HI! Welcome to my first serious fanfiction! Oh my glob I'm sooooooo excited! Reviews and flames welcome! Iggy, would you like to do the honors?

Iggy: No, I'm busy making a new bomb. Find someone else..

Nyan: Iggy... Do... The... Honors

Iggy: Uh, no.

Nyan: *Holds up french fry and looks evil* Now will you please do the honors?!

Iggy: YES YES! JUST NOT THE FRENCH FRY! NOT THE FRENCH FRY!

Nyan: *Smiles evilly* That's better

Iggy: No, Nyan does not own JP, or the flock, she only owns Devon and Jamie, and possibly this granola bar I am about to steal *eats granola*

Nyan: HEY!

Iggy: She does not own the granola anymore.

BEEP BEEP BEEP! Ugg, stupid alarm clock. I looked over at my black and red, flashing clock in annoyance. Why does school have to be so early? 6:53… I hopped out of bed on to a dusty pink carpet and looked over at the Maximum Ride book on my bedside table. At least you don't have to get up for school… I laughed at that last thought, thinking of all the irony of it. No better way to start the day than irony!

I trudged down the stairs to eat breakfast, Maximum Ride book in hand, and plopped myself down on a chair. As my usual routine goes, chair, read Maximum Ride for the 407th time, eat, shower, get dressed, narrowly miss the bus, ride to school, school. It all went by in a blur. Soon I was at my locker, getting ready for the first period of the day, when I felt a disturbance in the force.

"BOO!" My best friend Jamie jumped on me with a crazed look on her face. "WHAH! Didjamissme? Didja? DIDJA?!" Honestly, that girl has a pair of lungs on her that puts Nudge to shame. I turned around slowly, giving Jamie a skeptical eye that had absolutely, no effect.

"Jamie, you know I'm not a morning person." I seriously am not, I only perk up around at least ten, when conditions are right, and I've been splashed by cold water in the morning. Life of a teenager. Bleh. Of coarse Jamie took no notice to my comment, as usual and started continuing her morning blab.

"Honestly Devon, you need to wake up. It's a wonder your even here this early. I mean come on how late do you get to bed? I mean it must be like at twelve for you to be this tired…" I continue shuffling down the light blue corridor of our school, nodding blankly at whatever Jamie was saying now. It's kind of sad, but I'm the only person Jamie has to talk to. She's really nice, but her intelligence and don't get-in-trouble-at-all attitude gets people to hate her. I really don't care about her rambling to me about whatever mathematical equation she knows now or anything really. She's still really nice. However, everyone needs a break from the self-proclaimed Queen of Rambling.

"Jamie, I'm going to head to English okay?" With a nod of acceptance and a short ramble of the "better meet me at lunch speech", Jamie skipped off to honors math leaving me to travel my separate way over to English.

My English teacher, Mr. Cadaver, was a short man with a love of Shakespeare and creative writing, much to my class' disappointment. However, I was quite happy with it. I hated the "analyze the text" and "prove the theme" assignments, and creative writing was an amazing way to avoid it. As soon as I walked into class, I took my normal seat at the back and pulled out my blue marbled notebook. In purposely-scribbly script, the whiteboard dawned the assignment of "Persuasive Writing, anything you want, to whoever, BUT IT WILL BE GRADED!" Perfect, no analyzing, just writing. Even though it is a pop-assignment, I would take this any day. I grabbed a pencil from my purple bag and placed the tip on the paper. Only one problem. I had no idea what to write about.

I didn't want the latest phone or thingy-ma-bob like all the other girls in my class. I didn't want a violent video game or sports equipment; I don't know what I want. My thoughts swirled and twirled, and everything from no homework to potato stew popped into my mind (Don't ask me about the potato stew, just, don't). I was already ten minutes into class, and I really needed to thing of a topic. After I had exhausted almost every possible idea, when I got a spark. James Patterson, Maximum Ride, Nevermore, REWRITE!

Now don't rant to me you like Nevermore. I mean end of the world? COME ON! So James Patterson makes this amazing series about a girl with wings destined to save the world, and he ends it with THE WORLD ENDING? Just no, just no. My pencil starts flying across the paper.

Dear James Patterson,

I honestly believe, no know, that the last installment of the book series Maximum Ride, needs to be rewritten. You have millions of fans ready for an epic finally, and you make the world end. THE WORLD ENDS! How horrid is that!?...

