Flash by Phoenix Fanatic

Category:Maximum Ride
Genre:Humor, Romance
Characters:Fang, Max
Published:2010-09-01 11:19:58
Updated:2010-11-12 22:59:44
Packaged:2021-05-07 01:28:12
Summary:Nothing is quite as awkward as killing your sorta-girlfriend. Fax.

Table of Contents

1. One
2. Deux
3. Tres
4. Vier
5. Pět
6. Sześć

1. One

A/N- After being bitten by a cat and spider the other day, I really hope some super powers are going to show up. (Sort of like my Hogwarts letter, which I'm sure is lost in the mail.)

A bit of an explanation – That Night will be updated, but irregularly; it's just a pet project, while this is my main story.

Reviews? Cool. Funny reviews? Cooler. Funny reviews that make me snort milk over the keyboard and cause me to have to somehow explain to my parents why I need a new keyboard? Coolest.

Disclaimer- I'm a teenage girl currently singing along to Taio Cruz's Dynamite. For all I know, JP might do the same thing, but I'm doubting it. Still, I think that proves that the characters aren't mine. But who knows? I'd love to have a dance party with JP.

Whoever said love makes the world go 'round should be shot and forced to live out their days watching cute puppies being herded over cliffs.

Liars like that deserve the worst punishment possible. (Well, not the 24-hour Twilight marathon that Nudge and Angel once held. No one deserves that.) It kills me that such a popular quotation is completely wrong.

Love, certainly, would not make me stand in the freezing cold for hours on end.

Love wouldn't make me be surrounded by a bunch of prepubescent girls who should learn that makeup is supposed to make you look good, not like you tripped in a paint store.

Love wouldn't make me go to a Justin Bieber concert.

But that's what love did, and that's why it's all a big, fat lie.

Of course, it was Nudge's idea, since she had Bieber Fever just like all the other girls in the universe who don't have musical taste. (Look, I'm sorry. That was a cheap shot. I don't like cheap shots, because they're too easy to make fun of. Those include France, Sarah Palin, and Robert Pattinon's ridiculous hair.)

I should probably explain.

We were either in Michigan or Minnesota or Montana – they all start to blend together eventually. Nice place, though. It was a few months after the fall of Itex, but we were still gallivanting around and trying to deal with the few stragglers who had survived. These people just won't die.

Max's Mom had given us a few hundred bucks, which paid for food, water, and hookers. (I'm kidding on the last one, but Iggy wishes I wasn't.) It was a nice set-up. Still, it feels weird to call her Max's Mom… what should I call her? I guess Dr. M works, but that feels weird, as if she's all evil or something.

But that can't be. She's the nicest lady around. It's not like she would blow up an airport or anything. Now that would just be weird.

Anyways, moving on.

We had heard rumours from Jeb - is he a good guy or a bad guy? I can't tell any more - that there was still an Itex plant in operation near the Canadian border. Maybe they were going to try and create zombie moose or something. Now that'd be cool. I wouldn't mind fighting zombie moose.

I can't keep on track, even in my own head. That's just pathetic.

I was sitting with Max, Gazzy and Total in some café where all of the hipsters were glaring at us and our brand-name clothes. Dr. M had spent a fortune on them, but it felt nice to have sleeves that didn't have holes the size of Swiss cheese.

And the best part? I had sunglasses. Actual, badass I-have-a-machete-in-my-hand-when-I-go-to-sleep badass.

The four of us had opted to stay in the café with my laptop to do some Googling for a nearby motel. The rest of the Flock had gone out to enjoy the last of the sunshine.

The cafe was a quaint little place, with posters for upcoming indie performers tacked onto the wall, and Christmas lights strung up months early. It was filled with soft chatter and quiet laughter of people too hip to pay us any attention.

And then Nudge burst in.

It was dramatic and Kramer-like as she nearly tripped over her own feet. She got some killer glares from the baristas behind the counter. She was panting by the time she walked up to us in our corner table that made us all look anti-social, but was actually quite useful in determining who in the café wanted to kill us. The rest of the Flock straggled in, bemused.

"You're not going to believe this."

Well, crap.

Let me refresh my memory on the last few times Nudge has said those exact words.

November 4th, 2008: Every single pair of pants I owned was burnt to a crisp and baked into a pie. I'm not kidding.

January 1st, 2010: Kansas. Iggy. Tigers. Mexicans. No other words are necessary.

July 12th, 2010: Nudge posted Dr. M's address online and said that was Taylor Lautner's. When we left a month ago, we still had girls camped out on our lawn.

"What happened, Nudge?" The look on Max's face was wary. I'm sure she was repeating the same things I was in her head. "Is everyone okay?" I followed her line of sight and counted everyone behind Nudge. They were all there.

Of course, I was doing my best not to reach over and spontaneously make out with Max.

Freaking hormones.

"Everyone is fantastic!" she said, slamming her hands onto the table in emphasis. She looked at me as if she was staring into my soul. "Fang. If you love me you will do this." She dropped the serious voice and stuck out her tongue. "But not, like, creepy love. You know, brotherly-sisterly love. If you look at me like you look at Max then I'm outta here and this creeper-fest."

My mouth opened to snap back with a witty remark, but nothing came. Max was equally as speechless – probably because Nudge was right.

Max and I were madly in love with each other. I knew it. She knew it. The whole world knew it.

And we were both too shy to do anything about it.

Luckily, Total saved us from talking. "Can you elaborate for those of us who can't read minds?" He was stuffed in an oversized purse, since there was a poster banning dogs from the building. He looked to Angel and Iggy, who were leaning against our table. We looked like a gang of thugs. Just well-dressed thugs with sick sunglasses. "Do you guys know?"

Angel obviously did, but Iggy shook his head. "I think she was looking at a newspaper or something when she dropped it and sprinted off. I have absolutely no idea what it was though." He tapped his head. "You know, blind kid speaking and all." Still, that blind kid could make a crème brûlée that would make you want to sell your soul for another one.

Nudge sat down at a chair at the table next to us. She put her hands on her knees and leaned over for extra effect. Her voice was deadly low, as if we were talking about the codes needed to launch a nuclear war and destroy mankind. "One night only. Today. Eight o'clock. Lansing. Justin Bieber concert."

I was right. It was going to destroy mankind.

In perfect timing, me, Iggy, and Gazzy groaned, while Max and Angel smiled.

"I would rather be eaten by sharks," Gazzy said, while Iggy commented, "Can't we do something fun, like, bash our heads into walls?"

At least I figured out we were in Michigan, if the concert was in Lansing. Even though I was geographically challenged (a better way of saying I scored a negative twenty percent on that geography quiz when we'd been in school in Virginia) I still knew about Lansing. That place has some killer sandwiches. Literally - I once saw Max take out a guy with a ham and cheese combo she'd ordered from Subway.

I'll admit I was relieved I didn't have to ask where we were, since Max would never have let me live it down. It's always a good idea to know what state you're in, I do believe. ("I do believe" in a British accent is my favourite sentence in the history of ever.)

"Isn't that expensive?" Max asked. From her raised eyebrows and smirk, she was obviously amused – but I couldn't tell if she actually wanted to go or not. If she did, then we needed to have a very serious conversation.

"No! It's a charity concert to benefit the victims of the Pakistan flooding, so all you have to do is pay as much as you can. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity!" Now she sounded like a cheesy car dealer. You know, the kind who sells you a car that's going to drive you over the edge of a cliff.

Personally, I'd much prefer Bernie Mac as a salesman. Then I could drive a Transformer. Frick, that would be so cool.

"Why don't we vote on it?" There goes Max and her Maxocracy. She folded her hands on the table, and I was so tempted to reach over and pick one up… (SHUT UP FANG, JUST SHUT UP.) "Whoever wants to go, put your hand up."




Wait, wha-

"Total?" Gazzy asked, disgusted, as he saw Total's black paw thrust into the air. "I mean, really?"

Total did this weird rolling thing with his shoulders, which I guess was the dog form of a shrug. "His music is sort of like champagne. Horrible, addicting, and better when you're drunk."

Righty-o. Max's voice was even as she spoke. "Sorry, Nudge, you're outvoted."

