Hey! So, here's my new story, Pretend! I know I have two stories going already, but I wanted to make a complete All Human AU for MR instead of an AU were they have wings.
DISCLAIMER: No. I do not own Maximum Ride or Pretend (which is by LIGHTS)
*.*.*Flitting Wishes*.*.*
Running. It's another form of art. While you run, you let out everything you've been keeping inside you. You express yourself. Some hate it, that's why they stick with singing, dance, sports, etc. But others live for it.
Others like myself. My name is Max Martinez. I was fifteen years old, and I lived in Phoenix, Arizona. My mother, Valencia Martinez is a vet. My father lives in California, they're divorced. I have a little (half-) brother named Ari, and a half-sister named Ella, still younger than me. Ari lived with his dad in California, but we called him a lot and video chatted with him a lot too. He always said he missed Ella, mom and I. Ella lived with mom and I.
As I was saying, I lived for track. Track and skateboarding. I guess I was what you'd call a "tom-boy" but…eh.
Apparently I was a good singer, which was completely random considering next to no one in my family could sing.
I wanted to be a famous skateboarder, even though I loved running too. Some say it's not a good career chose, but I disagreed.
I'm sorry to tell you that I did not have any real friends. I stayed away from people most of the time, and I'd never really taken the time to get to know anyone. When someone gets close, I ran away. Metaphorically and literally.
See, I had had a tough life, which only made me tougher. I used to be a daddy's girl, but when I was about six; he just got up and left. Never told me goodbye.
I had another brother. His name was Brandon. I nicknamed him "Brand muffin" because he'd call me Maxi and he knew I didn't really like that. He was my full brother.
I miss him too much right now. I was closer with him than mom, or even dad.
One night, he was out at his friend's house too late. He left his house at about one and on the way…some drunk driver…
He's gone.
I had a best friend, once. Her name was Melinda. I told her everything. We were the kind of friends a girl would have on TV, and everyone in real life wishes they had a friend like that.
Then the jock asked her out, they started dating, and she turned her back on me. Stabbed me when I wasn't looking.
She was telling all the popular groups about everything. Everything I told her, at least. It was a good thing only mom, Ella and I knew about Brandon. Ari was too young. He was only five. Brandon died four years before then, so when Ari was one.
Ella and I were moving in with dad. We were leaving in about a week. Coming back in about a year. He was actually moving from California to Colorado, so that's closer to Arizona. Ella and I were going to visit mom on holiday breaks.
I didn't even really want to go live with him. I hadn't forgiven him. Not yet. Or maybe I wouldn't at all. I'm not sure. It's hard to tell. I could seriously hold a grudge for very long periods of time.
Ella was about just as excited as I was. She could hold grudges for almost as long as me.
At that moment, I was running. Running as fast as I possibly could. Converse-clad feet pounding against the hard concrete, dirty blonde braid flying behind me, heart pounding—
Or maybe I should start from the beginning.
"Maxi!" He called out. I snapped my head behind me. There, there he was. Running behind me, grinning, trying to catch up with me. I smiled my biggest smile ever and stopped. He caught up and grabbed me hand in his before running off in the same direction. I sprinted along with him. I knew where he was taking me. The tree house.
Dad made it for us when I was five. It was so much fun, playing up in that tree house, adding pictures I drew of the family or things Ella had made out of play dough. At four, she was already a natural artist and I loved her to pieces.
We approached the house, and he climbed up the sturdy boards, reaching the top far before I did. He was always better at climbing and gymnastics and all that. I was better at running and balance.
Seeing me struggle, he held his hand out for me to grab, and when I did, he hauled me up on the wooden panels. I said a thank you, and looked around the tree house. It looked exactly the same it did yesterday. Picture badly drawn with my six-year-old hands, Ella delicately sculpted figures of cups or vases or a flower or something else she liked to sculpt. Pictures of Ella, Brandon, and I together, playing on the playground just around the block, me swinging and laughing, Ella sticking her tongue out at the camera—still smiling—while riding on the rocking-horse-thing, and Brandon pushing me, smiling like crazy. His brown hair sticking up in the oddest ways like it always used to, and his square glasses pulled up his nose. His brown eyes shinned brightly and happily as he pushed me. I missed those days.
There were scattered games, books, and journals (Brandon's) lying all around. A small flashlight lied on the one small table in the house, and the four chairs were left the way we left them the previous day. Buckets of markers stacked on the floor next to the chair, while paper and unfinished drawings were snuggled up in the plastic blue bin sitting next to the markers. A couple of hair bands and clips scattered carelessly across one of the bookshelves. Ella always hid those here incase she needed some.
