Choosy Mutants Choose Jif by Kellie Packers

Category:Maximum Ride
Summary:Useless oneshot. Max sees a peanut butter commercial with herself on it, and dwells upon it. First FanFic, go nice please :D

1Choosy Mutants Choose Jif

This is my first FanFic, hope you like it.-Kellie

Let me start this off by telling you that Motel 6 is probably one of the most run-down motels in the business, okay? Just so you can see where I'm coming from: there's mold in the sink, the refrigerator is busted, and the bathroom is haunted. All of the kids are asleep, Fang's attempting to take a shower, and I'm sitting on the grimy couch, trying to watch TV without puking my guts up.

But, anyway.

TV is nothing these days. There are so many outrageous commercials that I wonder why people buy brand name products in the first place. Why not when you're shopping, just buy the cheapest thing? That's what we have to do all the time. Either that our we scrounge up food from garbage cans, and I'm fine and dandy with doing that all the same.

On the couch I sat, fidgeting and trying to get comfortable without infesting myself with a disease or two. Iggy had rewired the washing machine and cleaned it out, and we washed all of the sheets and blankets before I put the kids to sleep. Their beds smelled like Febreze, and the couch smelled like something that needed to be buried and given a tombstone.

And yet, what d'ya know, I took it. We needed some place to stay and we hadn't found an ATM in a while, so I couldn't take money out of the Maximum Ride account. You know me, Ms. Takes-What-She-Gets.

Another commercial flashed, sporting a little girl with cute brown curls and amazing teal eyes. In her hand was a light brown colored plastic jar with red, green and blue on it. 'Jif' was in white on the jar, and the little girl was toddling around, laughing. Choosy moms-and kids-choose Jif.

Despite the terrible condition the hotel was in, they were up-to-date on their cable. TiVo was installed, and I felt like fast forwarding to continue watching Heroes. But the girl's eyes caught me, and I paused the TV and dropped the remote so fast you'd think my life depended on it.

I snatched a mirror off of one of the ugly wallpapered walls, comparing my own eyes to those of the little girl. Then our hair, our complexion, the birthmark right next to our ear-identical, except that my features were older.

The girl was me!

Surprise dawned on me so quickly that I actually stumbled back, tripping on an invisible wire that connected me to the girl on the TV. Impossible! The word ripped through my mind like a piece of paper being torn by two four-year-olds. I don't have a twin... she has my birthmark! Her eyes are the same as mine... but where do the wings come in?

Everywhere I looked, the girl turned around, and there were no wings. She had a small top on-a baby half-top-and there were no oversized wings protruding from the shirt. No matter how I added it up, it still made no sense; that girl couldn't be me!

But she has to be. Even Max II didn't have that birthmark, and that hair and those weird-ass teal eyes were trademark mine. Max II's eyes weren't as vibrant and creepy as mine. Her hair wasn't the exact color as mine. They were close, but they weren't pinpoint exact.

My hand reached out for the remote, and my head almost popped out of place when I spun around and didn't see it there. Then I saw Fang holding onto it, ready to change the channel, but his dark eyes were fixed on the girl-me-on the monitor.

"...Max?" His voice was as disbelieving as it can get. "Is that-when did you-where are your-is that-what the hell?" he stuttered, still not moving. He blinked once and repeated half of a sentence again: "Is that-" Then he paused, and his face twisted every what way to try and hide laughter. "Jif?"

My hand reached up to slap him, but something stopped it. "Focus!Fang, that's me on the commercial! I'm the Jif girl! Look at the birthmark-the eyes-the hair-that's me!" I couldn't believe my own words, but who's to blame?

"I don't get it. Why would they be showing this commercial if now you're fourteen, and you look four in that commercial?" Fang never admitted to not getting something, but I don't think he really classified this as something to think back on.

Fang hit play, and the commercial went off and a post-commercial thing popped up. "Remember these old commercials? Name the year it came out and we'll give you a free sample of the product you've just seen!"

"That's helpful." I said distractedly. Then, shaking my head, I turned back to him: "Fang! Seriously, pay attention here. That is me. That girl is me. Right there-I mean, we can even ask Ig, that's one of the last times he saw me before he went blind, when I was four. He could probably explain it. My hair is curly, just like it was back then. But why would Jeb ever bring me to a commercial shoot? Where are my wings?"

His eyes squinted at the television, trying to make sense of the commercial. "Hm... I don't-...hmm..." He looked up at me, determination clearly on his face. "Maybe there's a girl that looks just like you? Hey, who's to know-maybe you had an identical twin before Jeb stole you. I don't think that's you, Max."

"FANG!" I hollered, not caring the slightest bit about the sleeping kids two rooms over. "The birthmark, genius! Twins don't have identical birthmarks. I'm sorry, but they just don't!" Studying him, I asked him a simple question. "Are you even on my team with this?"

"Yeah, I am; I'm just trying to make sense of it, too." He shrugged. "Why do you care, Max? It's just a commercial. From ten years ago. That has a girl-possibly you-on it. What's the big deal? Let's just forget it ever happened."

For once, Fang's words shocked me. "Fang, are you nuts? That's me, and I don't have wings! We all know that we were injected with God-know's-what before we were born, so how could that happen?" I rewound the TV and paused on where the birthmark was, running my hand over my own. "The only possibility is that they put the wings on my after I was born-but how?"

Fang groaned and retired next to me. "Max, get over it. You're just like us, okay? You're exactly the same. Maybe he just hid the wings somehow. Maybe he took them off and then sewed them back on. It was ten years ago. We were at the School. Do you really think Iggy wants to think back then? None of us want to relive those years. Plus, none of the kids will remember, anyway. Nudge was one, and Gazzy and Angel weren't even alive yet."

His dark eyes went from my birthmark, to my eyes, to my hair. "She's you, all right, but she's a different you. You're wiser now, older, more experienced. Plus, you've got loads more pressure on your shoulders than you did when you were four. She might be you, but, when you really think about it, she's a completely different Max. She's like... Maxine. Not Maximum."

Fang's speech was just Jim Dandy, but I honestly wanted to solve this. "Faaaaaang," I whined, staring at him, "What does this mean? Is this Max II? Max II doesn't even have the birthmark. Max II wasn't alive back then. Am I really Maximum Ride? Is she a clone? A better clone? Am I a clone of her?"

"Max!" Fang shouted sternly, "You're getting all technical again!"

"Okay, Fang. Want me to get un-technical with you? Want me to go easy on you so you can understand? All right, I'll ask an idiot-proof question, one that even you can answer." My patience was going right down the chute with him, and I wanted some replies. "Why Jif? Why not Nutter Butter?"

Fang smiled, and in a talk-show host tone, said, "Choosy moms-and mutants-choose Jif."

Hey guys. It's Kellie. I just wanted to introduce myself here. Well, I'm twelve, just like Step On Me (we actually have a lot in common - we met when I first signed on fictionpress) (she's one of my bestest pals!). It's odd how much alike we are, but I guess you could say that I'm much less of an optimist than Steph is.

I hope you liked it, but don't keep an eye out for more of me - I've got a life too, guys.