"But, Max!" There were tears in her eyes. Aw, crap. "Max, this is the one chance that we have to be normal. To be like everyone else! Can't we just forget about our crappy lives for three hours? That's all I want!" Now the tears were falling. Crap, crap, crapiddy-crap. I can disable an Eraser with a pencil with fourteen different moves, but tears were just... no.

She continued on, oblivious to the way her words were twisting us all. "There's nothing wrong with wanting fun for one night. Please, Max, please. As a favour."


Max looked at me.

I looked at Nudge.

Nudge looked at the floor.

Frick, indeed.

With an apologetic glance at the guys, I nodded. Max sighed. I knew she didn't like going back on her original decision. "Fine, Nudge, we'll go, as long as you agree that you won't run off alone and that you owe us your eternal gratitude."

"Yes, yes, yes!" Nudge sounded as if she'd been proposed to. Perhaps she thought this was better. With a huge grin plastered across her face, she leaned over the table and gave Max and me a huge hug. I may or may not have enjoyed how I was pressed tightly against Max. "You guys are the best."

Of course, I wasn't really listening. All I noticed was that Max's shirt matched her eyes.

Why yes, I am that pathetic, thank you very much.

Let me spare you the boring details of our flight to Lansing; sure, having wings is awesome, but there weren't any flying lions or floating pieces of Bacon to make the flight exciting. It was just cold and windy and uncool. Gazzy was quite vocal about all of those things.

Of course, it was nearly impossible to have a conversation while flying, but Max and I have mastered the conversation-with-eyes thing that looks like we're either having a staring contest or both of us are constipated. With a tilt of the head and certain physical cues, it was actually rather simple.

Isn't this a security nightmare? I asked. We were flying beside each other, with our wings in sync. Aww.

The sun was starting to set, so it was becoming difficult to see her eyes, but I could make out clearly enough, This is for Nudge. And how bad could eleven-year-old girls be? Our eyes flickered to Nudge, who, at eleven, could easily kill us while we slept. Well, most eleven-year-olds, she added. But we'll be on guard - all of us.

Let me tell you something.

I wasn't exactly looking forward to the concert-

But concerts provide an excellent excuse to be inappropriately close to a certain someone. (If you say Iggy, you die.)

We managed to touch down in a city park a few blocks away. Nudge, naturally, had ripped the article out of the stolen newspaper and guided us along the streets with bouncing steps. I noticed, when we hit a main street, that Iggy, Gazzy and I were the only guys on the overflowing sidewalk.

That could be both a good and a bad thing. ("How many of them are wearing short skirts?" Iggy asked, but Angel punched him as an answer.)

The concert/charity event/excuse for a million girls to congregate was taking place in an open-air amphitheatre. I have never seen that many girls in my entire life in one spot. I could feel the pulsing estrogen in the air, along with the melange of thick, cheap perfume that almost made me puke my guts out. That would've looked so hot, I know.

You know, if a guy wanted a girlfriend, all he'd have to do is go to one of these concerts with a guitar and a dodgy haircut and wait.

"Excited?" Max asked from beside me. Somehow she'd managed to either buy or steal cotton candy already, even though we'd just arrived in the building. Skill.

"Like you wouldn't believe," I said sarcastically, causing her to grin and pop a piece into her mouth.

She gestured to the blue-and-pinkness. "Want some?" I dug my hand in, grabbed a piece, and shared a moment so perfect that maybe, just maybe, Justin Bieber isn't so bad.

"I never thought Hell would sell popcorn," Iggy muttered as we tried to find our way around. We'd already dropped off our donations. He was eyeing the concession stands (Popcorn! T-shirts! Useless junk!) lined against the curved wall. Still, even Iggy had to smile at the joy in Nudge's voice as she nearly had an aneurism as we got closer to the gateways that lead out to the giant field.

"Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh," she chanted, which matched the voices of thousands of others. It was loud, of course, but it made me feel better to see a few girls dragging along what looked to be like soon-to-be-ex-boyfriends.

Total, stuffed in Angel's backpack (she'd used rather... unmoral techniques to get him past security) was squirming, making it look like her backpack was alive. A few of the girls gave the backpack questionable looks, but no one stopped us.

And then the announcement came on the PA system, saying the event would start in ten minutes.

Joy, joy, joy.

We were all shoved, pushed, and corralled into the main floor. I can't tell you how many times I was an inch away from smacking someone in the face.

I was doing this for Nudge, but more directly, for Max. For love.

...Now that was cheesy.

Somehow we ended up by the speakers, of course. It was gigantic, throbbing mess, and a nightmare for Erasers or Flyboys. At least we had the open roof. A downside of that was how you'd be surprised by how cold it gets in Michigan in early September, even with thousands of screaming girls pressing you against the railing close to the stage. (Nudge had almost melted.) Basically, it was worse than those crazy medieval torture devices-

But of course, there was nothing that could have prepared me for what happened next.

I can't believe I have cliffhangers in my own mind.

2. Deux

A/N- We were getting our textbooks for History class, and I picked a random one. I started to flip through it, when I noticed notes scribbled into the margins and some Post-Its with the answers stuck inside. It's just like the Half-Blood Prince! So the moral dilemma is just like in the book. I was floored. The next thing you know, someone's going to tell me that Lady Gaga wore a dress of meat to the VMA's. (Wait a minute-)

Also, check out Jeepers: A Maximum Ride podcast by Cat and Els. It's a great podcast, and, as a bonus, they fulfilled my life goal of hearing a British person do an American accent.

Reviewer of the Week:

Demigod4ever123: When you mentioned having a dance party with JP, I IMAGINED HIM CRUMPING. So, I'll let you have the same mental picture I did.

Comments of the Week:

Dear blank, please blank on Facebook: Dear Evolution, You're kidding, right? Sincerely, The Platypus.

iloveyouthanks via Youtube: Hi. It's Jason Derulo. lol jk, it's JAAAAASON DERULLLOOOOO.

If you happen to have a deck of cards handy, go pick up the King of Hearts.

I mean, he's the flipping King of Hearts. That's a pretty hefty title to put on your résumé. From that, I guess we can infer that he's in charge of that expensive disease-like thing called love-

Please note that he's stabbing himself in the head.

Excellent metaphor for the win.

I don't know if you can say that watching a Justin Bieber concert is like stabbing yourself in the head, but Iggy would say so. Then again, Iggy says a lot of things. (However, it is true that there was once a dinosaur called Technosaurus. Google it.)

The point I'm trying to make is that love will kill you.

I'm not going to describe the first few songs that JB sang. (Look, his name gives me shivers, all right? So I'm sticking with the acronym. Remember the good 'ole days when JB stood for Jonas Brothers? Oh, 2009, how I miss you sometimes.) To cut it short, girls screamed, girls jumped, girls cried.

I was cold. The stadium was packed. My soul cried.

That's really about it.

Sure, some concerts are great; I've snuck into a few cool ones. I'll admit that there's always the same pulsating crowd, the same sense of suffocation, and the same over-priced drinks, but this just sucked even more. I didn't think that possible.

Oh, it was.

Still, it was nice to see Nudge so happy. Her smile stretched from ear to ear (of course she was screaming "JUSTIN HAVE MY BABIES" but I ignored that) and for the first time in, well, ever, she looked like a normal girl.

And that was nice.

Angel was getting pretty caught up in it, too, and Total was mouthing all of the words, which I'm going to pretend I never saw. Gazzy was happy since Angel was happy and didn't have the please-someone-shoot-me-now look Iggy had.

Max had a sort of self-satisfied smirk as she grabbed the railing and watched the dancing figure on the stage. At times like those, I would've submitted myself to endless re-runs of daytime movies on Fox for the ability to read Max's mind.

(Reading Max's mind? Pshh, what a ridiculous idea. Almost as ridiculous as me having a diary. Bwahaha, good joke, good joke.)

I guess now is a good time to describe how beautiful Max looked. Despite our wings being stuffed in our windbreakers, she looked remarkably relaxed. She was tapping her long, slender foot. The streams of lights flashed over her face, illuminating-

Every man in the world just winced at my use of the word "illuminating".

I feel like if I used "chiselled" then I'd be murdered in my sleep.

But what could I do? My fingers started to itch. I paced from one foot to the other. I had to get closer to Max; I just had to. It was like we were magnets-

And I'll just shut up now.

