I'm a liar. I'm gonna be doing two stories at once, since I no longer have school. And being as how one of the four stories in my poll is ten votes ahead of the rest, I will be starting 'Out of the Ordinary.' Max is an all-star cheerleader going to Worlds, and Fang is a pro surfer. Sigh. This story is going to be hard.

Fang

There's nothing quite like an early-morning surf. When the air still has a cool, nighttime breeze to it, and just above the water on the horizon the sky is turning blood red. When the sun is rising but you can still see a few stars, and when water lapping at your surfboard is the only sound.

I was about fifty yards off shore. It was roughly six-thirty (according to my not-so-trustworthy waterproof watch), and I'd caught five waves already. But now I was just lying on my surfboard with my arms dangling in the water, trying to enjoy the peace that I knew was soon going to be broken.

In less than an hour the beach would fill with other surfers, tourists, photographers, and a billion other random people just come to enjoy the nice day. And, as I'd been dreading for weeks already, cheerleaders would be tumbling down the beach - literally.

It was that time of year again - the Cheerleading Worlds. They were held at Disney World in Orlando, not in my hometown of Daytona Beach. But all of their hotels were only about an hour from here. And cheerleaders want three things only at the Cheer Worlds: a gold medal, a picture in front of EPCOT, and a few videos of them doing flips and tricks on the beach.

I sighed, glanced back and saw a pretty good size wave forming, and started to paddle forward. When I was in the right spot I put my hands on both sides of my board and pushed up so that I was standing, and then I bent slightly at the knees and held my arms out to balance as I rode the wave about three fourths of the way to the beach. It wasn't a good one, nothing that was going to get me in a tube of water, but I would take anything I could get to relax.

An hour or so later, the beach was starting to fill up, so I walked out of the water with my board under one arm, using the my free hand to tousle my hair and get some of the dripping water out of it. I grabbed my towel, dried off as best I could, and threw on a T-shirt, grabbing my board and heading toward my truck.

My truck was my one and only love, according to my friends. Which was probably true. It was a tiny, faded blue thing that rust probably fell off of when I was driving down the road, but that was okay. The bed of it had enough room for my board, I could get to the beach and back home on less than a gallon of gas, and it never broke down.

When I got home I jogged inside, snatched the gallon of orange juice, and chugged some of it before throwing it carelessly back in the fridge.

"Fang, you're dripping water everywhere," complained my little sister Angel as she came into the kitchen, yawning.

Angel was...well, an Angel. In both personality and appearance. She had fair skin, even though she practically lived outside, and her blonde hair surrounded her head like a halo. For a seven-year-old, she was really mature.

You would never know Angel and I were siblings. Her pale skin, my olive skin. Her blonde curls, my shaggy black hair. Her innocent blue eyes, my daring brown ones. Angel was a mirror image of our mom, and I looked everything like my dad.

But Dad's not exactly in our lives.

"Hey, Ange," I said, as she pulled herself into one of the stools in front of the kitchen counter. "Whatcha in the mood for?"

"Chocolate chip pancakes." Angel nodded, pleased with her decision. "And milk."

"How about..." I dug through the pantry, looking for breakfast. Let's just say I'm not a chef. "A chocolate chip PopTart?"

Angel jumped down from her barstool, shaking her head at me like I was a complete failure. "I'll just wait for Mom to wake up," she said, and she ran off to watch her Saturday morning cartoons.

I sat down at the counter with a PopTart of my own, knowing that Mom would be pissed that I was sitting in her new barstools with my wet swimming trunks. But it would dry, and life would go on.

Mom just overreacted about...well, everything.

My cell phone chimed, one of the annoying default ringtones, and I answered it before I followed the urge I had to throw it at the wall. I wasn't much of a music guy, and so I'd had to settle for that stupid freaking ringtone.

"Hello?" I answered. My phone is ancient, so Caller ID isn't exactly something I have.

"It's Iggy." I heard a squeal in the background. "Dude, you have got to come to the beach. There are hot girls everywhere."

"Don't you remember what time of year it is, buddy?" I asked sarcastically.

Iggy isn't exactly the cheerleader-dating type of guy himself. He's my surf-buddy, has been since we were eight years old. We trained with each other, competed against each other, and we were always the other's wingman.

Which is exactly why I needed to save him. Like I said, Iggy is not cheerleader-dating kind of guy. He'd rather hang out with surfer chicks, random tourists who want "surf lessons," or me and the rest of our friends.

"What're you talking about?" Iggy asked cluelessly. There was another high-pitched screech in the background, and I fought the urge to cringe. Iggy was in for it worse than I thought.

"They're all cheerleaders, buddy. Remember, the Cheer Worlds are here again." I sighed.

Iggy was silent for a few moments, so I just waited a while and ate my PopTart while he figured out what he wanted to say. And trust me, it was not what I expected. Not at all.

"Oh. About the Cheer Worlds," Iggy began, trailing off.

"What about them?" I prompted, resisting the urge to grit my teeth.

If Iggy said anything wrong, than my shoe might just go flying through the glass door. I'm not much of a vent-in-silence person.

"Oh, so you know how Nudge is all...psycho about that type of stuff?"

"Do I ever."

Nudge, Iggy's adopted sister, was twelve, talkative, and a huge supporter of the Cheer Worlds. Every year she had a little party with her friends so they could eat snacks and watch the competition on TV and cheer on the team they were supporting, which changed every year.

"Well, she got some tickets. Three, to be exact. Well, Mom got her three. Anyway, one's for her. One's for me, because I'm being forced to take her!" Iggy literally growled. But it wasn't very convincing, if you know what I mean.

"And the last one?" I asked, afraid of the answer. Very, very afraid.

