HELLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Yes, every single one of those O's represents me being sorry. I know there's like, one, or possibly two, of you guys out there who like this story, and those 40 SORRYs are for you!

Since my 13th birthday and enrollment in REAL SCHOOL (insert girly scream), my Great Bisexual Realization*, and my first real TWO-WAY GUY CRUSH, I've decided I'm mature enough to rewrite this story. YEAHHH, my achievements are all super childish, but whatever…

Anyways, have fun reading the trash that is the byproduct of my fucked-up head! xxxx

*For those of this reading this who know me in real life and SOMEHOW hadn't figured it out: Yes, yes I am. Love you!

"Nice shoes, Ride."

I held my breath as I passed Nick, hands clenched into fists. He was baiting me for some sort of reaction, and I was aching to give him one. Preferably in the form of a sneaker planted between his legs. But I'd already been suspended for fighting several times too many. Despite my attitude, I really did care about my grades, and I wasn't about to let Nicholas Walker ruin them with his awful taunting.

Instead, I bit my lip and stared down at my shoes. The once-vibrant red Converse were now coated in a thick layer of mud from the school parking lot, which had been sprayed at me by a fast-driving car owned by none other than Nick himself.

"Cat got your tongue? Or are you… simply too weak to respond?"

I knew that simply fixing my gaze on my shoes was probably not the best idea. It would be viewed as a sign of puniness by the bully – probably even worse than getting a violent reaction out of me. But once again, I really couldn't afford to miss more school.

"Are you deaf?" he asked, trailing behind me as I arrived at my locker. I finally snapped, turning to face him dead in the eye.

"I'm simply ignoring you, Nicholas. I apologize, but I'm not some random slut who pretends to find you interesting. You really are quite dull. A two-dimensional, cookie-cutter bully type."

He raised an eyebrow, but looked slightly surprised when he replied. "Impressive, Maxie. I think that's the most I've heard out of you since we met. But I will admit that your calling my acquaintances sluts is rather demeaning."

"It can't be demeaning if it's the truth," I retorted, slamming my locker shut and feeling proud. I, Maximum Ride, had partially defeated Nicholas Walker without even touching him. No face-bashing or dick-kicking included. Just a good old-fashioned battle of the words.

I started walking down the hall, practically glowing at the victory. But –

Thud.

That was the sound of me hitting the ground like a hundred-and-five-pound sack of flour and getting the air knocked out of me. And that demented shrieking sound is one of Nick's sluts – ahem, acquaintances, silly me – laughing as Nick towered over me, looking smug.

"I don't take it nicely when people offend my friends," he said snidely.

Well, fuck you, I thought, without realizing that once again my innermost musing had been voiced aloud. Nick narrowed his eyes.

"What was that?" he said, danger dancing in his pure-black irises.

"I said, fuck you," I repeated, rising from the filthy hallway floor and trying to scrape congealed gum from my hoodie while still looking menacing.

"What?" Nick said, faking deafness.

I stepped up close to him and shouted in his ear, "FUCK YOU," loud and clear for the entire hallway to hear.

He crossed his arms. "Normally I'd take a frantic girl up on her offer to fuck me, but you're just a desperate, ugly whore."

Okay. I could take a train wreck of physical abuse from anyone I hate without getting too angry. I'm a tough person. But calling me a whore, a desperate, ugly whore, is crossing the line.

So my knee, which had been pretty twitchy throughout our entire conversation, took the opportunity to jerk up and close the distance between its usual position and Nick's dick.

The expression on his face spread in slow motion and he crumpled to the floor, clutching his bits and howling in pain. I continued my walk of pride down the hall and this time, no one tripped me.

Not because they didn't want to. No, everyone loves tripping Max.

It's because Mr. Shitbag had been watching from his office door the whole time.

It turned out that I got three days of in-home suspension for kicking Nick in the dick.

That was actually quite fun to say – Kick Nick in the Dick. Kick Nick in the Dick. Kick… okay, I get it. But I thought that would make a great motto from then on. If I'm feeling angry, just imagine that I'm Kicking Nick in the Dick, and everything will be A-OK.

Ugh, you could definitely tell I had nothing to do during suspension. After a three-hour lecture on "unreasonable physical abuse inflicted upon fellow classmates" from my mother, a six-hour school session, and a buttload of chores, there's only so much a grounded teenage girl could do.

I tried drawing. My drawings all looked like horse shit that been trampled by a herd of elephants and then pissed on by a cat.

I tried cooking. I fucking burn cereal while pouring in the milk. You know, spontaneous combustion.

I even tried whining at Iggy via the home phone, but being grounded meant no visits, and calling him wasn't enough.

I was bored out of my fucking mind. My brains were puddled all over the ground. My organs had short-circuited. Everything was terrible.

And I had a headache.

I sighed and went to root around in the refrigerator for the tenth time today. It'd been several hours since my last visit, since I had found a leftover box in the very back of the fridge filled with a thin layer of some green jelly-like material – the rest of the container was completely filled with fluffy white mold. After gagging up my lunch at the sight of the container, I had the sense to throw it out.

Stomach growling, I desperately wished that a large cheese pizza had appeared in the kitchen. I could probably call a deliveryman, but that might go against my Grounding Privilege.

Fuck it. My mother wasn't here, so it wouldn't matter.

I dialed the number on our old house phone, twirling the coiled cord as I waited.

"Thank you for calling Pizza Hut. This is Ashley. Will this be for pick-up or delivery?"

I winced at the overly-cheerful voice of "Ashley". "Delivery," I said, my unenthusiastic tone opposite to hers. "An extra-large cheese pizza, please."

She continued talking in her annoyingly cheery voice, telling me the price and delivery time. I zoned out and eventually hung up when she stopped talking, grabbing the cash from the side of the fridge. There's one great thing about having a vet as a mom – cash. Oh, and she's always out of the house. And the fact that she sometimes brings home cute puppies… and… yeah.

Lots of perks.

Anyways. I couldn't find anything to do with myself, so instead I experimented with more cereal and milk. I found that I didn't even need to add a teaspoon of milk to the small cup of cereal for it to start smoldering. Seconds later, fire would appear.

The doorbell rang and I raced to open it, abandoning the blazing cereal fire in the process. Oops. Hope it doesn't burn down the kitchen.

"Pizza!" I cried, throwing the door open and shoving the cash in the general direction of the delivery person and grabbing the extra-large pie, nearly jumping in excitement.

My terrible grounding and school suspension had just taken a turn for the better.

Pizza.

"Ride? What the fuck?"

Wait, scratch that. It's taken a turn for the worse.

HAPPY CHRISTMAS! Oops, did I trigger you? *Ahem*. HAPPY HOLIDAYS!

This was your gift from me :P Kind of shitty, but whatever... it's the thought that counts.

Hehe… anyone going to hazard a guess as to who that pizza delivery person is?

Trying my best not to give up for you,

Luce xx