"Let's get out of here," I screamed into Iggy's ear; he was looking completely like he would much rather be toiling in Hell than standing there (for him, they were probably the same place). With the sensory overload I was surprised he hadn't asked to leave yet.

"What?" he yelled back. The bloody music -British bloody, not actual bloody- was too loud, and the constant people pushing at our backs didn't help. There was one older man who was particularly enthusiastic.

I resorted to raising my voice. "LET'S GET OUT OF HERE, I HATE THIS PLACE. I MEAN-"

The music, blaring and soul-shattering, cut off.


Of course, I shouted that last bit.

Half of the girls packed around me assumed I hated Justin Bieber and shot me a few glares that made me imagine a very painful death in the foreseeable future. The other half thought I meant "frick" in the basic sense, because they started to do that stupid girl giggle that makes you think whatever they want you to think.


I hate girls.

Alright, segue time.

I hate girls and the way they're manipulative. The way they can get into your head. The way they can get whatever they want. The way they have those smiles, that funny frown when they're mad, or those tears you always want to wipe away. I hate the way they make you laugh. I hate the way they always have such good opinions, and I hate how when they're soaring above you, flying into the sun, all you can think is-

Man, do I get off track.

Anyways, yes, I hate girls.

But back to the JB concert.

The music had cut off so randomly because apparently, something big was going down.

JB was standing over by the side of the massive stage, sipping a water bottle (will…not…make…obligatory…joke…) while the incredibly-huge-why-does-this-exist LCD screen suddenly lit up.

"Frick!" The blinding light was well, …blinding. I had to squint to make out the black-on-white words that flashed on the screen along to the beat of epic music. The crowd roared when each new word appeared.


Ooooh crap.


Considering that this is my life, I knew exactly what was going to happen.


Why yes, the world did explode.

The screams, of course, were deafening. My ears would never be the same. The ringing in my ears was like someone had smashed every bell in the history of ever right next to my eardrums.

And then, of course, it happened.

I knew it, I knew it, I knew it.

Remember, the Flock had been squashed up against the railing right next to the stage. All of the girls that close were crying or screaming or generally crazier than anything infected with Mad Cow disease, so it wasn't a surprise that they picked Max.


Two stagehands dressed in black (ninja-style!) didn't even ask her. They just saw her, passively holding the railing, and glanced at each other. Without a word, they leaned over, grabbed her under the arms, and hauled her over the railing. I'm sure they thought she would've just been thrilled.

This is Max we're talking about.

If they had said please and thank you, I'm sure she would have gone. Maybe she would've secretly enjoyed the experienced and laughed about it later. But nope.

Just watch, this will be fun.

"Bastards!" Still in the air, Max kicked one guy in the chest. She fell on the other side of the railing with a strangled yell. There was a poof of dust as Max swept out her foot, bringing down both of the guys at the same time.

This is called a pwn.

Of course, then security got involved, and then it got really fun. Ass-kicking is so much more amusing than Halo.

They were the classic big, burly guys in yellow jackets that jumped down from the stage. With matching frowns, they tried to grab Max by the arm and haul her away, but that's sort of like asking someone to switch back to regular Oatmeal Crisp once they've tried the vanilla variety. So. Fricking. Delish.

I was tempted to help her, but Max hates it when we steal her fights. After Erasers, security guys are a snap. Max had them all on the ground in seven seconds.

This is what a guy wants in a girl.

Of course, I don't need a woman to make me happy.


Not at all.

You know what?

I'm ridin' solo.

That's right. Haters gonna hate.

"It's just not going to happen, guys," Max said, as she neatly stepped over one of them. There were a lot of people screaming, and not just because JB had unzipped his jacket (like, omg). People were staring and pointing and I cold see security rushing towards us from every possible direction.

I jumped over the railing to land next to her, as did the rest of the Flock. We were even synchronized a bit, so it looked pretty hardcore.

"I feel like we've overstayed our welcome," Max yelled, since the screams were starting to get louder. She looked up at the open roof. "What do you think?"

Maybe, just maybe, if I'd replied faster, we would have been able to escape. But nope, I stalled, because I couldn't help but notice how nice her hair looked right after such a good fight, and how her cheeks were flushed, and how-


Now presenting: the world's newest death sentence!

One girl clad in a violently pink outfit had screamed it; the cause was taken up by anyone within earshot. Their eyes narrowed. Their mouths turned. Right when I blinked, a mob of girls jumped over the railing, just like we had.

Every nightmare I ever have will reply the same scene. A mob of JB fangirls was a hell of a lot scarier than Flyboys, let me tell you.

And we couldn't harm them, consider they weren't minions of evil or whatever, (shucks) meaning that I couldn't snap the arm of the ten-year-old girl punching me in the gut. Since when can ten-year-old girls have punches that hurt? Shouldn't she be, like, matching Barbie's outfits with the decor?

They started to multiply. First there was one, then two, the four, and then I was completely surrounded by T-shirts with JB's face. Some of them had sharp nails, and they weren't above biting, either. They started to come closer; to kick; to claw- and I couldn't harm them. They jumped-

I knew going to a Justin Bieber concert would kill me.

I hate it when I'm right.

A/N2- Two author's notes? This is madness! (Cue people going, "THIS. IS. SPARTA.)

Bookaholic711 has started Project PULL. In short, you post something on fanfiction every other Friday for a year, starting today. The project is meant to challenge you and give you community support.

For me, I'll definitely be participating by posting some chapter or another on each Friday. Check out the link on my profile for more information and deets. New favourite slang word, what up!

3. Tres

A/N- So I was singing Airplanes to myself and I went to turn on the radio, whereupon the radio was playing that song in the exact same spot where I was singing. I had to take a step back and go "WOOOOAAHH." In addition, Daphne Jackson and nudge-the-penguin are awesome.

I'd also recommend Celebrity Status by Marianas Trench. Excellent to fist pump like champs to.

Reviewer of the Week

Phantom of the Orchestra: When I read "ONE LUCKY LADY WILL HAVE THE CHANCE TO JOIN JUSTIN ONSTAGE," I honestly thought it said 'do' instead of 'join' at first. -nods- Yep. That's how it went down.

Comment of the Week

Written in a bathroom stall: Sorry, the Chamber of Secrets is the next stall over.

(I'll admit I went into the next stall over to check.)

You know, I wish that all of the issues in life could be solved by Pokémon battles.

Wouldn't that be great? Right when you want to slap someone in the face, (if someone starts to text during a conversation, I should have permission to shoot them) then all you have to do is whip out your Pokéball and cream them back to Pallet Town.

Just imagine Charizard and those Justin Bieber fangirls.

Heh heh heh.

Of course, when all of them converged on me and the Flock, the last thing on my mind was Pokémon. Wait – that's a lie. The last thing on my mind was hypothetical astronomical physics or something like that, but you know what I mean.

My senses were completely overwhelmed. One girl who was pulling my hair; another had taken off my shoes; my shirt was completely torn off within seconds. Sadly to say, Max's shirt didn't suffer the same fate.

The stadium was throbbing with voices now, and it was hard to think. It was open-air, luckily, but we really didn't want to become the next viral hit if we suddenly flew off.

Then again, we wouldn't go viral if we were dead. Just a little something to note.

"Fang!" I could barely hear Max's shout. She was somewhere to my left in all the commotion. "I've always loved you, and we'll be able to meet again in Heaven, I just know it, because I'm sure you love me as madly in love with me as I am with you-"

Or not.

"Fang!" Max's voice was so pissed that she sounded like the time she reamed out Gazzy for uploading a video of her doing karaoke onto Youtube. (Search "birdgirl doing bad Madonna" and it's the first hit.) "Screw it. Up and away."

Gotta love Max and her screw it-ness.

I bruised a few noses and arms and legs as I started to fight back. My fist met a lot of flesh, and once the girls realized that I was fighting back, they jumped back quickly. It was just like in the movies, when the main, dashing, handsome main character is about to die, only to have a triumphant comeback.

The problem: The last girl – maybe six – managed to tear away the last of my shirt.

You do not want to be a shirtless guy in a Justin Bieber concert.

