Gazzy called over to me "I can't see anything!"
"I can't see anything either," Iggy complained.
"I'm rolling my eyes, Ig." I had to tell him that because he couldn't see me do it, what with his blindness and all.
Jackpot, Max! Jackpot!" It was Fang and he was giggling hysterically.
For those of you just joining us, Fang doesn't giggle, esspecially hysterically.
I love you, i love your smile your snarl your grin, your face when your sleeping.I love your hair streaming behind you as we fly, with the sunlight making it shine, if it doesn't have too much mud or blood in it, I love seeing your wings spreading out, white and brown and tan and speckled, and the tiny downy feathers right at the top of your shoulders. I love your eyes, whether they're cold or calculating or suspicious or laughing or warm, like when you look at me.
James Pattersonyou're a diabolical little pyro, aren't you?
He blushed modestly.
Mots clés maximum-ride james-patterson
Louisiana, the state road maintenance forgot.
James PattersonCall me crazy, but there's just something cheering about seeing huge raptors tear into Eraser flesh.
James PattersonIf by 'miracle kids' you mean innocent test-tube babies whose DNA was forcibly unraveled and merged with two percent avian genes, yeah, I guess that would be us," I said. "Because it's a miracle that we're not complete nut jobs and mutant disasters.
James PattersonI'm magnetic," she whispered, half awed and half horrified.
"I hope you don't start sticking to fridges and stuff," I said in disbelief.
Fang dropped down next to me, and the Gasman joined us, squishing in next to Nudge.
"What's going on?" Fang asked.
"I'm Magnet Girl!" Nudge said, already coming to terms with her new skill.
Have you guys been playing in toxic waste again?" Fang asked severely, putting his hands on his hips.
Nudge giggled. "No."
"Been bitten by a radioactive spider?" Fang went on. "Struck by lightning? Drink a super-soldier serum?"
"No, no, no," said Iggy. He started reaching for things around the table, and his hand landed on Total. "You're black."
"I prefer canine-American." said Total. "When's that pie coming? I'm starving.
A Poem
By Max
White is the color of little bunnies with pink noses.
White is the color of fluffy clouds fluffing their way across the sky.
White is the color of angel's wings and Angel's wings.
White is the color of brand-new ankle socks fresh out of the bag.
White is the color of crisp sheets in schmancy hotels.
White is the color of every last freaking, gol-danged thing you see for endless miles and miles if you happen to be in Antarctica trying to save the world, which now you aren't so sure you can do because you feel like if you see any more whiteness-Wonder Bread, someone's underwear, teeth-you will completely and totally lose your ever-lovin' mind and wind up pushing a grocery cart full of empty cans around New York City, muttering to yourself.
That was my first poem ever.
Okay, so it's not Shakespeare, but I liked it.
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