Delicious Mexicans by Phoenix Fanatic

A/N- Somehow, my friends and I get into more interesting situations sober than when others are drunk. ("Liz, just because everyone is wearing capes and hats and are shooting crossbows does not mean we're going to be pulled over by the cops. Oh… wait…damn it.")

So my ridiculously long absence is explained on my profile; reason number one definitely resulted in me having to somehow explain how my blood ended up on the ceiling while my parents were away for the weekend.

Props to Caz and Andrew for the edit.

Comment of the Week:

My grade eleven friend: "I'm hanging out with the two coolest grades twelves ever! … Plus Liz."

"Meet me outside in twenty minutes. Come alone. No cops."

Iggy certainly makes my life more interesting.

He whispered those fateful words to me about a week ago. We were staying at Max's Mom's house until some sort of world disaster needed our help. Horde of angry zombies? Bloodthirsty fangirls? Reincarnated Brussels sprouts? We'd be there.

Reluctantly, I dragged myself from bed and followed Iggy outside. It was around midnight; we had to tiptoe our way past everyone's bedrooms, since the house was just one floor. Once we were both standing on the too-small porch, he whispered, "If you tell anyone about what I'm about to show you, I will slit your throat and water the plants with your blood."

"Okay, cool."

After shooting me a glare (well, he was off by about a foot, glaring at the mailbox instead) he jumped down the stairs of the porch and started rummaging around in the bushes. I was worried that Max or someone would wake up, think we were robbers and decapitate us, but moments later Iggy pulled out a plastic bag and shouted, "Eureka!"

"If it's not drugs, alcohol, or bacon, I'm going to be seriously pissed." Whatever was in the bag had to be worth it. If Iggy hadn't woken me up, I could've been dreaming…and maybe, just maybe, if I was really lucky, I could've been dreaming about Max…and lace… yes, Max and skimpy lace…

I am such an awkward child.

"It's better than that." He pulled something out of the super-sketch bag. Even with our super-dinosaur-vision or whatever Max calls it, it was hard to make out what he was holding. The only light came from the muted streetlights; everything else was a hazy blur.

"Is that…?" I let the question trail off.

"Hell. Yes." Iggy said, tossing me the container.

It was ice cream. I rolled my eyes.

"Stop rolling your eyes," he said, which proves the theory that Iggy is actually some sort of god. "Catch." He tossed a plastic spoon at me.

We both sat down on the porch steps. With a surprising amount of effort I tore the lid and the plastic wrap off of the container. When I opened it, the smell of chocolate wafted towards me.

Iggy smiled. "Your going to love it."

"You used the wrong type of your," I said, digging my spoon in.

"We're having a conversation. You can't tell what type of your I just used."

MIND BLOWN.

Since my attempt to one-up Iggy failed miserably, I brought the spoon up to my mouth and swallowed the ice cream.

And everything changed.

It tasted like rainbows and fairies and Emma Watson. There were these caramel bits that melted in your mouth, and chunks of brownie that varied up the consistency that brought the experience to a whole new level. But there was something else; something magical…

I looked up at Iggy. "Are there… bacon bits in this ice cream?"

"HELL YES THERE ARE."

Oh, America, your ability to put bacon in absolutely anything gives me hope for the future. "This is sex in my mouth," I said, in between my frantic spoonfuls of this legal drug. Iggy just nodded.

"I know," he said. "Ella made me try some about a week ago. I've been going through at least a full container a day. I thought I would share this life-changing experience with you."

This is why I love Iggy.

"And remember," he added, sliding a finger across his throat, "tell no one."

That was about a week ago. Since then, I've been getting up every night to have a midnight snack attack. Iggy and I had hid the container at the back of the freezer and had covered it with bags of peas and corn, so we figured no one would find it.

And then there was tonight. It all started so normally.

Iggy, obviously, knew what I was doing and was wide awake as I slipped out of bed. Luckily, out of the Flock, Gazzy was the deepest sleeper; you could have a nuclear bomb go off next door and he'd be dreaming about rabbits or whatever eight-year-old boys dream about.

The hardest part was getting past the room where Max, Nudge, and Angel slept. Considering that I'm pretty much a rolling ball of awkwardness, I once tripped as I walked past their door and had sworn rather loudly. I'd heard their giggles, but luckily, they hadn't brought it up the next day.

My heart was pounding as I passed their door. They could never, ever, discover my secret. Guys weren't supposed to love chocolate this much. It was so… effeminate. We'd never live it down if they found out. And besides, if they found out about the baconness, they'd eat it all and there'd be none left for me and Iggy.

Besides, I was Fang. The dark horse. The quiet one. The emotionless brick wall. Sure, I'd adopted that persona as a way to keep a mask in front of myself to avoid being hurt, again, but just the thought of being chirped because of ice cream was a nightmare.

And then I heard it.

Right as I tried to stealthily tiptoe past the door, I heard a whisper of, "Fang… Fang!"

"What?" It was an instinctive response; I clamped my hands over my mouth. Great work, Fang. Just great. I stayed in that position for a solid minute before I heard the whisper again. This time, it sounded more like... a moan.

"Fang. Fang… pineapple! Fang."