"Damn," I heard one girl say. She was holding one of my shoes in her hand. "Why don't we worship him?" Good question, Random Girl, good question.

Not a single person noticed the wings, which tells you that wings are commonly acceptable in society these days, or that people are completely oblivious, or that my back was to the stage. Probably the first one. I mean, if Snooki is acceptable, then I certainly am.

But then there was another problem. Obviously.

If you recall, there was an older man in the audience who definitely qualified as a genuine creeper. ('Stache. Purple low-cut shirt. Skinny jeans. Aaaannnddd we have a confirmed creeper! Remember: The bloody music -British bloody, not actual bloody- was too loud, and the constant people pushing at our backs didn't help. There was one older man who was particularly enthusiastic.

I had cast him off as unimportant. But no, of course not. Life, the universe, and everything had to prove me wrong. He didn't jump back. He kept fighting, if you could call what he did fighting.

"Don't you dare hurt Justin!" he said. It sounds so stereotypical, but trust me, those were his very words. His arm snapped back, and with a deafening crack, he slapped me.

Yeah, that just went down.

My cheek went numb, but so did the rest of my body. Rule Number One of Life: You do not slap Fang unless you want to die.

"What?" That was the only thing that came out of my mouth . I'm smooth like that. I couldn't believe I hadn't reacted fast enough; I just hadn't been expecting it. But I made up for the mistake when my own arm drew back, and it flew forwards, ready to smash into his face-

And he caught it.

My trademark Badass Punch of Everlasting Doom™, and he caught it. And he didn't let go.




It was the perfect moment, frozen in time: him and me, with my hand latched in his huge fist. The rest of the Flock had disposed of the other fangirls, meaning I had a rather captivated audience. Now would be the time to admit I have stage fright.

He grinned at me-

And everything flashed.

I was lying on the ground.

That's all I could figure out at first. One second, I had been standing, and now, I was on the ground. Needless to say, I was even more confused than when Iggy and Gazzy took an entire day to try and convince me that I was an immigrant from Australia whose life goal was to get my accent back.

I moved my head to get my bearings. The dirt rubbed into my cheeks, but I could see that I was wearing a purple shirt and skinny jeans.

Skinny jeans really do infect every part of the world.

There was garbage on the ground – a bag of Doritos, a Coke can and a chocolate bar wrapper that I didn't recognize. Beside the garbage was a long railing, and on the opposite side, a stage…and there were panicked people rushing towards me, dressed in familiar security jackets…

It was the stadium. I was still in the same place, but something was different.

The sounds. Yeah, there were more sounds. Yelling. Screaming. Crying.

And then the pain started.

Oh, pain. We're BFFs, but we're the type of BFFs who wished that each other were dead. Pain would probably cut the brakes on a car so that I'd go shooting over a cliff and be snacks for vultures at high noon.

I'm sure there are a lot of high school kids who can relate.

It all began as a dull ache in my chest, but within seconds, it was like someone was stabbing me. Where was the knife, the stick, the whatever? Where was it coming from? It had to be somewhere, it had to be, because it hurt it hurt it hurt and it wouldn't stop and it just kept going and building and throbbing and going and-

I blinked.

I was suddenly hungry.

With a snap of my fingers, I whacked Skinny Jeans' hand out of the way. I took a step back.

It was definitely a WTF moment.

One moment, Skinny Jeans and I had been locked hand-to-hand, and the next, I was dressed like him and lying on the ground where we were standing. I could see the Doritos bag drifting along.

It was as if I had lived his life for a few moments.

Now that is trippy.

"Fang!" Nudge yelled. They already had their windbreakers off. "What are you waiting for?"

Excellent question.

I decided to at least make the exit dramatic. I swooshed out my wings, causing a few more people to stumble back in downright shock. "Don't mess with the Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death," I said, because I was trying to be hardcore, and those were the most mofo words I could think of. (Thanks go to Iggy for increasing my vocabulary.)

Yeah. Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death.

Be afraid. Be very afraid.

"Really, Fang?" Angel took the time to say. "That is so stupid. I'd be more afraid of undead bunnies." Of course, she was in the process of bashing a few girls as she said this. All of the dust she was raising with her kicks and blows was getting in my eyes.

In my defence, undead bunnies would be pretty freaky.

"Three!" Max yelled, snapping me back away from my thoughts of bunnies. (Did you see that thing flying out the window? Yeah, that was my manliness.) The rest of the Flock moved so that there was space for each others' wings.

"Two!" The rest of them shot open their wings. Screams and yells and shouts greeted that little move.


Houston, we have liftoff.

With one great push, we shoved off in sync, and the Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death shot into the starry sky, leaving behind thousands of lovesick gaping girls who wanted to-

"Seriously, Fang," Angel yelled in into my ear. I could barely hear her over the rush of wind that threatened to steal her words. "Just stop.' I grinned.

We were flying in a tight V-formation, with Max at the head and me on her right-hand side. I took a moment to look down – at the constant barrage of pulsing flashes from cameras, and the blinking of the lights– and realized that man, we have style.

It was strange to be in the cool night air with a ton of space so suddenly. Since I didn't have a shirt on, it was on the cold side, but I could deal - all shirtless men can. Heck, I bet I could hunt bears or go ice fishing shirtless.

Iggy, always the practical one, cut into my reverie. "I say we go to Vegas and get so hammered that we don't remember what just happened."

"Nah," Gazzy countered. Blood was dripping from his nose, but I don't think he noticed. That, or he thought it made him look tough. "I get bad vibes from Vegas. Like, vibes that are saying Vegas is an over-used, unoriginal idea used by authors who need their characters to do something."

We all shot him looks.

He shrugged. "It's just a feeling."

Now, of course, if this was 2009, I would have made a Black Eyed Peas reference right there. Gosh, I miss that year. All 2010 has is BP destroying the world and a bunch of people screaming AAAYYYOOO.

We flew in silence for a few minutes, mesmerized by the suburban streetlights of Lansing. It was hypnotic. You could pick out all the little rivers and streams, or where the big shopping centres were, just from the patterns of light. Naturally, with nothing else to occupy it, my mind flew (see what I did there?) to my little "encounter" with Skinny Jeans.

The pain the pain the pain-

It's hard to forget some things.

It was Nudge who broke the silence around an hour later. I was glad of it. "Then what should we do?" she asked. All of us were still in recreational mode, and found it difficult to remember we had full-time jobs, just without dental insurance. We had been flying east, but we didn't have a purpose. Sometimes it's just best to enjoy the night. "We could continue on to that so-called Itex plant in Albaskatchitoba, or whatever that Canadian state is."

"Canada doesn't have stat-" Gazzy started, when Max cut him off. Her voice was high in pitch.

"Where's Total?" she asked.

Angel's wings froze.

They just stopped flapping. She plummeted into the night for a split second before regaining control.

"He's not in my bag," she whispered. She must've been able to tell from the lack of weight. We were hovering somewhere in the general path of most airplanes going into Michigan, but no one cared. "I didn't notice until now, I wasn't paying attention, there was so much going on-"

We lost Total.

In the night.

Miles away.

We are such winners at life.

4. Vier

A/N- My friend's aunt is a kindergarten teacher. There's one kid in her class who has trouble pronouncing words. For example, he says the letter k as a t. Now, there's a poster in the class with kittens on it. One day, the kid was staring at the poster for a long time, before he turned to his teacher and exclaimed, "I like your titties."

Sorry for the irregular updates; things will hopefully calm down in the next few months.

Somehow me donating blood turned into Canadian Blood Services having a dance party. So thanks, CBS, for saving lives and rocking the house. (Call 1 888 236-6283 to donate if you fit the requirements. Free cookies!)

Reviewer of the Week

jorielovesyoux3: Max throws her hands up in the air sometimes, saying "AAAYYYOOO, shit, we lost TTTOOOTTTAAALLL!"

Comment of the Week

A friend: Screw university, I'm going to take a year off and find Horcruxes.

I think I've decided that the hardest thing to do in life is to watch Jeopardy and not shout out the answers when you know them. Or maybe not to punch those really slow walkers. Yeah, that's really difficult too.

But of course, finding Total was definitely going to go on that list. It would be nearly impossible to find a slightly-insane dog who would probably end up in Monaco if we gave him three days and a cell phone.

