"Wings without Ig = Wns."

Ig said that once. I think it was up there in ranking with the infamous "homework...pie" quote, but I guess it's kinda true now that he's gone.

...In a totally stretching it, metaphorical way, as Max would say.

Funny that now I have to keep tabs on him like you all do, through the blog. Good thing I started it. (You're welcome.)

Everyone's been kinda melancholy and quiet about it, whereas Anne's been freaking the heck out. She's running around demanding answers about where Ig, uh, "Jeff" went, something about calling the police and notifying the school that he's missing.

Why do you CARE? Seriously. You're not our mother, lady. You're an FBI agent. We came here for a place to crash, at your suggestion. Deal.

I saw her on her laptop last night. She was e-mailing a bunch of people in the Bureau about "Project Omega." (Yeah. That codename is really cool.) Looked...odd.

Hey, Ig. If you read this, update the firmware on your speak-n-type. Nudge thinks the voice recognition is acting up. Either that, or Tess bought a vowel and attached it to her name since you left. And, dude..isn't your last name Griffiths?

Hope...you're okay.

-Fang.

P.S. Hey, Sam. If you're reading this...nice* MySpace, homes.



*Really, totally, completely and utterly, to a fault, dumb.

New beginnings

Sorry I didn't write sooner. I'm still trying to get my bearings in this place, and I had to download and install the program I created to type out my blogs for me.

I'm in my new, old room at my...parents' house.

Gee, that's a hard one to say. So's getting used to people not calling me Ig or Iggy.

Umm...well, I managed to memorize how many steps my computer is from the door, and the bed to the window. The house isn't very large, so it's not hard to get around once I'm situated.

My bed for now is a futon kinda thing. Since all my baby furniture hasn't moved an inch in 14 years and I'm 6 feet tall, you do the math. I won't fit.

My...parents keep making a big deal that I need to be comfortable and everything, but when you've slept in tree tops, caves, and subway tunnels, a futon is classy stuff.

My father just went to the grocery store to stock up on food. They're surprised at just how much I eat. I wonder how surprised they'll be when they figure out I have wings.

Well, I gotta get washed up for dinner, I guess. I have my own bathroom and everything. The soap smells like the perfume Tessa from school used to wear.

James Griffith

Catching up.

A lot has happened in the past few days.

Not only does tryptophan (the $10 word for stuff in turkey that makes you sleepy) make you want to nap all day, it makes you lazy enough to not blog when a laptop is mere inches away.

...Especially when you're a flock of kids who probably consume a Thanksgiving dinner each, per person.

Well, here we go:

1. I went on a date, survived, and even kinda liked it. (Woah.)
2. Mint chocolate chip ice cream rules mucho!
3. Ig's Thanksgiving cooking skills could give the people on Top Chef a run for their money...or brûlée. Whatever.
4. Conversely, Anne's cooking skills could land her a prime spot as a food preparer on Fear Factor. (Run fast, or hide in a nearby potted plant! ...Even Total has his limits.)
5. Note to self: Seriously invest in DC real estate when JP forks over profits from books.
6. When your school used to be a SANITARIUM, you know something's sketchy in a big, smacks-you-in-the-face-with-an-open-hand kinda way.

Finally got a decent shot of the school without someone wondering why I was taking a picture of it. I came up with the idea that I was "Showing my missionary parents where their kids were hard at work," [cue fake tears, Oscar acceptance speech]. Completely lame, but it worked!



As for Ig, I think we found his parents. Unbelievable, but true. And not Anne and this "I'm going to adopt you all!" Betty Crocker nonsense. His real ones.

Fang snapped some pictures of the house we visited in DC. Took awhile to find, but this sure seems like the real deal:


The Griffith's house


The same church from the missing children story on TV

Today, we're taking Ig to meet the people who live there. The woman was tall, slender, pasty complexion, freckles, strawberry blond hair, blue eyes - light sky blue, just like Iggy's. I just hope she doesn't wonder why the kids that were selling Wall Street Journal subscriptions the other day are so persistent.

I don't want to do this, but it's what we've all waited for.

-Max

Dumb code.

None of those words make any sense. No pattern. No meaning. NO CLUE.

Gotta go to gym class. Later.

-Fang.

Bible code!!

Anne had this Bible downstairs & I'm "borrowing" it. Besides, she didn't seem like the praying type anyways...just the covert, secret agent lady kind!!



If Max is supposed to break this dumb code stuff, the King James Bible should definitely be considered something widely available enough for her to use as a cheat sheet for her "test."

...And not even a cheat sheet, really. It's sorta like the periodic table of the elements or one of those multiplication tables in the back of composition notebooks.

I was supposed to use it for a test last week, the teacher said we could!!, & I forgot that I put banana-smelling scratch-n-sniff stickers all over it. (Whoops.) So, then I couldn't...but at least my notebook smelled tote yummy.

We're gonna start putting together a list. In the meantime, I'm gonna try & make these numbers work. I'm up first!!

~NuDgE

P.S. Max is on a DATE! Squeeeeee!!

Dates, The Non-Fruit Variety.

Well, we're grounded - whatever that means. We can't help that our caretaker enrolled us in a weirdo school filled with more mysteries than a Stephen King novel. (Sorry, JP.)

Speaking of oddities, Sam (remember him?) asked me out...on a date. Yeah. A date - where people hold hands and share a single string of spaghetti in slow motion.

Ew! What the heck was a thinking saying yes to this ritualized...nonsense! I've got to be insane. I mean, I do have a VOICE talking to me 24/7, so it makes perfect sense that I'd agree to it.

In other news, after Gazzy and Ig's pyro incident, we're trying to lay low. They're convinced there's more files to steal, and I think so too, but we need to seriously keep a low profile - at least through the holidays. This way we can plot something that doesn't involve sprinkler systems going off and a subsequent hefty water damage bill.

Plus, I agreed to play nice through Thanksgiving. A real one.

Ugh. ...What am I doing?!

-Max

A stinky situation

Ig here.

I know Max told us to blend and everything, but that's a hard thing to do when you have Gazzy leading you to a creepy BASEMENT of a school (...that smelled like mothballs, Play-Doh and tomato soup) filled with art supplies, sports equipment and a secret FILE ROOM.

This wasn't an ordinary file room, either. They're all the same to someone like me (cold metal cabinets, 26" tall - they had them at The School and at The Institute), but Gaz found some interesting stuff inside.

Here's what we took before we set off a stink bomb to escape before we got caught:


Why does this place have articles clipped out of newspapers on Itex? There were a bunch more, but this is what I got before we escaped.

We need to get the heck out of here.

Ig

More secret stuff.

Oh, right. Cause Fang's just a walking Wikipedia of facts over there. (With um, uber-large wings.)

Boys. Grr.

Here's an e-mail Nudge managed to intercept from the Itex data archives. I'm surprised they didn't destroy it because whatever it was they were up to didn't sound so...nice.

Another mucho creepy thing? Timothy Laurie, real name WALTER POWERS, died in June of that year, according to public records. (It's amazing what you can find on the Internet.)

Someone named Jannsen or Johnson or something like that began acting as "Dr. Soup's" spokesperson thereafter.

Mr. Lazzara is either thinking I'm up to no good, or is about to sneeze. I can't tell which, so I'm signing off.

-"Nick's Sister"

Washington, District of Cool.

I can't believe Miss Maximum Ride didn't know what a field trip was. You'd think she grew up in a lab or something.

Oh. Hmm.

Only reason I knew about it was from watching lots of Saved By the Bell reruns one day, so I can't blame her. Maybe. Sorta. Kinda.

Here's a few snapshots I took of our class trip to DC.

Things are moving and shaking this week in Washington, and I hope a little blonde girl with puppy dog eyes and freaky mind powers I know had nothing to do with it!

1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, N.W.: Future home of the Mutant Party in 2018!


The Washington Monument: AKA "The Giant Pencil Point."


Ask Nudge about this Wall. She can tell you everyone's story. Everyone's.


The Capitol In Our Capital.

-Fang.

More info on the "Soup Doctor"

Proof of his collaboration with Itex Corp:

Permission Slips and Field Trips.

Thanks to Nudge, we got the bloggy blog blog back. (Ick. Did I really just say that?)

Since she took it upon herself to begin our little game of show-and-tell, I can share the rest of the printouts I found about "Dr. Soup," as Ig likes to call him. His name is just too darn tongue-tying to say more than once without seriously botching it up.

In other news, I have a feeling that Mr. Pruitt still hates our guts, but at least the feeling is mutual. Something's up with that man, but I can't put my finger on it. Hmm.

Gotta run. They just made an announcement over the P.A. that we need to line up for the "field trip" - whatever that is. If it involves hiking through fields, tripping over shoelaces or something, these pennyloafers although completely heinous-looking, will keep me safe.

-Max

P.S. What the heck is a permission slip? First the tripping, now the slipping. ...Why is school so freaking weird...and/or accident prone?