Those darn tornadoes. (mutters) Keeping me from updating. Yeah soooooooooo sorry for not updating, but you know those tornadoes can be pretty silly. Their also pretty adamant about keeping you away from computers. So yeah I did actually have a legit reason for not updating. Anyways here's the next chapter on super short notice. :):):):):)

…"Ummmm… What?"…

First thing that came to mind.

Bull feathers.

Ange, I hate to break it to you, but Max loves everyone. We're all a family. I know we try to kill each other on a daily basis, but we all love each other anyway. As family. Fin.

Wow, the rock shows emotion, she thought sarcastically. If that's even possible. By the way, you just proved that you do love her.

Enlighten me.

You denied it.

What?

First stage of love, denial.

I thought that was the first stage of grief?

Whatever. You loooove her.

Angel, I'm going to slap you so hard that your AIRSACS are gonna fly into next Tuesday.

I watched as an evil little grin lit up her face.

Max and Fang sittin' in a tree…

I pushed back from the table so fast, that little divets appeared in the hard, chestnut floor. Oops. My hands gripped the seat of the chair, clenching and unclenching with a ferocity you wouldn't think possible for such a simple action. My teeth grinded together as all the muscles in my body contracted. I slowly lifted my gaze from my growing-colder-by-the-second food to have it land on Angel's pale face. I might've growled a little at this point, but I honestly didn't care anymore. If I was gonna go halfway to turning into the Incredible Hulk I was gonna do it right. I continued staring at Angel with an intensity that could've made the love child of Freddy and Jason commit suicide.

Max's head whipped around at my sudden commotion. A steely look was shot to my soul when she noticed it looked like I could rip Angel in half through sheer will power. We stared each other down as our battle of mental forces raged on. No way was I gonna lose this one, even if she didn't have a clue what had made me flip a feather in the first place. As I looked intently at her face I realized that I was way overreacting. I mean Angel was a six year old kid who hadn't had much of a normal childhood. She was probably just doing what any average whipper snapper would. With that, I withdrew the anger that had previously lit up my eyes and contentedly continued to bore my gaze into hers.

Hers said, If you hurt my baby at all, I'm going to get Lissa and lock you two in a room together.

Mine said, Whatever. Only if you don't mind my breaking a few of the more major laws of the Federal Court.

She rolled her eyes and turned back to her quickly dwindling food. I watched with plain disgust as she resumed stuffing herself with the lady-like precision of a mouse. Her hair fell across her face in gnarled torrents as her jaws worked up and down at hyper speed. If she had even a glimmer of hope at impressing this loser, she was gonna need a lot of work. Preferably including a shower.

You know that prickly feeling you get on the back of your neck when you just know that someone's creepin' on you? I think she got that feeling because she suddenly stopped shoving herself to look at my now placid face. Everything was all good until a nervous expression diffused across her face and she went back to stuffing the vacuum cleaner she called her mouth.

She does know I wouldn't actually hurt Angel. Doesn't she?

That's when I realized I was still sitting their like an idiot with my chair pushed three feet back from the table. I glanced around at the rest of the flock and Anne. Everyone was busily chomping away, not even registering mine and Max's little exchange. Hmmmmmm.

With that thought, I stood up and walked away from my still protruding chair. I marched down the hall and trudged up the stairs, leaving my plate behind at the table. My version of an excuse from the table. We were raised by Max for two years of our lives. What'd ya expect? Backs straight, elbows off the table, sit forward, no burping?

Yeah. Right.

I walked into my spacious room and dove onto the carefully made bed, arms out stretched. Just like Superman. Minus the tights, cape, and underwear OVER the pants. My laptop bounced about a foot in the air as my pen flew up and hit the ceiling, creating a small polka dot mark. I rolled onto my side and flipped open the computer without a care in the world, when the worst thing that could possibly happened, happened.

I got IT.

Name: It. Definition: An itch, smack dab between your wings (upper spine). Remedy: Either wait for it to go away or call for humiliating help.