"I say we leave him for dead," Iggy said, cheerfully kicking his feet. We were hovering somewhere near Lake Huron or Lake Michigan or Lake Victoria – they're all the same, really.

Angel stared ahead, devastated. I put my hand on her shoulder. It was hard to see her face, since the light was coming only from the moon and the washed-out stars. I couldn't miss that one tear, though.

"Shut up," Nudge said, punching him. I could hear his shoulder crack from where I was.

The breeze started to pick up. Max's shirt drifted above her waist, and I'll admit I wasn't strong enough not to look. (You know you're desperate when…) She crossed her arms over her chest and started to speak, but she was cut off quickly. "We're going to-"

"Party like it's 2012?"

"Light it up like it's dynamite?"

"See it going down in my head?"

Max took a moment to not punch our brains in. Iggy, Gazzy, and I really were idiots. "The only thing sadder than the fact that you made all those references is that I understood them all." She zipped her windbreaker, which took away my great view, sadly. "Look, we need to head back and think of a plan on the way. Let's just get started."

The plan – that really wasn't a plan at all – was agreed upon. With Max at the head of the V-shape, we headed back to Lansing. We all flew with our stomachs up, because weirdly enough, that makes conversation easier. That shoud totally be a question in Trivial Pursuit. "I think we should head back to the stadium," Max said. "And ask around."

"I'm sure the security guards will be all, 'Oh hey, are you looking for a talking dog? Great. We can't wait to get rid of him.'" Gazzy sighed. "I say we nuke the place from orbit. Total can survive anything. He's like a cockroach."

Although I shuddered at the thought of a cockroach, (weird) I had to admit Gazzy's idea did have some plusses. That is, if we managed to get our hands on some atomic bombs. I'll just phone up my buddy Barrack.

"I guess we'll just wing it," Max said. I could hear the frustration in her voice. "If you pardon the pun."

It was a slower flight going back to Lansing, due to the wind patterns. It was cold, too, and I'll admit I was starting to like Iggy's plan of ditching Total and letting him do his own thing (i.e. party all night, sleep all day).

We landed in one of the city parks, and sprinted over to the stadium. It was only a five minute run, but from across the street, Nudge suddenly stopped dead in her tracks, causing me to smack right into her.

"What the he-" I started, but she cut me off.

"What's that?" She pointed across the street to the main entrance of the stadium.

It looked as if yellow tape was cutting across all of the glass doors that lined the main entrance. Five uniformed police officers were talking together, with pistols in one hand and Starbucks in the other.

"Cops?" Max said it more of a question. "Oh my God. Ten bucks says Total killed Justin Bieber."

She said it half-sarcastically, but…

"Total likes him!" Angel said. She paced from one foot to another; I had to keep a hand on her shoulder so that she didn't dart across the street and get pancaked. Seeing as we have the tendency to attract death, despire, and general non-coolness, I didn't want to risk it. "And we need to go!"

Wait a second.

I totally just used "pancaked" as a verb. Next thing you know, I'm going to say someone got Fang'd (i.e. was accosted by an extremely hot male with wings).

Ohhhh my.

"What's our plan?" Iggy asked. He was staring in the completely wrong direction (at a wall) but I think he was talking to Max. "I'd rather hurry." I didn't want to know why Iggy was in a rush; chances are he had a court appearance or something.

"We should stick together. I don't want any miscommunications." Max's eyes never left the stadium. After a brief conference, we decided to walk up to the nearest traffic lights, considering that jaywalking in front of cops probably isn't the smartest idea. Then again, Iggy and Gazzy once tried to run a mile in (Dr M's) high heels, and they thought that was a smart idea, even though that race somehow resulted in an acre of a nearby forest going up in flames.

We quickly sped-walked back to the stadium's front entrance. "Officers!" Max said with her I'm-a-law-abiding-citizen-who-certainly-didn't-steal-five-cans-of-Coke-yesterday voice. The five of them looked up. "Why are the doors locked up? We're late for the concert."

"There's been an accident," a woman said, taking a sip from her latte-thing that probably cost more than an album on iTunes. "You're lucky you're not caught in the lockdown. No one's allowed out until the cause of death has been determined."


"What happened?" Max asked with wide eyes. She wasn't faking those.

"Some poor guy is dead. They're looking for the C-O-D, but everyone knows he was trampled by the fangirls."


Let's pause this.


First off, when the woman said C-O-D, I immediately thought of Call of Duty instead of Cause of Death, which shows you how much I suck.

But my second thought-

Oh, pain. We're BFFs, but we're the type of BFFs who wished that each other were dead. Pain would probably cut the brakes on a car so that I'd go shooting over a cliff and be snacks for vultures at high noon.

I'm sure there are a lot of high school kids who can relate.

It all began as a dull ache in my chest, but within seconds, it was like someone was stabbing me. Where was the knife, the stick, the whatever? Where was it coming from? It had to be somewhere, it had to be, because it hurt it hurt it hurt and it wouldn't stop and it just kept going and building and throbbing and going and-

"It was a heart attack."

Oh, shat. I bit my lip.

"What?" The cops looked at me from overtop their Styrofoam cups. Teenagers who wanted to get in to the building were probs pretty sketchy on their list. I focused on the steam coming out of the lids, rather than looking in their eyes. It's so much easier lying that way.

"Who wouldn't have a heart attack after seeing JB perform live?"

And there goes my soul, right out the window.

But more importantly-

I had seen that man die.

I don't know why and I don't know how, but I did it. I had died with him. You know, I wish I had a cool ability, like being able to juggle flaming zombies or being able to do origami or something. But no, I saw how that man died. Ballin'.

"Are we able to get in there?" Nudge asked. She smiled at me rather than at the cops. "That would really mean a lot to my friend. He worships Justin Bieber. Literally. There's this little altar in his closest and everything. No joke."


"I'm sorry, but no one comes in or out until the paramedics are done," another cop said. His beard looked like it was eating his face. "That won't be for a while." That beard...so mesmerizing...

"We need to get in there!" Angel yelled. She stomped her foot. People actually do that? "It doesn't matter if we don't get back out."

"We can't have the crime scene compromised. They're going all CSI in there right now. I'm sure you'll be able to see Mr. Bieber's next concert."

Angel opened her mouth, ready to bite his head off – and suddenly stopped. Instead, an eerie silence cloaked over her, and she stood perfectly still. The corners of her mouth rose. Her eyebrows went up. Her eyes were bright, and they locked with the cop's.

Oh crap.

She was changing his mind.

His mouth bobbed open a few times, enveloping all of us in a minty scent. "Well, I'm sure you can't make that big of a diff-"

Max, catching on, shoved Angel.

She was caught off balance, and went tumbling to the pavement. The cop stepped back, shaking his head. His colleagues started forward, having seen the big, mean teenager push the sweet little kid to the ground.

Angel, meanwhile, was downright pissed. Still sitting down, she looked at her skinned hands. A droplet of blood lazily dripped down to stain her sweater. Dr. M would throw a fit - she hates laundry more than she hates Ugg boots. "What the hell, Max?"

"I'm sorry for troubling you, officers. We'll be going." Max nodded to them, and walked over to Angel. The latter glared underneath her pinched eyelids. Max slowly bent down and stretched out a hand.

Angel got up by herself.

She walked down to the sidewalk, and continued in the direction of the streetlights. She didn't look back.

"Let's go," Max muttered, casting a look at all of us. The cops shot us glares, as if contemplating to arrest Max, but didn't stop us. That was good; Max is the only one of us who hasn't been arrested, and she would've hated to lose that title.

We had to jog to catch up to Angel. The sidewalk was almost empty, but the street was packed with honking cars and frustrated cyclists who were flipping them off. The lights washed out the stars.

Angel stopped walking.

She pivoted to Max, who was able to stop her motion before whamming into Angel (unlike me and Nudge, sadly). "Max. Don't follow me. I'm going to get Total. You obviously don't care."

She whipped around, but Max latched onto her shoulder before she could take a step. Angel's back was to Max, but Max kept talking. "We'll find another way into the stadium. But taking away someone's choice – their free will – that's like taking away their humanity."

"You pushed me, Max."

"I'm sorry."

Good leaders apologize. Just something to note.