I smile made its way onto my lips again, and I looked at Brandon. He looked so much like he did in the picture…
"Hey, Brand muffin?" I asked him, smiling fully now. He looked at me and grinned his usual, Brandon grin. "Yeah, Maxi? What is it?" He bent down to my level. At 4'4 I was taller than some in my grade, but Brandon was 6'4 so he definitely had to bend down to my height to be eye level. My smile fell, and I studied my shoes, chewing on my bottom lip. I didn't look up when I barely murmured to him, "I heard mommy and daddy talking about you going away for school…" I looked up slowly, and saw that he was frowning, something very unusual for Brandon. "You mean…College?" He said. I nodded, suddenly remembering that was what mom and dad had called it when I over heard them talking about him going away. I had gotten so sad…
"Yes," I whispered. "College. They said…that you were…" I didn't finish and my eyes furrowed. I looked down at my shoes, and made my long, wavy, blonde hair fall infront of me so he couldn't see me very well.
"They said I was leaving for a long time?" He asked me gently. I nodded again. They had said that. It scared me, too.
"Uh-huh. They said we wouldn't be able to see you except for Christmas and summer…. Brandon, are you actually leaving us? Please don't say yes…" I couldn't let Brandon leave! He couldn't! I loved him too much too be separated from him for four years except for Holidays. It couldn't happen. Not to me. Not to us. He couldn't leave!
He didn't say anything after a moment, and I got the hint. He really was leaving us. For so long…
You'd expect tears to fall. Oh, they fell all right.
I started to cry softly, the tears falling and sliding down my cheeks silently. "Why are you leaving us? I thought you loved us…why would you leave?" I hadn't meant for our visit to the tree house to turn into a crying fest, but the question of whether or not it was true had been nagging in the back of my head all week. I still couldn't believe it.
"Maxi."
Brandon looked up at me. "Maxi, look at me." I didn't. He lifted my chin up a little so I could look him in the eyes. I tried to stop crying since even though we were close, I didn't want Brandon to see me cry so much. The tears wouldn't stop though. I fought again.
Nothing. They kept coming.
"Maxi, I am not leaving now. I will someday, but not now. And I do love you, Max. I love all of my family. But I need to go to school, too. I'll visit as often as possible, and I'll make sure to write to you ever week, alright?" I sniffled, and then wiped away some tears. "Promise, Brand muffin?" I asked him. He had to promise me he would visit us as often as possible, he would write me each week, and he did love us.
He smiled a small, fragile smile. Not the kind he usually had. It startled me for a moment. Then he held out his right pinky finger, and told me, "Pinky promise, Maxi." And got up from his spot down at my eye level. I smiled a full-blown one, and hugged his waist due to the height difference. He laughed lightly and ruffled my already-messed-up hair.
I woke up via very-freaking-annoying-alarm-clock-that-doesn't-seem-to-want-to-shut-the-heck-up. It was blaring at full blast, and I looked at my clock between half-shut (or half-open) eyes, still half asleep. Seven thirty-five AM. By a show of hands, who wakes up that early in freaking summer?
That's what I thought.
Ella must have set my alarm clock before I went to bed last night so I'd wake up early. Probably getting me ready to wake up at four to go to the airport since out flight was at seven and it takes about an hour to get there.
Long time, I know. But whatever.
I unwillingly got out of my soft and comfy bed, and found some clothes to wear that morning. Hmm…How about…Blue t-shirt and jeans? Oh, now we're shaking it up a little!
…Sarcasm, my friends.
So I threw that on (not literally) brushed threw my tangled mass of hair, and put it up in a lazy braid. I studied myself in the mirror for a moment. Blonde, wavy hair. Bangs hanging in my eyes, which slightly was annoying me. Chocolate brown eyes, button nose with sprinkles of freckles every here-and-there. I was sort of tall at 5'9.
My cheeks slightly naturally pink, lips especially red for some reason today. I shuffled around in my dresser for a second before finding my chap stick and smearing that on.
There. Now my lips looked less…lip-stick-y, I guess.
I sighed. I didn't look anything like Brandon, Ari, and Ella, dad or mom. Brandon had brown wild hair and brown eyes, oodles and oodles of freckles all running up and down his cheeks and his long nose. He was sort of lanky, I suppose. Least, that's what mom said he was. When I was little, I didn't know what that word meant.
Mom was Hispanic, black-ish-brown hair and eyes sort of like mine, but were always happier and more optimistic. She had next to no freckles and her face shape wasn't anything like mine, with an oval shape. She had a button nose like me, but our eyes and nose was the only thing in resemblance. She had a petite form, and was an average height at 5'5.
Ella looked almost exactly like mom, except she had thick, long lashes, and she had a different face shape also, probably from her father. We didn't look anything alike either. She was like mom in height too—5'3.
