Angel’s voice filtered into my head. I turned to see her big blue eyes pleading with me. Over her head, Fang’s eyes met mine, and I gave a barely perceptible nod. As usual, he and I were on the same page without even speaking.

I raised my hand, taking everyone by surprise. You’d think they would have been used to it by now. “I need to say something.”

Chapter 15

15

“YOU GUYS ARE TALKING about us like we’re not even here. You’re sitting there deciding our fate without even asking us,” I said.

“Maximum, while children are often encouraged to express a preference, typically, responsible adults determine what’s best for them. Children just don’t have the life experience or education to understand the big picture.” The silver-haired senator gave me a reassuring smile, which, call me paranoid, I didn’t find at all reassuring.

A teen magazine would have encouraged me to get in touch with my inner feelings. So I searched deep within myself and realized that my inner feelings were telling me to punch all of them in the face. Which is why teen magazines just don’t seem to apply to my life.

“Life experience?” I repeated tightly. “Big picture? I’ve had more life experience in fourteen years than you’ve had in — what are you, like, a hundred?”

The senator’s face started turning pink.

“You’re the ones who don’t have the life experience,” I said. “Have you ever woken up with your mouth duct-taped shut, not knowing where you are or where your family is? Are you afraid of everything and everyone? Have you foraged for food in Dumpsters? Do you sleep with one eye open because at any second someone might try to kill you? Have you ever opened a pizza box only to find a bomb? You guys don’t have any idea.”

Some of the committee members looked horrified, and I wondered just how complete their files were.

“Angel’s only six,” I went on. “But ten bucks says she’s been in more fights to the death than any of you. You guys have unreal ideas about us that you wish were true. The kids you designed this school for are probably clean, polite, grateful, agreeable. Sadly, that isn’t us.”

The flock stood up around me, and I guessed they were all making their toughest faces, the ones that crack me up ’cause they’re so cute. But this committee wouldn’t know that.

“We don’t need to be ‘rehabilitated,’ ” I went on. “We’re survivors, and that pretty much cancels out good manners or patience or a burning desire to please. Your fancy school, your plans — none of that has anything to do with us, the real us. You go on and have fun spinning your wheels. But include us out.”