There were a few brief moments where I'm sure Max and Angel were conversing mentally. You could have sawed the tension with a flaming chainsaw. (Okay, my metaphors are getting sorta weird. Sorry.) Finally, Max's hand dropped from her shoulder.

Angel kept walking into the night.

Max shoved her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. She looked like a gangsta. Not a gangster, but a gansta. Note the difference. One's a BA mofo and the other is a cute teenage girl who has really, really nice eyes. "She's going to do her own thing. She says she can get Total back before dawn."

"Anyone up for sleeping in the park?" Nudge asked. Gazzy and Iggy's hands shot up. (I'm a tad bit surprised Iggy didn't suggest hitting up the clubs, but we'd all been going on three hours of sleep a night and five Red Bulls a day.) "Not you guys?"

Max threw her head back and looked at the sky for a brief second. "I'm a bit too wired. But we'll meet right here at sunrise, which is-" she checked her watch, "-about five hours from now."

Nudge shrugged. "Solid. See you later, then. In my dreams, if I don't make out with at least one mythological creature, I am going to be so disappointed."

Naturally, the first thing I thought of was Nudge making out with a unicorn, but that was a bit weird so I banished that thought to the Dark Corner of Sass where all my nasty images go in the corner of my mind. (The name comes from how Iggy once called me sassy. I broke three of his fingers.)

The trio set off down the opposite way, back towards where we had landed. They were laughing, punching, and generally having a good time- quite the opposite picture of the morose Max and me. (Alliteration, for the win.)

"So I guess it's you and me then." Max forced her mouth into a smile. You know the one – the one you throw on right before someone snaps a picture that you don't want to be in.

It was me, Max, and the night.

Oh, snap.

Chances are someone will end up naked or dead.

A/N2- PM me if you need to talk.

There are three songs on my profile that are conductive to a dance party. Thus, I ask that you turn up your speakers, lock the door, and dance with yourself. It doesn't matter if you're twelve or nineteen or a guy or a girl. Just dance.

I totally didn't mean to make a Lady Gaga reference right there.

5. Pět

A/N- I owe you guys an apology. I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to disappear for such a long time. Truthfully, there's been a family emergency. The next month is going to be difficult, but after that, I should be back to once-a-week.

For my Psych class, I'm doing my final summative evaluation of Edward Cullen. I'm going to prove that he's a creeper. (If someone stood watching over me every night, I'd call the cops, extremely hot or not. Bella is breaking every rule we learned in fourth-grade health class.)

Reviewer of the Week:

Kathy. Kelly: I totally want to get Fang'd. Life goal right there...

Comments of the Week:

Sean Stephenson: It's called a dance party…and you do it about three times a day.

Johnny Depp: If someone were to harm my family or a friend or somebody I love, I would eat them. I might end up in jail for 500 years, but I would eat them.

The time with Max was honestly a dream.

Not, like, an Inception dream where your mind is blown, or a teenage dream where you're having awkward sex in a sketchy motel. Just a dream with me, Max, and the lake.

The boardwalk was nearly deserted at that time. It was a wooden walkway, about a mile long, that went alongside part of Lake Whatchamacallit. Max and I strolled along it, freezing the whole time.

"So," I said, trying to get rid of the painful silence. The thing is, I didn't have anything to add. Normally when you say "so" you'd say, "So, the weather's nice," or "So, what's your policy on the aggression in Eurasia with respect to the differing cultural and geopolitical beliefs of the region?"

Instead, I just made it more awkward. Like always.

"So," Max repeated. She pulled her hood up over her head.

We kept walking, knowing one of us would have to find a conversation topic. (Kangaroos? Marsupials? What is the difference between the two?) You could see our breath; I half-considered mentioning that.

"So, why did you push Angel over?" It came out in a rush. Sure, it had been bothering me, but I hadn't realized how much. Max, with her hands shoved in her pockets, stopped and looked back.

"What are you talking about?"

I bit the inside of my cheek. "You pushed Angel when she was messing with that cop's mind. I mean, it's not a huge deal or anything, but-"

"I never pushed Angel." She blinked. "Unless you be tripping." She said in last part in a gansta accent. (Not a gangster. A gangsta. There's a difference.)

I wasn't sure if she felt bad and was trying to make me laugh. That didn't seem like Max, but I didn't want to push the matter – not when it was just the two of us. Remember that things about one of us ending up naked or dead? Yeah. I was working on it. (Not both at the same time. That's just nasty.)

She leaned on the wooden fence that ran along the length of the boardwalk and looked out at the peaceful lake. She sighed. For a split second, I wanted to grab her hand, smile, and jump in with her. No one would bother us.

Maybe everyone wants to jump at some point in their life. Maybe it's the crazy people who don't want to. That feeling of freedom, and those two seconds of possibility, where anything is possible.

I copied her stance. And with just me and her standing there, it felt like forever.

…Now that was cheesier than cheese cake.

-And that was a failed simile.

"Don't you feel that the more you love someone, the more it hurts? You know, when they burn your soul, shred it into a thousand pieces, and throw it into the Arctic Ocean only to be eaten by polar bears?"

Okay, random therapy, let's do this.

"I feel like you haven't had a good track record with relationships," I said, keeping my voice dry.

"I haven't had a relationship with anyone. Unless you count my boyfriends Ben and Jerry. We get together every Friday night."

"Hardcore," I said, because that was honestly the only word I could think of. (Which is sort of sad. They say the first word that pops to your head is what you're thinking of. So I'm thinking of…?)

I tried to cover up my faux-pas by thinking of something more romantic. I gestured to the dark horizon. "It's a shame we weren't here for the sunset. That would've been…" What was a romantic word? I don't have experience in these things! "…nice."

Good cover-up, Fang, good cover-up.

"Why do you want to watch the sunset?" Max looked down and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. The wind picked it up again despite the hood, but she didn't bother replacing it. "Aren't sunsets depressing? They symbolize the end."

I rubbed my hands together for warmth. "They're just pretty. Can't a sunset just be a sunset? No hipster interpretations?"

She chuckled and broke eye contact, with her gaze drifting back to the water. "Yeah, I guess." She paused.

…Oh hey, silence, what's up?

I didn't know if she was angry. Women get angry at everything. I once threw a TV remote at the Jonas Brothers and Nudge put all of my boxers in the freezer, which was actually a really good idea. I only made her happy again when I showed her that if you go to a recent Youtube video, pause it, and press the up and left arrow keys at the same time, it starts a game of Snake. She didn't come out of her room for three days since she was so glued to my laptop.

"Fang," she said. "There's something…"

Holy crap, she was an axe murderer. I always knew it.

"…That doesn't really make sense…"

Maybe she couldn't understand her mad passion for me that was keeping her awake at midnight?

"…but maybe you could listen."

If "listen" is a synonym for "hot make-out session" then I was all for it.

Of course, I was concerned. Deep deep down, I really was. Just, I had built up my sarcastic-and-cute-hairstyle persona so much that I have trouble dealing with the two. It's like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, but with a better style of clothes. (See what I'm talking about?)

"Of course," I said, and I meant it. But Max didn't start talking. She started to lean closer.



Sure, I might joke about making out with Max, but that's only because it would never, ever happen. Like, a rave party at the White House is more likely. (We've tried it. That was Gazzy's month-long stint getting to know the D.C. juvie prison system.)

And she came closer. Her eyes were locked with mine, and I swear, a burning cow swearing in Spanish wouldn't have caught our attention if it had walked by.





Oh wait, it is my life.

Iggy came running towards us. The first thing I noticed was that neither Gazzy nor Nudge was with him. Second was that he had two girls in either hand. Third was that they had on little more than bikinis.

I actually put my hand to my forehead in a classic facepalm.

"How are they not getting frostbite?" Max wondered softly. The smile on Iggy's face, though, was priceless. I'd never seen him so happy. The girls - oh look, they had mesh on, that's so practical - helped him to run over to us.

"Guys, meet Sunny and Candy! They're great. I got lost with Nudge and Gazzy, so these girls stepped away from their – what was it?"

"International business conference," one of the girls giggled. She put a finger to her mouth, shushing Max and I from ruining their fun. It looked like Iggy, in all his glory, hadn't realized he'd brought prostitutes to us.

…Don't ask me how, he's just… Iggy.

"Yeah! That was it. And since Nudge and Gazzy were long gone, I asked them to help me to the boardwalk, 'cause I knew you two would be trying to get it on here."

I swear, I'm going to slip Iggy something the next time I cook.

"So thanks, girls, for helping me out. I appreciate it, but you probably have to get back to your conference." He waved. You know, he'd probably be pissed tomorrow when he would realize he missed his chance with his dream. "Thanks a lot."

Their eyes widened. Chances are, they thought he'd be a customer. "Are you sure you don't need anything else?"


"Any… needs?"

Oh, come on.

That was so ridiculous, it was ridikilous. You know, the ridikilous where you have to shake your hand and Z-snap at the madness of it all.

Even Iggy couldn't miss what they were saying. He must've only touched their hands during the whole escapade. He reached out, and felt one the girl's shoulders. Realizing it was bare, his arm snapped back. "Wait. Are you implying that-"


...My stomach dropped. The shout came from up the street. All of us turned around to see a figure in a slim red jacket walking quickly towards us. The streetlights illuminated his pissed-off face, but his mouth was contorted into a smile.

One of the girls whipped her head to face the other. "It's Brad!"

Oh, shat.

He wasn't wearing a puffy green hat or carrying a huge cane with a woman on top. He didn't have creepy eyes, didn't have a bad complexion, and didn't even have a cape.

He wasn't legit if he didn't have a cape.

But you could tell. From the way the girls were looking at him, to the way that there was a hundred dollar bill sticking out of his pocket, (DO YOU REALIZE HOW MANY BUBBLE TEAS YOU CAN BUY WITH THAT) you could just tell.

This was a pimp.

And Iggy had pissed him off.

Gotta love life.

"He has a moustache," I whispered, because I was fascinated by it. I mean, damn, that thing must have taken a solid hour to mould into that perfect shape.

"Good observation," Max drawled.

"Do you realize that people dress up like you for Halloween?" I shouted to him, to sound a litter cooler. Might as well do the inevitable taunting thing that was way unnecessary. The three of us were walking backwards. "Frick, I mean, you're scarier than most costumes. Especially vampires."

"That's pretty easy these days," Max whispered in my ear.

The guy laughed. Just a regular laugh. Not a Disney-villain-who-had-too-many-drinks laugh, or even that maniacal one that Angel sometimes pulls. Just a regular guy with a regular laugh, which, perhaps, was the creepiest thing of all. He walked past the girls, who were waiting by the fence. For every step we took back, he took two forwards.

"Can't we chat?" he asked. I had an image of our "chat" involving me and my head parting ways.

I had to grab Iggy's arm so that he didn't run into a garbage can. "Can't we not?" he shouted. "How about you can feel up Max, and we can call it even."

"Iggy!" Max and I both shouted. He just shrugged, and barely dodged a bench. It was hard to look at the guy and make sure we wouldn't kill ourselves by walking backwards. Being impaled my a street sign would be an awesome way to die, I know.

The guy laughed again. "You never realized it, did you?"

Oh, come on. Why are bad guys always so freaking mysterious? Why can't they just say, "I hate you because you are a symbol of my past and in order to defeat me you must collect ten objects thrown across the universe. While riding a guinea pig." Yeah, that would have been so gosh-darn convenient.

Obviously, Max didn't suffer from the same frustration. "What are we realizing? That I can smell stale Cheetos and cheap beer from you?" She was almost spitting the words out. "How I can tell that you've never had a real relationship and have spent the last five nights looking up funny pictures of cats so you can have a semblance of a respectable life?"

…I didn't tell Max that I'd spent the last week looking up funny cats.

Max must've hit close to home, 'cause this time he didn't laugh. Not even a smile. He just stopped right in his tracks and said, "You just never realized that you're right."

…Such a drama queen.

"Up and out?" Max whispered. I glanced around. We were relatively far away from the main streets, and no one was walking nearby. It was a bonus that it was dark – dark like Iggy's heart, probably. (Point for lame-but-accurate description!)

"Fo'sho." I tapped Iggy's hand to let him know our plan. He nodded.

"Can we take the girls?" he asked. I shoved my nails into his palm; he just grinned.

"We hate the leave the party so early," Max yelled to the guy. The next part was whispered to me. "But – but, oh damn, I can't think of something witty to add."

I couldn't think of anything either; instead, I whipped off my jacket and let my wings unfurl in one smooth movement. That's right, that just happened. Snapz. "We've gotta fly," I said, because that was my horrible attempt at punnery.

Iggy and Max's wings swooshed out. Although they overlapped with mine, we still looked mighty fine. (YES UNINTENTIONAL RHYME MAKES LIFE BETTER.) (I NEED TO STOP SHOUTING IN MY HEAD.)

"If you can't love somebody, can you love anybody?" Max asked, cocking her head. And with that cryptic message that I really can't explain, she jumped, and did a picture-perfect vertical takeoff. I watched the bottom of her shoes - Converse stolen from a lost-and-found, if you must know - disappear above us.

The pimp smirked and watched as Iggy and I jumped at the same time. For a split second we were about to bash into each other (which looks way uncool, let me tell you) but we managed to avoid it.

There was the classic feeling of awesomeness as we took off, leaving the sidewalk far below. It was a rapid ascent – a higher angle than normal – but it just felt better to put as much space as possible between the pimp and ourselves.

It was a clear night, meaning more than ever I wished that I had slit my jacket for my wings; it was freezing. For example, it was colder than Total's nose after he stuffs it in snow and then jams it into your foot for kicks.

Max, who was first in our lineup and above me, looked down. "Do you guys think that – wait… what?"

She stopped dead in her flight, causing Iggy and me to rush past her. We had to take a few seconds to do a sharp turn to come down to to Max's height. She pointed down at the city below. Her face was stony. (Stony? What does that mean? It was rocky?) She swallowed. "Is that…?"

There was a red blur coming towards us. A red blur with brown hair, a moustache, and no cape.

This red blur had wings.

They were these huge, eagle-of-death wings that would probably lose a costume contest since they looked so ridiculous. It was hard to see him with the poor lighting (I'd love to say that the light in Max's eyes lit him up, but that's just inaccurate. Twilight, take note) but from the way he was speeding towards us, it looked like he didn't want to participate in that rave I was talking about.

"It's him. And he's… coming." (First person to make an inappropriate joke gets shot.) The words were hard to get out. Sure, I hate talking anyways, but it was like I was choking on them. "It's your guy, Iggy."

He might not have been able to see him, but Iggy's mouth still dropped. "HOLY SHIT IT'S A FLYING PIMP."

Now there's something I never thought I'd hear.

6. Sześć

A/N- So my friends were walking down the hallway at school and I was walking towards them. I wanted to make them laugh, so I latched onto my classroom door and started doing all the "sexy-Abercrombie-poses" that are so ridiculous. They laughed and kept walking, where upon I went into the room-

It wasn't my class. I certainly gave those freshman one heck of a show.

Reviewer of the Week:

Bananaflakes: Fang's never heard of a flying pimp? Gosh, where's he been his whole life?

Comment of the Week:

Josh Ramsay: Nothing says "I came here to win" like jazz hands.

When you're running (er, flying) away from an airborne pimp, there's a few things to keep in mind:

A. At least this is a cool death, like being impaled by a robot Hufflepuff.

B. We were totally missing the latest episode of Glee.

C. Since he wasn't holding back, neither would we.

Luckily, the strippers weren't with him. Otherwise, Iggy probably would have been suspiciously absent from the whole battle. Instead, three-on-one should have been a snap. Key word: should. Also key word: Iggy's idiotic shoes that he never ties up falling off his feet.


I'll tell you this: we steal all our shoes. Always have, always will. Hint: Put all the shoes in different backpacks, and run out of the emergency exit. Everyone will be worried about the impending fire, not the missing shoes.

A problem with that is how our shoes rarely fit; security in those stores doesn't usually like it when six kids come into a store with empty backpacks. We usually grab the shoes nearest our sizes and run. (Nudge once stole four-inch heels. Guess who broke her ankle three hours later?)

And thus, Iggy's shoes are constantly loose. He rarely bothers to tie them up. Unfortunately, this has a habit of turning against him at rather inconvenient times.

