"Okay," Max says pleasantly. "Good tip. Everyone stay off the third rail." Then she turns and gives me a killing glare. I look at her with an almost amused expression. What? I can't miss an awesome trolling opportunity like that one provided.
Ig felt it first – of course. "Everyone off the rails," he says, letting Max guide him over to the nasty wall. We press flat against it, and just in time – thirty seconds later, the train roars past. And no, I do not miss the irony here. Why oh why didn't it come when we were up there on the tracks instead of down here on the rails?
Max gingerly peels herself off of the wall. "Well, that was fairly nerve-wracking," she says, trying to brush herself off as much as possible.
"Who's there?" calls an aggressive voice, scaring the nutter butters out of me since I haven't been expecting it.
We all walk forward, on alert, ready to do an up-and-away in a second. But when we see what's in front of us, we stop abruptly.
"Nobody," Max said, then stops as well.
"Whoa," Gaz breathes.
In front of us is an underground city – people cluttering the floor, a ceiling stretching high above us, dripping with condensation and paint stalactites. Some people have made fires in fifty-gallon oil drums. Although it's s a warm spring night, the fires provide the only light and heat from the chill of the underground. It stinks, but it's not like we aren't used to that. Several dirty faces look at us, and then look away, uninterested. Someone else says, "Not cops. Kids." Only one face still looks our way: that of a middle-aged, filthy woman who's wearing layers and layers of clothing.
"You got food?" she barks.
Nudge silently pulls her napkin-wrapped knish out of her pocket and hands it to the woman, who sniffs it and then turns and begins eating noisily.
It's a whole new place, made up entirely of homeless people. There're even a few who look to be about our age. I cut a glance at Max, who is rubbing her forehead tiredly.
"Over there," says the woman, pointing. I follow the direction of her finger to see a concrete ledge in the wall, mostly covered with people. There's a blank spot about thirty feet long with no one there. Max glances at me, and I shrug. Why not? It's not as good as the park, but it'll do.
We went over and scrambled up onto the ledge. Keeping our backs out, we stacked our fists and tapped twice. Everyone almost instantly lay down and closed their eyes, while I leaned against the wall, keeping a lookout. To my surprise, Max joined me.
"You okay?" I murmured as she rubbed her head again.
"Yeah," she mutters. "I'll be better tomorrow."
"Go to sleep," I say. "I'll take first watch."
She shoots me a grateful smile and curls up, using my lap for a pillow. I watch her fondly as she closes her eyes and quickly falls asleep.
Heh. Ended with some Fax! R&R?