"Mom, this is my friend Max. She's the girl I told you about, the one who saved me from Jose and Dwayne and them. She saved me. But they shot her."
…
"I think the bullet only grazed me."
"Yes, I think you're right," said Ella's mom, "but it's pretty deep and messy. And over here - " I sat frozen, staring straight ahead, as all my senses tensed. I was taking a huge risk here. You have no idea how huge. I had never, ever let someone outside the flock see my wings. But this was one situation I couldn't fix by myself. I hated that.
Ella's mom frowned slightly. She finished cutting the neck and then stretched the shirt off, leaving me in my tank top. I sat there like a statue, feeling a chilled coldness inside that had nothing to do with being wet.
…
"What's - " Ella's mom said, her fingers skimming along the edge of my wing where it folded and tucked into an indentation next to my spine, between my shoulder and my waist. She leaned over to see better.
I stared at my wet socks, my toes clenching.
She turned me slightly, and I let her.
"Max." Her dark brown eyes were ocncerned, tired, and upset, all at once. "Max, what is this?" she asked gently, touching the feathers that were just barely visible.
…
"It's a…wing," I whispered. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ella frown. "My, um, wing." Silence. "It got hurt too."
I took a deep breath, feeling like I was going to hurl, then slowly and painfully extended my wing just a bit, so Ella's mom could see where I'd been shot.
Their eyes widened. And widened. And widened. Until I began to expect them to just pop out and land on the floor.
"Wha…" Ella began wonderingly.
Her mom leaned over and examined it more closely. Amazingly, she was trying to act casual, like, oh, okay, you have a wing. No biggie.
I was practically hyperventilating, feeling light-headed and kind of tunnel-visiony.
"Yeah, your wing got hit too," Ella's mom murmured, extending it ever so gently. "I think the shot nicked a bit of bone." She sat back and looked at me.
- Maximum Ride: The Angel Experiment, by James Patterson
Mediocre literature, largely action-oriented, think Patterson's usual mediocre stuff except it's aimed at young teens instead of adults. Might scratch your itch though. A first-person narrative by a 17-odd-year-old girl with wings.