Say, suspended in the air about to die.

So, his left shoe fell off.

"Oh, look at that," he mumbled. This wouldn't be a problem if we were flying over Candyland, if it was day, and if Iggy wasn't blind. He immediately dived downwards for his shoe, obviously hoping to catch it from the sound of it against the air.

…The only thing that could make this worse was if the pimp decided to attack Iggy at that exact time.

Oh wait! He did.

Jolly good time.

It's hard to describe what I saw, considering it was hard to see, even with the so-called "raptor vision" we have. (That's what Max calls it. Personally, I call it "Aegrotocatelus Jaggeri vision", because that's a cooler dinosaur, and it's named for Mick Jagger.)

Basically, it looked like a fangirl spear-tackling a hater.

It was as if Iggy was plummeting… and then he disappeared. The guy hit him so hard that they both went spinning downwards at a crazy mad speed that was nearly impossible to track. It was a downright shame we didn't have a man-to-man smackdown conversation, since those are always fun.

I mean, there was a lot to consider. First off, some random guy was attacking us for a random reason. Second off, (is that a legit term?) this random guy had wings that any bird would be mad jealous of. Third off, Max's hair was so gorgeous that I actually had to blink a few times.

"Bloody freaking hell!" she yelled, since only a few nights ago we had a Harry Potter movie marathon. She pivoted towards them, and the next thing I knew, she was a blur racing towards the ground.

I was alone.


Man, I need to stop pointing this stuff out.

It all sucked, considering all I wanted to do was have a few moments - just a second - with Max. I had to tell her about my vision, about how I saw the guy die, about how I absolutely needed to know what gum she chewed, since it smelled delicious.

This whole thing wouldn't work; Max would never be able to catch up to them. She couldn't do that whacked super-saiyan-speed thing, either, since she'd speed right past them.

I hate to say it, but I actually took a moment to think. Just shhh, don't tell.

All I'd have to do is give Max some extra time. And maybe, if shoes got us into this mess, then shoes could get us out. According to Angel, shoes can do anything, including finding the cure for cancer and discovering if Pepsi purposely designed their logo to look like a Pokéball.

I did a half front-flip, so I was directly facing downwards. It was an uncomfortable position – doesn't it suck when your shirt rides up? – but it was the fastest. I dropped like a stone after eating pounds of cake. (Wait…)

It only took a few seconds before I could see the mass of fuzzy shadows fighting in a giant blob before me. It helped that we were above downtown Lansing, so the lights were able to illuminate them. The pimp, with his red jacket, was easiest to see. Max was close to them, but too far away to help.

So I took off my shoes.

And, with my Aegrotocatelus Jaggeri vision, I whipped the shoes, one after the other, at the head of the pimp.

They barely missed Max as they whizzed by her legs. I was downright surprised (and impressed) I could throw faster than she could fly, which I would definitely brag about later. Sure, they were light objects with no air resistance, but she'd never know that. Points for not skipping that one science class I went to!

I heard the satisfying clunk of the shoes colliding with a rather thick head. "Ten points for Gryffindor!" I shouted, 'cause I'm cool like that.

The plan worked wonderfully, which is incredible. Most of the time, our plans end up in arrests, flames, or death (or, in one rather peculiar incident, a tiger with its tail stuck up a rather unfortunate location).

The pimp broke away from Iggy, giving Max those precious seconds to catch up. Before he could gather his wits, he was hit by what I like to call the Pain Train – i.e., Max.

She came in with a flashy flying kick that you see in old school ninja movies. The guy went flying - well, he already was, but you know what I mean - to the side. Max followed relentlessly.

I couldn't see what happened next. I was too busy helping Iggy recover, since he'd have one killer black eye for a while, and cuts were lining his face and arms – the guy must've had a ring on. All I could hear were the pimp's groans and grunts. (…That sounded wrong.)

"My shoes!" Iggy moaned. "They were Converse!"

Of course, after nearly getting himself killed by a flying pimp, he thinks of his shoes. Even though they were rather stylish and comfortable, I'd much rather worry about, oh, say, helping Max.

Naturally, "helping Max" means standing nearby and watching her kick the crap out of someone and occasionally shouting things like, "Nice one!" or "Go for the groin!" It's a good job.

She was really laying it into him. Maybe she was PMSing or was pissed that the Yankees got kicked out of the Series, since she showed no mercy. There were a few shots that even I winced at.

After just one minute, the poor guy looked like he'd walked into Hell and back. Max was holding onto his collar and just going at it. Not obnoxiously, just enough to knock him unconscious. Finally, she let go and turned to me.

"Don't you hate it when your night is interrupted by a flying pimps? So annoying." Max crossed her arms dramatically. She stuck out her tongue for extra effect.

"It happens, like, every night." I rolled my eyes. Max smiled at me, I smiled at Max. For a brief second, we were alone – and that was when I realized Max's mistake.

Remember, she knocked him out.

Then she'd let him go.

There's nothing quite like chasing a falling pimp falling through the air.

Our eyes widened at the same time. We looked down; he was plummeting towards the bright lights. "I don't think Lansing will like it very much if some guy suddenly drops into the middle of the city," I said with a flat voice.

"This is Lansing; what do you expect? They wouldn't be surprised if an acapella group consisting of Greek-speaking sheep fell into the market." Something tells me she was referencing the event where she and the girls disappeared for a week a few years ago, but I had no idea.

And after that brief interlude, we dived.

You would be surprised how fast a body can fall in the sky. Sure, we were going way faster than him, but he'd had a head start. Besides, the previous fall had already taken away a lot of our height. Our distance from the buildings could be judged in hundreds of feet, not thousands. Max, beside me, was sweating bullets. (Metaphorically. If literally, she'd totally be like a jacked Terminator.)

"He's too far ahead!" I shouted, but my voice was lost in the wind rushing past us. "Pull up!"

She could still hear me. "No!"



We pick some great times for lover's quarrels.

The buildings were way too close; it was possible to see people walking past the windows in their offices, and the cars driving on the busy streets. We couldn't risk being seen, and even if we caught up to the guy, it would take too long to get him back up.

With a wing-wrenching stop, I pulled up. Max stopped seconds later, only a hundred feet from the top of the buildings. "Some people are about to be scarred for life when some body comes crashing down. Knowing our luck it'll smash right into a group of preschool kids."

I highly doubted preschool kids would be out at this time of night, but I didn't say anything. "Well, at least there's one less pimp in the world." See, you've gotta look at the bright side of things. I might have the emo kid reputation – it's the hair that does it – but really, life isn't all too bad. It's what you make it.

"We should land at the shore, then run back and try and find the body." (I told you that the night would end up with someone naked or dead.) "Of course, it would impossible to get the body out of the city. Should we just leave it?" Max ran her hands through her hair. Above us, Iggy started to float down to our level.

"Guys," he said, exasperated. "Do you realize how much experience I have getting dead bodies out of big cities?"

…No questions, no answers.

I looked at Max. Max looked at Iggy. Iggy looked at nothing.

"Well," Max said. "What do we have to lose, except our freedom, dignity, and human rights?" She pointed at my feet. "Nice move, but your feet are going to freeze."

"No kidding." They already felt like someone had Superglued popsicles onto my feet. "We can steal some down there." I gestured to the separate world below us.

"So the plan is to go down there, find a body in a huge city, sneak said body away, and get back to the rest of the Flock by dawn?" Max asked. Her eyebrows were cocked. "I say we do it, write a story about it, sell it for millions, and spend the rest of our days wasting away at slot machines in Atlanta."

"Excellent life plan," I agreed. "But we might as well get started." I glanced towards the horizon that would light up in only a few hours. This was like every video game I'd ever played, just with legit consequences. "We don't have that long."

Max closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if considering spending a few years in jail was worth it. "But how are we going to do this? Sure, we've done so crazy stuff," – understatement of the year- "but this is a challenge. How are we going to pull it off?"

Iggy threw his head back and laughed. "Do you guys know anything? First off, we need a chainsaw, gasoline, and a match."

…Why yes, that's perfectly safe. Because of course, a blind kid with a flaming chainsaw is perfectly normal.

Man, I can't wait.