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observation. Just survival.
The boy Tobias screamed.
The hawk Tobias had already begun to accept the pain.
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Pain off. Gasping.
Pain on. Screaming.
Off.
On.
Tell her everything!
Pain is normal. Life is pain.
Make it stop!
Go away, human. Go away, little boy. The hawk knows. The predator
understands because he understands nothing.
I mumbled to myself.
"What was that you said?" Taylor asked.
Irrelevant. She was nothing, i was the hawk.
95 Deeper into the hawk. Go away, weak human boy.
I seemed to stand outside my body. Hawk, human - everything. My mind
began to race, the manic frenzy of madness. Up above it all.
A wave of self-pity, followed by a wave of hatred, followed by the
unbearable weight of despair. The pain sped everything up. Faster and
faster. Panic, fear, sadness.
But somehow . . .
Using the half of me that was equipped to process pain, I was enduring
it. Close down your human mind! It's your only hope, I told myself.
Focus on the hawk. Focus on the part of you where the pain is less
subversive. Less destructive.
Sink into your hawk self, Tobias. Deep into your raptor self.
But the images!
Fragments of memory. Random memory. Flashing uncontrollably across my
mind's screen.
Insanity! Madness!
A hyper-speed slide show.
Fleeting. Irrepressible. Dominating my reality and impossible to
control. Turn it off. Off!
The living room was fairly dark. As usual, the shades were drawn. It was
about four o'clock and
96 he'd just come home. From work as a roofer. His face was tanned and
leathery. A beer can in his hand.
"Yeah, so what?" My uncle's voice. Raspy and cold. He sat on the couch,
where he spent most of his time. Even spent the night there, too, now.
With empty, tired eyes he stared at the TV. He had the scanner on as
well. Tuned to the police band. Spouting a stream of mundane reports.
I spoke cautiously. "Well, it's like an honor," I said. "I mean, the
committee picked my drawing out from hundreds of entries. Just something
I sketched during art class. I had no idea it would make the state show."
I was hoping he would take me to the prizewinners' reception that
weekend. Stupid. It wasn't like it was a big deal. But it would have
been okay.
"Do you get prize money?" he grumbled casually, not even turning to look
at me.
"No," I said, confused.
"No? So then what's it worth? If it won't help pay the bills, what good
is it?" He glanced at me patronizingly, then back to the TV. "When I was
about your age I already had a job. At this car lot. Washing the cars.
All the money went to my mother. All my earnings. Because Dad wasn't
around. It was tight..." He broke off and leaned back into the couch.
97 / stood there at the foot of the stairs, unable to move. I felt the
tears welling up in my eyes. Couldn't show him that.
I told myself, No big deal, Tobias. Just some dumb drawing. No big deal.
To him I said, "Yeah, well, it was just an idea."
No answer.
I dragged myself upstairs to my room. Walked across to the window. I
could cry up here where no one would see.
Stupid to cry.
Then, through blurry eyes I watched a car pull up to a house across the
street. A mom and daughter got out. Walked together to the front door.
The little girl was carrying a page smeared with finger paint, crumpling
it a little as she walked. The mother stopped, took the picture from her
daughter, and carried it into the house like it was the Mona Lisa.
It was like someone had set out to shove my life in my face. Here,
Tobias, take a look. Take a look at your life, and at the lives of
normal kids. Take a good long look.
/ was alone. I was alone.
Where would my strength come from?
I raised a hand to brush away the tears.
A hand that was . . . fingers that were . . .
Tan.
98 Feathers. A wing.
I whipped around to face the mirror. Round, expressionless eyes stared
back at me.
"Give it up," Taylor said, her voice dripping sympathy. "Do you think I
like doing this?" She laughed her sudden mall-rat giggle. "I will break
you. I will. Now demorph, Andalite. Surrender and the pain will end."
99 gain and again, the circle glowed. A deep, agonizing red.
Hawk instinct told me to retreat. But to where?
! flapped wildly around the cube. Like an insane chicken in its cage.
Nowhere to go!
"Wasted energy," the sub-visser remarked. "You'll wish you'd kept up
your strength."
Broken feathers littered the bare bottom of the cube. And had I been
more aware, I would have noticed I'd sprained a wing.
I collapsed in a corner, exhausted. Almost destroyed by images of pain
and hurt I was powerless to stop.
100 "Here we go again," Taylor said brightly. "Ready? No? Too bad!"
Rick Stathis. There, at the top of the hill. Waiting for me on the
sidewalk on a frigid winter morning. His breath billowed like an angry
bull's. A wide, brawny frame concealed under a heavy black coat. Pale
blue eyes searched the block, hoping to see me coming.
There was no escape. He would harass me. Punch me. Why did he have it in
for me? Why me? I could run the other way. Take the long route to
school. But he'd find me eventually. Pound on me extra hard. My stomach
churned. . .
And there was Aria. The young woman who said she was family. Who said
she would give me a home. Care about me, even. Aria. In truth, nothing
but a mask - a morph - for Visser Three. Visser Three, plotting my death.
I was a dupe. Again. -
False hope.
Never trust. . . never!
"Demorph, Andalite," the sub-visser repeated, her words a low growl.
"Now t*m just getting bored."
101 Rapid surges of memory now. Inexorable. The cube was hot. Stifling.
I struggled to draw a breath.
"UhhhIAhh!"
Rick slammed me against the lockers, holding me by the shirt collar.
Bam! His fist against my face. I reached up to cup my bloody nose. But
it was hard as bone. Curved. Sharp at the tip.
I landed on the dusty floor of Jake's attic. Pried the lid off of a
Rubbermaid container to eat the food I was too squeamish to kill.
Trapped in morph. Forever. Never to morph again. Never to be human again
. . .
Accept it.
I can't!
Staring out at the crescent moon. The stars. I
cried in a whisper. But I knew as I spoke I had no idea where home was.
"You're light-years from home, Andalite." The sub-visser!
What? Had I spoken aloud?
"Your people are trillions of miles away. They grow weaker every day.
There's no one to save you."
102 The prey. I was the prey. I was the hunted in every story of animal
cruelty Cassie ever told us about.
The Canada goose clubbed to death on the golf course. I felt my skull
shatter. My confused, terrified cries. Chilling, jubilant grunts of
aggression from the boys with baseball bats.
The fly lying quivering and scared on the concrete. As two classmates
pulled off first one wing, then the other. A scientific experiment, they
said. I felt appendages rip off my body wall.
The drone of plane engines. A frightening man-made shadow trailing me,
tracking me. Responding to every turn I made. I was the wolf. Across
untouched snow that glared in the sunlight. Paws pounding. Breathe.
Breathe, breathe.
I was the wolf I'd seen so many times in the video clip. That wolf, with
foam trailing from its mouth. Exhaustion and terror in its eyes. The men
in the planes shot everyone else in my pack. From the air. High-powered
binoculars and a rifle. Big game hunters who say I ruin their sport. So
they will chase me down. Chase me until I can't run anymore. And fall,
heart exploding, onto the plain. Victim of slaughter.
Better for the wolf who cannot fathom the evil depths in their
predators' hearts. Who sees this
103 merely in terms of nature's hierarchy. Man is smarter. Man has run
wolf down the way wolf runs down the caribou.
But I am wolf and human. I see more.
Visser Three towered huge and horrific above an injured Elfangor. Closed
him in monstrous jaws. The Visser's shrill cries of victory rang in my
head. Elfangor. The father I never knew. My link to everything strong,
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