I had caught the It. And my skinned crawled like hell. Waiting for the It to go away was the obvious choice here because I, Fang "no emo" (Insert last name here), would rather drink bleach again (Yes that's happened before. The whole experimented on as a child comes into play here) than EVER ask for help. Hey, just 'cause I'm 2% bird kid doesn't mean I'm not part human guy, too. We don't ask for directions or help. Ever.

As the generic blue screen flickered to life, I continued jittering in place and occasionally twitching. I pulled up the good ole blog first to get a small surprise.

It read:

HITS: 128

Geezum, how did this many people start reading my blog? I can hardly spell let alone form a coherent sentence. Well, if I was a normal human (Yeah right) and a winged kid started writing about how adults pretty much suck as all get out, I guess I would read too.

I rolled over onto my other side. The tingling on my back had finally packed up and ditched my spine. Unfortunately, the whole right side of my body was now asleep and tingling

I'd have to rub my seemingly miniscule victory in Max's face when she got from her big night. I bet she hasn't even spared the blog a glance yet. Even more reason to brag! Mwa ha ha ha.

Wait, I bet she hasn't even left yet. Even better I bet she chickened out. Wait how is that better. What?

Before I could think more disturbing thoughts, I jumped off the bed and sauntered down the hall.

Upon reaching her door, I peered through the crack between the door fame and door, light racing across my face.

Max had on jeans, gym shoes, and an oversize red hoodie. Her hair was pulled back in a messy braid that ran through her shoulder blades and rested atop where her hidden wings laid. She donned a worried expression across her face. Her brows furrowed as she picked an unseen piece of lint off her hoodie. Or a speck of dust.

She really needed to read a teen magazine. She didn't know how to act like a girl. At all.

I gently placed my right hand on the door and pushed it open soundlessly. I carelessly leaned against the door frame; ankles crossed waiting for her inevitable jump of surprise. I lingered a few more seconds to see if she noticed I was there or not. Obviously, not.

Before I spoke I thought, Man, I'm gonna break my limit of eight words a day. I then said, "Just think of it as a recon mission."

I watched her jump about a foot off the ground, as predicted, her wings pushing against her sweatshirt. She spun around, noticing me for the first time and shot me the bird. I gave her the tiniest of wry smiles as she said aggravated, "What? I'm fine."

Score, Fang: Infinity and one. Max: Still nada.

She pulled her hoodie up and caught it between her chin and chest, revealing a sliver of tan bare stomach. She shoved her ebony t-shirt into her jeans and let the sweatshirt drop back down.

My watch shifted back to her face as I noticed for the first time it was a light shade of green. It looked liked Anne finally gave one of us food poisoning. 'Cause there was no way she was nervous. Was there?

I contemplated the probability of this and concluded there wasn't a chance in hell she was nervous. We'd fought Erasers, been kidnapped, and almost died a million times. There was just no way.

Finally I responded with, "Uh-huh. Usually, when you look like that, I know you're about to hurl."

She started breathing really fast and shallow, you know how like when braniacs can't figure out a math problem? Long story short she was freaking. Maybe she was having a panic attack. Or a nervous breakdown.

Before I could move to comfort her (or some semblance of it), the door bell rang. I swear her face turned a deeper shade of green. Her chocolate eyes lit of with what I thought was fear, but then dismissed the idea as too radical. I gave her a sinful grin as we both moved to walk down the steps.

We strode down the hall and steps in tense silence. I think she really is nervous. Okay, now I know 2012 is coming early. The great Maximum Ride nervous? About a date of all things? Knowing she was nervous bothered me. Why would she be nervous? It's not like she has to cook for the guy. That would be nerve-wracking for anyone.

I screeched to halt at the bottom of the steps as she walked on to let 'the date' into the house. I watched as she took a deep breath then turned the lock and suddenly the door was ajar.

She greeted him with a terse hello. They small-talked for a couple minutes until the loser decided it was time to head out. Her tense form visibly relaxed as his arm slid around her shoulders. They walked through the threshold and into the dark air. Just like that, they were gone.

I stood at the bottom of the staircase in shock. My heart had started and stopped several times as the scene had played out. I was covered in an icy sweat. The weight of the world was officially situated on my shoulders.