Ari had blonde, scruffy hair, and the prettiest sky blue sparkling eyes. He had freckles (from dad) but little of them only on his nose. He had dad's face shape, and his long nose. He was tough for a five-year-old.
My dad had really blonde, floppy hair, and baby blue eyes. A heart-face-shape, unlike my diamond-face-shape. He had a long nose (already said that) and freckles (said that, too!). His cheeks were slightly pink (I guess that's where I got it.) naturally. He was tall, 6'5—at least, taller than some other guys I've seen.
I'd gotten a lot of traits that no one knew who were from. Mom wasn't all that stubborn most of the time—I was as stubborn as a bull. Dad wasn't that persistent—I was. Mom and Ella were girly-girls at times—I wasn't at all.
I didn't like it, how different I was from everybody. I don't know why it bothered me, but it did. Deeply.
Coming out of my sudden daydreaming, I shifted through my closet for a moment before finding my black converse under a bunch of clothes that had fallen off my hangers. I laced them up as quickly as possible, and made my way to the hallway and to downstairs. I was famished.
As I was walking past Ella's room, I heard talking, then squealing coming from two people. Huh. That's weird. It didn't sound like Ella was talking on a phone, and who would come over at that hour?
Oh, wait. I had forgotten she had had her friend Jessie over the night before for a sleep over. I didn't necessarily like Jessie, but I didn't hate her either. We just didn't really click that much. She was really kind of prissy (don't tell her I said that) and I didn't want anything to do with the stuff she just gushes over. Plus she was a friend off Melinda's, and anyone who was friends with her, wasn't going to get along too great with me.
I passed by the room without any problem and hopped down the stairs. Mom was already in the kitchen flipping pancakes. She always made pancakes in the morning when Ella had friends over.
Notice how I said Ella. Not when we have friends over, no, when Ella has friends over.
It's sad really. But I don't spend a lot of time dwelling on it.
"Mmm," I muse, breathing in the smell of mom's ambrosial chocolate chip pancakes. When Ella and I were younger she'd make them in the shape of Mickey Mouse. I loved that…
Then when Brandon made them for Ella and I when mom was out at work or something, he'd always spell "Maximum Ride" out on it in chocolate chips on mine.
When I was little, I loved the last name Ride, and my real name was Maximum, so when Brandon was really, really proud of me, he'd call me "Maximum Ride" instead of just "Max" or "Maxi." Then my little kid face would light up and he'd ruffle my hair.
Oh, God, I missed him so much, even after four years…
"Oh, Good morning, Max." Mom greeted glancing up from the stove, startling me out of my daydreaming. I smiled warmly at her and made my way to the faucet. I washed my hands really quick before making my way to the table where mom had put down the plates and had just set down the chocolate chip pancakes and was working on the plan ones.
I grabbed three with my fork and was smearing butter all over them when I heard Ella and Jessie running down the stairs. I didn't look up from my delicious-y goodness until Ella greeted me, "Hey, Max. Up already? That's a first." I gave her a look as she smiled smugly before I said, "Yeah, well, I wouldn't have if you hadn't set my stupid alarm clock for seven freaking AM." I was annoyed, I'll admit. But it didn't last very long till I forgave her just because she was Ella and I swear—it was impossible to stay mad at her when she does the Bambi eyes, let me tell you.
"So, girls," Mom started the conversation with. She put the rest of the pancakes down on the table and I resumed smearing butter on then drowning it in a river of sweet, sticky syrup. "Your father called." She told us, going back to the sink to wash her hands again. I raised one eyebrow. "Oh? Why so?"
Ella agreed. "Why'd he call?"
Mom turned the water off and shook her hands before using the towel to dry them for efficiently. "He wanted me to tell you all that school will be starting two days after you get there." She said.
I only nodded, shoveling a huge chunk of pancake in my mouth. I didn't really have a response. I didn't, by any means; want to go back to school, especially at a new place.
A whole year without mom—that sounded like torture. No joke. I loved my mom to Pluto and back, and just the thought about leaving her for that long just to go to some new place and have to go to a new school with someone I didn't even like made me want to run away so I wouldn't have to go. But I didn't. Mother really wanted us to get to know our dad and understand why he left for once, and she wanted us to forgiven him. Pssh, as if!
She made us promise her that we'd call every so often and give her updates on everything. Whether we liked the school, the place, dad, the people at the school, our teachers, the neighbors, everything.
So we reluctantly swore on our pinky that we would do so, and mom was content with that, even though I knew she'd miss us just as much as we'd miss her.
I sure hoped that the place would be better than the school at home. Maybe I'd actually make friends that time, not get a reputation as "the girl without any friends who doesn't talk next to anyone."
Okay, so that wasn't exactly my reputation. It was just; "the girl without any friends" was mine. Without the "who doesn't talk next to anyone" at the end.
We ate the rest of breakfast mostly with silence, except for Ella and Jessie talking quietly to each other. Mom and I didn't talk that much though. I wasn't in a talking mood at all. I wasn't sure why.
I thought about telling mom about the dream I had, how weird it was that it was a memory turned into a dream. That was the weirdest part of the dream—how it was actually a memory of the thousand of mine.
But I didn't tell mom. No, I didn't even open my mouth to, I just sat there eating my awesome pancakes in silence, thinking.
When I was done, Ella and Jessie were still eating, which I thought was weird, since they had less food than me. I gulped down the last of my milk and put my dishes in the dishwasher for whoever's turn it was to do them. I told mom that the food was delicious and thank you, before announcing that I was going running. For some reason I really, really, really wanted to go running. I couldn't put my finger on it, but I did. So I waved bye to them and went out the front door.
It was really hot outside, and I regretted not putting on sunscreen, but I didn't care. I shut the door lightly behind me, and had to shield my eyes for a moment when I walked off the porch from the sudden change in lighting. It was really sunny out that day, and I loved it. I hated the cold in every way, shape, or form. I had never enjoyed it when it snowed, unless we got out of school, but it barely ever snowed, so I didn't really have to worry about that.
I started off at a jog since I didn't really know where I was going. Then I decided to go to the park just around the block and took off at my top speed, which is pretty fast. I didn't feel like skateboarding today, so I just ran there. Besides, it wasn't far away at all.
When I got at the old playground/park, I ran straight towards the swings. I didn't know why I loved the swings so much, but I certainly did love them. That was basically all I did at the park—well, that, and walk through the trail. But that was it.
I didn't push very hard on the swings. I just sort of lightly swung my legs back and forward, giving me little momentum. I wasn't in the mood for actually swinging, and besides, I was fifteen—I wasn't sure if the swing set would hold, considering it was mad for little four-through-ten-year-olds.
I hummed a little of "Pretend" by this band called "LIGHTS." I loved that band so very much and I always sang it at the park for some strange reason. Seeing as there wasn't anyone there, I sang it aloud.
"Once in a while
I act like a child
To feel like a kid again
It gets like a prison in
The body I'm living in
Cause everyone's watching
Quick to start talking
I'm losing my innocence
Wish I were a little girl
Without the weight of the world
It would be nice
To start over again,
Before we were men
I'd give, I'd bend
Lets play pretend"
The song was so true in so many ways. I'm pretty sure we've all acted childish just to remember when we were kids. I knew I did that all the time. More than I acted like my age. Or, at least, in my head I did. "Cause everyone's watching/Quick to start talking/I'm losing my innocence" was more real than anything. If I were little again, I wouldn't have had to do the things I did.
Honestly, at school, sometimes I acted like this bad girl who doesn't care about next to no one, and really—I was not that. Yes, I was tough and could take care of myself, but I didn't like being alone besides Ella. No, I really wished I hadn't been. But I was. And in some ways I chose that. But too late now.
"It would be nice/To start over again" Yeah, it would be. I'd do so many things different. I would've stopped Brandon from going to that party and he wouldn't have died. I would've paid more attention to mom and dad, so dad wouldn't have just got up without saying anything. So many things…
"Nice voice," Some one said from behind me. I snapped my head around to see a girl with black hair and hazel eyes with square rimmed glasses standing behind me. She had on a brown shirt that said, "I LOST THE GAME" (which made me curse under my breath. I had been going strong for almost two months! Darn it…) and jean shorts that came a little above her knees, along with black TOMS.
"Who are you?" Which was my immediate response. She shrugged. "Just a girl you'll probably never see again." I raised an eyebrow like I do when I'm confused or curious. "Why so?"
She shrugged only one shoulder this time then sat down next to me on the rusty swing, creaking while she swung back and forth gently. "I'm only staying a couple days to see my grandparents, then I'm back to the Big Apple." She said.
"You're from New York?" I asked her. She nodded her head. "Mmhmm. I live with my dad, while my mom lives in South Carolina." I nodded this time, not really having any response. "But since you need a name," She said turning to me, and I looked up to look at her again. "Mine's Charlotte." She stuck her hand out for me to shake and I did after a moment of studying it. I decided that I needed to tell her my name since she told me hers.
"I'm Max."
GAH! ABRUPT ENDING! SO VERY ANNOYING! OH MY GOSH!
Anyways, how'd ya like it? My average chapter is about 1,000 to 2,000 but this one was 4,048 (yes, I'm that freaking awesome ;D) It was seven and a half pages long :)
Hope you enjoyed this first chapter! Oh, and GO LISTEN TO THE SONG! IT'S SO FRIGGIN' AMAZING I SWEAR!
Review!
*.*.*Flitting Wishes*.*.*