Luckily I was able to channel my inner Jamie and rant out an entire eight paragraphs. Eight! New non-creative fictional story RECORD! I handed in my masterpiece and the rest of the day zoomed by. I had asked Mr. Cadaver if I could make a copy of my masterpiece to send to James Patterson, and to my surprise, he said yes! I honestly thought he would say no because of the suspicion I would sell it for others to turn in. But then again, nobody is as obsessed with Maximum Ride as me, well maybe except for Jamie. But she's too much of a follow the rules person to ever turn it in. If anybody else used it they would be caught right away.

After narrowly missing the bus to go home, (I have really got to work on my bus-catching skills) I ran into my house, grabbed an envelope and stuck my letter in. However, I had no idea where to send the letter to, and after a quick search to a website or two, I found my answer. Lick, send, point, Devon. Now what to do? I had finished my tyrannical rant on James Patterson, and my mom and little brother wouldn't be hope for a while because of Basketball Practice. I could call up Jamie, but that would be a recipe for disaster. I mean, Jamie phone, think of my poor ears! So after a bit of homework, I did the ultimately best thing possible. Reread the Angel Experiment in the comfort of a beanbag chair and a peanut butter granola bar.

Later, at the Patterson Residence

James Patterson sat on his recliner, worrying about things to come. His wife was oblivious to his not-so-typical past, and Itex had almost caught up to him. Now newly reformed, the company had begun experiments that made Max and the Flock look like a preschooler's art project. He shuddered, reminiscing about the unfortunate events that had led up to this. Now he was the last, non-crazy person alive that held the Flock's secret, and he was afraid that soon there would be no one left to keep their legacy alive and stop Itex. It is a troubling thought to know people are after you, but this secret was something that could not disappear. It simply could not.

James had seen the warning signs long before this point, but he had chosen to ignore them. He had taken a step forward, or rather behind by publishing the Flock's story. At first he believed some other person would put the pieces together, but unfortunately, nobody had. At the time of publishing there were a few people who knew about the secret, and Itex could be less concerned about a teen book. But after all the other "loose ends" had been eliminated, the new phenomena of the book had caught the company's eye. It had actually worked well for them, as anyone who was suspicious about their actions was easily convinced it was just déjà vu caused by the book, and they were being silly. If they weren't convinced, well, James didn't like to think of what happened to them.

It was a risky plan to publish, and now the company knew whom he was and how to get to him. After a lot of moving around and temporary name changing, he was still found out. He had to transfer his secret on to another, and fast. All his friends would be and family would be the first Itex would look to question after he was found. No, he needed someone unexpected. Someone he could communicate with without suspicion. He needed, A FAN! Not a robotic one, no, a fan, a particularly non-hormone influenced one. Yes, he knew how many girls were in love with Fang. It kind of disturbed him. But one must take all that in stride. After all, he wouldn't be a millionaire without them.

The author knew he must transfer his secret fast; he had and estimated two weeks before Itex found him. Email and phone lines can be tapped and recorded easily, so James would have to communicate via snail mail. It would be perfect. Premade letters were sent out every day to persistent fans, and no one would notice if one had extra secrets enclosed. Now he just needed to find his predecessor…

One hour later

James was thoroughly exhausted. After an entire hour of checking mail, he could not find a single fan that could handle his secret. Most mail consisted of gushing over his characters, or plain rambling. I'll look through a few more, than go to bed. A few more was an overstatement. There were two letters left, and James absolutely needed to pass on the secret now. He opened up the letter from one: Devon VanLera, and began to read. This girl seemed actually kind of smart. She was questioning his ending, and did it in a very intelligent way. She was also suspicious of him, and even though she wasn't starting to connect events together, he had to take what he could get. Plus no character gushing. That's a bonus. However, he wasn't sure, and thought maybe this next one would be better. Rather, this last one. If it weren't better he would go with Devon as the next secret keeper.

Okay Devon it is! That last letter had been full of so much character gushing it nearly made him sick. After a thorough mind scrubbing, that last letter was really horrible; he began the long task of writing everything down by hand. It was a tricky task really, he didn't want to spell everything out, in case Itex got it, but he couldn't waste time with silly clues and riddles. Time was ticking, and he couldn't send multiple letters, too suspicious.

In the end James had disclosed everything, sure of his plan that Itex wouldn't get it. After concealing it between the normal, prewritten letter and placing it in the usual envelope, James placed it in the pile of fan mail replies ready to go out. He couldn't help but smile at the bittersweet feeling of this. He may not be here to see the fall of Itex, or see the legacy continue, but he will have kept it going, and done his job. Max would be proud, he thought. And at that, he turned around ready to enjoy what might be his two last weeks of freedom.