Max POV

Have you ever tried not existing? Well, I know I have and let me tell you, it's not as bad as it sounds.

Okay, maybe I'm being a bit melodramatic; I mean, I am flesh and blood, not some zombie-type-thing if that was what you were thinking. It was more like a part of me didn't exist. Does that make sense? Probably not. Oh well.

I don't exist because only a hand full of people know I was even born. The only people that knew about me were my mother Valencia, my half sister, my best friend in the entire world, and my father. Other than that, no one knows who I am. Or rather, who I was born to.

Jeb Batchelder, my father, happened to be the king of freaking England. This is the part where you gush and go 'Oh my gosh! You're a princess! What a fairytale.' This is the part where I groan.

I couldn't just be a normal kid with normal daddy issues. Like my half-sister, Ella. She was the result of my mother's, Valencia Martinez, marriage to someone completely unworthy of her baconness. He left like the dick he was, and never came back, never even called to ask how his precious daughter was. See, that is a normal daddy issue. Mine was worse. My dad was condescending, challenging, yet charming all the same. He was condescending while giving compliments and he was the king of backhanded remarks. My dad contacted me once a month to check up on me, whether that was by phone, e-mail, or Skype.

I hadn't actually seen my dad in person for three entire years. And I was fine with that. As I mentioned before, I was a princess. Yet I still am not wearing a huge ball gown, living in a huge castle, or kissing my prince charming. If you expected a fairy tale story with knights in shining armor, palaces and grand balls, what the hell are you smoking?

Trust me, my life isn't a fairy tale. Even if I'm going to start this story the same way….

Once upon a time, Jeb Batchelder was just the prince of England. He was getting older, and by the age of 25 was still not married. Everyone knew he was seeing someone though, that person just so happened to be my esteemed mother. Who, by the grace of god, was an American! Oh the horror! Right? No? No. Just because she was American doesn't mean she's a mannerless, no class loser that was going to drag my dad down.

Too bad my father didn't see it this way. Or more accurately, Jeb was too much of a pussy and a mother's boy to do what he wanted and bended to Adelaide's will. That's just an elaborate way to say he kicked her to the curb and drove away without a backward glance or a good bye wave.

Nearly three months of silence, then my mother contacted Jeb out of the blue. At first he was actually happy to hear from her. Despite popular belief, Jeb had cared for my mumsy at one point….just not enough to care what happened to her. When he found out she only called to inform him of his daughter-to-be, he was furious. He called her a slut, a whore. He claimed there was no way in hell that he could be the father. Nine months passed, and the second I was born they had a paternity test done. It was 100% certain that Jeb was my daddykins. Yay me!

He then went forward to tell my mother that no one could know about me. He claimed it was to protect me; my life would be a living hell if anyone even suspected that I was alive and living. We all know the truth. Jeb was too worried what his mommy would say. When Jeb's mom died when I was two, my mom begged him to tell everyone that I was indeed alive. But he refused. That's when I figured out I was always going to be the lowest thing on the priority list when it came to my father.

So, now you know my story. That is why to the world, Maximum Batchelder doesn't exist. Maximum Ride, however, does exist. Oh, yes, I didn't explain that part of the story? You remember the scum who happens to be Ella's dad? The only good thing he left us with besides Ella, was my last name. When my mom married him, we all changed our last name to Ride. But when the idiot left, my mom and Ella changed it back. I didn't, though. Somehow, it suited me, even if it did make me sound like a sleazy prostitute.

It was safe to say that I had daddy issues. My dad and I were never on great terms. Our relationship was just the way I wanted it though, simple. He contacts me once a month, but only when he can get away from his 'royal duties.' I only respond when I feel like it. Most of the time, it takes me until the next month to feel like it. If it isn't yet obvious, I don't really like royalty.

I tried to block out the part of me that said I needed my dad, because I didn't. I was doing perfectly fine here in the States. Sure, I wasn't exactly a social butterfly, but I was fine. Okay, I was a loner at my school. I was a wall flower; a side effect from being a phantom all my life. That's how my best friend used to refer to me as, a phantom. He said it was because I was here, but I wasn't.

Blake and I had met at the palace one time when I was seven and I was visiting my dad on the rare occasions when the palace wasn't swarmed with guests. Needless to say, or at least in my head, good old Jebby boy was busy. Ha! Busy my ass, he was off sucking face with Blake's mom.

Anyway, I was wandering around the palace, lost as hell trying to piss off daddy's secretary that was supposed to be watching me while he got hot and heavy. I ended up running into Blake- literally. I was running around a corner because I was caught in the kitchen swiping the second best chocolate chip cookies in the world ( that honor belongs to my mother) and the cook was chasing me. We were 'besties' ever since. Oh yeah, did I not mention? Blake's gay. But that's okay, the best people are. Besides me of course.

Besides Blake, my only other friends were my mom, my sister, and my dog Total. Full house party huh?

Even so, I loved living here in Arizona. The humid temperatures didn't bother me at all and I actually kind of liked school.

Unfortunately, life just loves to hate me. I got a phone call a few days ago. From the king. (I don't really call him dad, in case you haven't noticed.) Normally, this wouldn't be unusual. Except for the fact it was the second time he contacted me this month.

He had called and said that he wanted me to come spend my senior year of high school with him in England. I immediately refused and so did my mom. As I said before, life loves to hate on me. This meant that my dad threw out the 'I have custody, too' card. And in a court of law, who is going to win? The king of England or a suburban mom from Arizona?

That kind of explains why I, Maximum Ride, was on a plane to England. I was spending a year away from Ella, Total, and my mom. I was spending a year with my father.

Yes, all this was happening. Yes, my life was officially over. Yes, my world was crumbling down, but why waste time thinking about that. All I could think was, I wonder if I'll be able to perfect my accent?