“I’m getting a headache,” Gazzy said, circling closer to me. We split apart in a six-pointed star, with Total in the middle, and the crowd below went crazy. Like a huge, rolling wave of sound, the chants came to us.

“We have the power! The future is now! Kids rule!”

I raised an eyebrow at Fang. “Kids rule?”

He shrugged. “I can’t control what they quote from the blog,” he said. “What am I gonna say? ‘More power to grown-ups?’ I don’t think so.”

“How many readers do you have now?” Fang had started a blog months ago, using our super-duper-contraband computer. He had his own fan clubs and everything. Girls sent him ridiculous e-mails about how wonderful he was, what a hero, etc. It was enough to turn your stomach.

“About six hundred thousand log in pretty much every day,” Fang said, automatically scanning the airspace around us. He and I suddenly soared upward, facing each other, about two feet apart. The crowd below gasped, and I knew it looked impressive as all get-out.

Then Iggy zoomed up to join us, and he, Fang, and I made a triangle, our wings moving in perfect order so that we didn’t whap each other on the upstroke. Total hovered way above us, like a star on top of a Christmas tree.

A hundred yards below us, Nudge, Gazzy, and Angel were a triple stack of bird kids, centered one over the other, moving their wings in unison: everyone up, everyone down. At Gazzy’s signal, they all turned and started rocketing earthward, still precisely stacked.

Fang, Iggy, Total, and I counted to ten, then angled downward also: it was time for us to land on the field. Supposedly they were going to give us some kind of award.

“You’re national heroes,” Dr. Amazing had said earlier, pushing her, yes, red hair out of her eyes while Fang watched her with interest. “Not only here, but in other countries too. You guys are so young, but you’ve accomplished so much and exposed so much evil. Plus, you helped publicize the melting of the planet’s ice, and spoke to Congress. You’re amazing.”