I think I'm getting sick. Or worse. I swear if it's worse, I'll never forgive myself.

Before anyone could see me in my incapacitated (see more school there for ya!) form, I dashed to the surprisingly expansive back deck and hurled myself over the railing.

What, you think I'm committing suicide? Guess again. If you're the lamebrain that decided to start reading in the middle of a book, well you're a… lamebrain.

I unfurled my midnight wings and they caught like sails in the wind. I pumped them up and down, reaching speeds of up to 150 mph. I hadn't flown like this in days. Sure we'd taken flock flights, but me being the second oldest had to stay with the group even though I could zoom to oblivion at any time of my choosing. In no time at all, I had reached 15,000 feet.

Up here, out in the country, there were literally zillions of stars and the air was like drinking liquid oxygen. Back in New York the only lights you could see were those of the late night office buildings and the air was like constantly swallowing dirt. The last time the stars and air had been this clear was before we'd left the E house to rescue Angel.

I did a roll mid-flight so I was flying with my back facing the ground. The stars were endless. It was hard to concentrate on any single one there were so many myriads of them. The first time Max and I had seen this many stars was when we were eleven and sneaking out for the first time.

She hadn't been able to sleep, so she'd come to me in the middle of the night (effectively scaring the you-know-what out of me) asking to go for a fly. I agreed and we snuck out my window right then and there.

We had flown way, way up above the clouds and were playing our favorite game. Tag a feather. Pretty much tag for extremists. That's when we'd noticed the multitude of "white coats."

You know how stars look white from Earth? Also how we grew up around mutants? We had thought the stars were millions of mutated white coats coming for us.

We had flown back to the E-house so fast, you would've thought Erasers were chasing us.

We found Jeb pacing back and forth talking rapidly into a phone. When we walked through the door he snapped his phone shut with a flap and proceeded to give us a look that could have made the earth explode.

He screamed at us about how we were never to sneak off again, how he thought we were kidnapped, yada yada yada.

Max had been bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet the whole time. When Jeb had finally zipped his pie hole, she yelled, "The white coats are coming!" Like really loud. He had frozen. Then she explained the whole they were in the sky deal.

Jeb had busted out laughing and Max had punched his gut. It was pretty funny. He explained the whole they're giant balls of fire in the sky, then sent us off to bed with a giant cookie each. Just like the Grinch.

Those were the days when life didn't suck and… well we weren't trying to be killed every other day.

I feel like I should own one of those 'Life is Crap' t-shirts.

My raptor vision caught sight of a large evergreen that speared the sky. I swooped down and landed on the topmost branch with a shudder, causing many smaller branches to tumble to the ground below. I crouched down while hoping there weren't any unlucky campers out tonight.

Being up in a tree this high can give you some great thinking time. Or in my case yelling time. Some times you just gotta belt it out.

"OH, MY GOD, I AM SO BORED! AND I REALLY WANT SOME ICE CREAM!"

I know original, right?

But sooo true. So I stood up from my crouched position on the flimsy branch and shot into the sky, rocket-style, causing even more branches to plummet to the ground. I really hope there aren't any campers down there.

When I got up to 747 cruising altitude, I performed one of the oldest of Avian American traditions.

Wing- bombing.

Ingredients: Supremely bored bird kid.

Directions:

1. Climb up to 20,000 ft.

2. Tuck in wings and fall for all its worth

3. Simmer for two minutes then shoot wings out (unless you enjoy becoming a bird kid pancake.)

The wind ripped through my hair and my clothes became glued to my body. I ripped through the air as my whole form seemed to vibrate with elation. There's no feeling like falling towards the ground out 200 mph. Not even eating after three days with no food.

Okay well maybe then, but not anything else.

I was completely alone in my bubble of happiness. No other birds, bats, or random flying creatures. Just me, and according to Max my Viking sized ego.

So you can imagine I was pretty surprised when I ran into you'll never guess what.

Yeah, I know not the best, but it is what it is. Great now I sound like a hippie….

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