It was Max.

Okay, I'll admit it; a surge of adrenaline shot through me. It was midnight, and Max was whispering my name. And if you're a fourteen-year-old guy, then that's just hot.

"Come on… Fang."

Was she asking me to come into her room? It was the only possible explanation. Where else would I come into? (EW DO NOT ANSWER THAT QUESTION.) What could I do?

With my heart in my throat, I turned the handle of the door slowly. I slipped into the room with minimal noise. Even I had to give myself props for the ninja factor.

The room was pitch-black dark. The layout was the same as the room for the guys; there was a bunk bed where Angel and Nudge slept, while Max was crashing on the futon on the other side of the room. Max was thrashing around, throwing the sheets everywhere.

"Fang… no? Fine. It's Friday. Which seat? Fun, fun, fun…fun."

And then I realized it:

She was sleep-talking.

"Damnit!" The word slipped out, and I again clamped my hand over my mouth. If Max suddenly woke up and saw me watching her sleep, my creeper level would skyrocket exponentially.

Oh God.

I was pulling an Edward.

I started to walk backwards as slowly as possible. I was surprised one of them hadn't woken up by now, but with each step I prayed that my luck would continue to last. They say that your dreams show what you're actually thinking; so did that mean that Max was thinking of me?

I kept walking; I refused to be known as a stalker for the rest of m life. Right as my back connected with the door, Max moaned, "Delicious Mexicans… yum… yeah, extra sauce. Spicy!"

So now Max was a cannibal.

Cool.

I was tempted to stick around and see what she would say, but I didn't want to risk anyone waking up… but I could get a rare glimpse into what Max dreamed about…

"Fang. Don't go."

And she sat up.

WHAT IS THIS I CAN'T EVEN-

Her eyes were open, but they were looking somewhere past me. They were glazed over, as if she were somewhere else entirely. I noticed that her pyjamas had these cute little penguins that were riding polar bears. And the penguins had scarves. I hate to say it, but I preferred the pyjamas over skimpy lace. (But if Iggy knew that, he'd never shut up about it. Hell, he'd kidnap a penguin and put it in my bed.)

But the most striking thing was that, even when she was sleeping, Max was still beautiful.

Calm me lame, call me whipped, but it was true. The waves of her hair curled down to her tank top; I had to shake off my mental image of me running my hands through her hair. It looked so silky, so smooth, so-

Angel coughed.

With a pang of horror I whipped over to glare at her, but she was facing the opposite way and was still sleeping. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"Fang…sit down." Max was still speaking slowly and disjointedly, as if every word was a huge effort. Hesitantly, I sat down on the edge of the futon. She instantly clasped my hand.

I noticed that our hands fit together perfectly.

Aww.

She smiled absently. "You look… hot." Wow. Um. Okay. I was wearing boxer shorts that had seen better days and a T-shirt that I'd stole from Wal-Mart three years ago. You could pick a better-dressed hobo off of the street.

"Um, so do you."

WHY DO I SAY THESE THINGS?

I waited for Angel or Nudge to wake up, panic, and throw bottles of nail polish and flip-flops at me (what do girls have in their rooms, anyways?) but they just stayed cuddled up in their blankets.

Max's ethereal smile crawled across her face. "Thanks."

And then – wait for it, wait for it – she leaned over.

And she kissed me.

HOLD THE PHONE.

The only action I can get with Max is when she's asleep, which is both sad and illegal. Still, neither of those thoughts crossed my mind as Max's hands suddenly ran though my hair. Her lips tasted like mint and last night's dinner.

Weirdly enough, Max was a great kisser when she was asleep. (Confession: she was a better kisser when asleep than I was when I was awake.) I'd heard tons of stories about people driving cars and committing murders while sleeping, but this… this was just awesome.

It was us and the night. We stayed like that – just, together – for a while. After all the stupid stuff we've gone through, having that one stolen moment was why I love my life. Finally, we broke apart.

"I love you," she whispered, her crystal eyes somehow looking past me.

I sat there, our fingers entwined.

"Me, too," I said. I turned my face away. I wasn't brave enough to tell her when she could actually hear me. Fantastic. "I should go." Our hands dropped and I stood up, watching as disappointment flooded her face. She was still staring at something I couldn't see.

"G'night." I stepped quietly into the hallway, where I placed my head against the wall. So an unconscious Max loved me. Key word: unconscious.

Great.

Just great.

I had officially hit the lowest part of my life. A girl couldn't even be awake to like me. No, and instead, I had now certified myself as a bona fide creeper. And besides, she might have been having a nightmare and not have been dreaming of me at all-

And then I heard it.

It started off as a snort, until I heard three girls giggling quietly but hysterically.

"Wow, girls," I heard Max say, in a tone that showed that she was completely awake. "That plan worked perfectly. I can't believe he fell for it."

Wait-

So the whole time-

Screw girls.

And with that I went to eat my damned good ice cream.

A/N2- OH HAI THERE. If you are male, seventeen or eighteen, live in the Quebec City-Windsor corridor (or upand are free the night of Friday, June 3rd from 6:00 p.m. to 7:00 am then please message me. LEGIT, non-sketch, you will be paid.