“You handled that really well, Fang,” said — you guessed it — Brigid. I tried not to gag as she patted his arm approvingly. Fang shot me a smug look over her shoulder, knowing it would make my blood pressure rise. I thought about the last time he’d made my blood pressure rise (in a completely different way) and felt a warm flush stain my cheeks.

I looked at Fang. “Can we have a meeting? With the flock?”

He nodded.

“That’s a good idea,” Brigid said. “I’d like to ask you —”

“This is flock business,” I said abruptly.

Brigid looked taken aback. “But we’re all a team.”

“Yes,” I said. “And I really, really appreciate everyone’s help in finding my mom. But some things are still just for the flock. It’s always been that way, and it’ll always be that way. ’Cause when it comes right down to it, there’s us six, and no one else is like we are.”

Disappointed, Brigid nodded. Fang and I headed down to our little bunk room. We opened the door and found a typical scene: Angel and Total were curled up on a bunk (the sailors called them “racks”), looking at Total’s issue of Wine Spectator. Nudge had deconstructed her small khaki uniform and was holding a needle and thread as she turned it into something that didn’t offend her fashion sensibilities.

As soon as I walked in, Gazzy stuffed something behind a pillow, and Iggy put on his oh-so-obvious “innocent” face, which immediately set off all alarms.

“Max!” said Nudge happily. “Look! I took off the collar and changed the neckline. Once I move the buttons, it’ll be so much cuter.”

I wanted to say, “It’ll still be khaki,” but didn’t want to rain on her fashion parade. My eyes were riveted on telltale wires sticking out from beneath Gazzy’s pillow.

“Gazzy, I swear to God, if you’ve stolen a nuclear device, I will —”

“It’s not nuclear!” he insisted.

I sat down on the lowest narrow rack and pushed my hair out of my face, trying to figure out what to say. I am excellent at giving orders and barking out commands. I am not so good with the touchy-feely, “let’s connect” kind of stuff. But a leader has to press on sometimes, even with things she doesn’t like. It’s all part of the leaderly gig.

“Guys,” I began gently. So far, so good. “I feel like we’ve gotten off track.”

“What do you mean, Max?” Nudge’s eyes were wide.