"It was for Nudge's friend, but she can't go. So Mom says I can bring a friend along so it's not so much torture. So...please come and save me from being one of those people that cheers for the cheerleaders!"

My jaw dropped, and my phone just about went down with it. Seriously? Iggy expected me to go with him? Why would I want to watch a bunch of overly-peppy girls jump around for a medal?

"C'mon, Fang," Iggy said, obviously sensing my thoughts. "It might not be as bad as we think it is. After all, girls in skirts..."

I pictured Iggy waggling his eyebrows, which he was notorious for. The guy wasn't creepy enough to be called a pervert, but it's not like he doesn't enjoy girls in bikinis at the beach every day.

"Fa-ang," Iggy practically whined. He sounded notoriously like Nudge.

The last thing I needed was a whiney Iggy, trust me.

"Fine, fine! Whatever! Just...don't whine. Seriously, dude."

"Deal!"

Max

"Alright, girls," our coach Terri said, clapping her hands as we finished the run-through of our routine. At the YMCA, no less.

Terri thought it would be helpful for us to arrive in Orlando, Florida a week before Cheer Worlds took place, so that we could get used to our surroundings. Which, okay, was a good idea, since we pretty much choked at the Jamfest Nationals due to never having practiced in that room before. But the bad thing was that we didn't have a bunch of good equipment or a private gym, like at home. Nope. We had the big spring floor at the YMCA.

Terri continued, "The double downs are starting to get sloppy. So we're going to do them one-by-one and critique each other. Lissa, you go first."

Lissa, my best friend, the biggest kiss up, and undoubtedly the girl with the best double downs, stepped forward, smiling hugely and politely at Terri.

"Just remember, Lissa, to stay tight, twist at your highest point, and try to keep those legs from crossing, especially on the second twist. Let's do it from a scorpion."

Lissa got with a group and, on the count, they shot her up. She pulled her leg behind her head, gripping her toes with both hands. The bases dipped together, threw, and Lissa twisted cleanly down to be caught by her group.

"Good job, Lissa," Terri encouraged.

"Thanks!" Lissa hopped over to stand by me.

"Who's next?" Terri called. Nobody volunteered because, even though Terri was acting nice right now, she could be strict if something wasn't done the way she wanted it.

"I nominate Max," Lissa said after a few moments of silence.

I looked over at her, biting my lip and giving her "the look," while she smiled innocently at me. Oh, that girl.

"Max, great." Terri smiled, patting my shoulder and pushing me gently to the stunt group. "Just do what Lissa did, okay?"

I got in my place, putting my hands on Rachel's and Beth's shoulders. Crystal put her hands on my hips, and called, loud and clear, "One, two!" I hopped in, and my group launched me up.

I'm taller than most flyers at five foot eight. But I'm naturally thin, like I have light bones or something, so my weight is good. But most of the time the bases don't fly because of their weight. They're usually the ones that are afraid of heights. And every time we try to get somebody new to fly, Terri says, "Remember, it's not the height your scared of. It's the fall, which isn't going to happen."

I pulled my leg up behind my head, grabbing my ankle with both hands. I heard Crystal call the counts, felt the bases dip, and I crossed my arms and tried to stay tight as the bases threw me and I twisted two times before being caught. The girls put me down, and I looked at Terri.

"The scorpion was great, as usual, but your legs just crossed a little on the second twist. Just stay tight. Most girls do that, so the judges won't be too picky on it."

"M'kay." I skipped back to my spot beside Lissa, glad that my moment in the spotlight was over. "Just for the record," I said to my redheaded best friend, "I totally hate you."

Lissa flipped her hair over her shoulder, crossed her arms, and pursed her lips in a cocky little smile.

"Whatever, you'll get over it."

"Alright, girls, practice is over for today," Terri called. "Head to the hotel, go out and party, I don't care. But practice starts at ten tomorrow morning, so just make sure you're not too exhausted."

We all headed over to get our things. I threw a sweatshirt on over my blue sports bra, took off my cheer shoes for some sandals, and took the big bow out of my hair. Outside of practice I didn't like people to look at me like I was just one of the dozens of cheerleaders here for Worlds.

"Hey, Max," Lissa said, jogging over to catch up to me by the doors.

Our hotel was just across the street, so I was planning on just going over there and relaxing, maybe getting some Chinese takeout since that's the best food there is in the whole world.

"Beth and Amber and I are going to Daytona Beach for a few hours. Wanna come?"

"I don't know. Practice is at ten, so I might just go to the hotel and chill out for tonight."

"Come on, Max," Lissa begged. "Don't be such a goodie-goodie for once! Besides, Terri said specifically that we could go out and party if we wanted. All we're doing is going to the beach, maybe flirt with a guy or two."

I looked around, bouncing on my feet a little bit. Going to the beach did sound really fun, and Terri had said we could do whatever, as long as we would be able to do the routine tomorrow. But I wasn't much of a go-to-the-beach, flirt-with-the-locals type of vacationer.

But really, who would it hurt?

"I guess that sounds like fun. Let me just go grab my swimsuit."

So there's the first chapter of the new story! I know it's going to be super-hard to make Max seem like a cheerleader, and it's gonna be semi-hard to make Fang seem like a surfer. But I'm gonna do my best.

I'd also like to apologize to any surfers reading this. I know literally nothing about surfing, except for what I've seen in movies and read in Soul Surfer. So if I get anything too wrong, let me know and fill me in on some surf vocab, ha ha. I should be good to go on the cheerleading front.

This chapter is probably one of the longest I've written, and it'll be pretty hard to live up to. But I'll sure try to make the rest of the chapters good.

And last but not least, I'm moving in six days. I'm so sad!

You can cheer me up with some reviews, though (wink, wink, nudge, nudge). I hope you enjoyed! (: