Y DAY:

1) Back in America. In one of the western states with all the ninety-degree angles.

2) Wing still messed up; perhaps need longer than three days till it’s fully functional.

3) Had to say good-bye to Mom and Ella. Many mushy tears, soggy hugs. All that stuff I love.

4) Strong sense of betrayal by flock about Day and Night School. But without a 100 percent fly-ready wing, I couldn’t soar off in a huff the way I wanted to.

5) Fang has hardly spoken to me for three days. He doesn’t seem mad—more like thoughtful. Watching me. What is on his freaking mind?!

School, school, school,” Nudge sang as she got ready. My mom had gotten her some stuff to put in her hair, and now it floated around her face in delicate, caramel-colored tendrils.

Delicate, caramel-colored tendrils. I’m really starting to worry myself.

Anyway. We all got ready. We were wearing clean clothes. We went to school with various levels of enthusiasm.

The school was long and low and spread out, painted in dusty pastels so it coordinated with the desert. It was not fenced in. There was a ton of open space around it, plenty of places to take off from, land, escape from.

Jeb stood by the car, knowing better than to try to hug any of us good-bye. I was almost inside when he called my name.

“Max.”

I went back over to him. “Please don’t impart any pearls of wisdom. I just ate.”

He shook his head. “Just—beware of Mr. Chu. He makes Itex look like Sesame Street.”

Then, while I stared at him, he got in the car and drove away, headed for a plane to California. Which cheered me up but only a little.

We were met at the door of the school by a woman holding a clipboard. “Hello,” she said, smiling. Her smile reached her eyes, an important trait. “I’m Ms. Hamilton, Max. It’s good to finally meet you. Your mom and I went to college together. Welcome to the Day and Night School. I hope you’ll be happy here.” She paused, only momentarily taken aback at the sight of Total, trotting along by Angel’s side.

Don’t hold your breath, I thought. That’s when it hit me: when had I last heard the Voice? I frowned, trying to remember. I couldn’t. It was ages ago, or at least a week. A week can seem like a really long time in my life. Was I down to just one personality inside my head?

“First we need to test your knowledge, so we’ll know your strengths and weaknesses,” Ms. Hamilton went on cheerfully. “Then we’ll know what classes will be best for you.”

Nudge skipped along at Ms. Hamilton’s side, glancing back to beam at me. I managed a slight grimace in return. We walked down a couple of hallways. There were exits at reassuring intervals. Through glass-paned doors, we saw large, sunny classrooms with small groups of kids in them. The kids looked happy to be here. Saps.

Ms. Hamilton took us to an empty classroom. We sat down in chairs that were designed to accommodate the wingless. I shot pained looks at everyone who met my eye, letting them know that this was not my idea of a good time.

I couldn’t believe they had decided to do this. It was like—my plans for our lives weren’t good enough anymore. They actually thought this situation would be better—which, I might add, includednot being led by me.

Now my stomach hurt, and I felt weighed down by a gray cloud.

“First, we’ll see how you do at math.”

I tried not to groan out loud. We’re street-smart, not book-smart. How many people had tested us over the years?

“Math, okay, bring it,” said Total, hopping up on a chair. “Are we allowed to use calculators? Do you have some that are, you know, paw-ready?” He held up his right paw.

Ms. Hamilton stopped and stared at Total. I snickered to myself. I hadalmost forgotten how much fun it could be to bait people. I sat up a little straighter.

Then Ms. Hamilton smiled.

At Total.

“No, we don’t have any paw-ready calculators,” she said. “But you probably won’t need one for these questions, anyway.”

Just like that, this grown-up had accepted the talking dog.

Four hours later, Ms. Hamilton told us that our reading levels ranged between first grade and twelfth grade and that we had amazing vocabularies. (Angel was not the one who read on a first grade level, and Fang, Iggy, and I were not, sadly, the ones who read on a twelfth grade level.) We spelled about as well as four-year-olds do but had off-the-chart visual memories. We were majorly lame at math but could solve most problems anyway.

“In short, you’re very, very, very bright kids who haven’t had much schooling,” said Ms. Hamilton.

I could have told her that before we’d wasted all this time. And she didn’t even know about the other stuff we could do, like hack computers and jack cars and break into most buildings.

“Angel, you’re so far off the chart that we’ll have to invent a special chart just for you.” Ms. Hamilton laughed.

“I thought you might,” Angel said.

I’d been here five hours, and so far I hadn’t really wanted to take anyone apart. Weird.

But that didn’t mean I wanted tostay at the Day and Night School.

Was I the only one?