AUTHOR'S NOTE: Yo! What up, my friends? So, I've decided to do a FAX love story, with additional Eggy Chapters (FROM THE IGSTERS POV! :D)! How unoriginal, right? Egh. Anywho, hope cha like it, and that my spelling isn't completely horrid. Critiques are welcome, as long as their honest, yet not REALLY MEAN. There was once this total bitch who reviewed one of my stories, and, just because I misspelled 'twentieth' on accident, she was all, "You spelled twentieth wrong, you should just stick to numbers." Really? REALLY? Sorry, I'm ranting. I'll stop now.

Okay, so, this story is rated T for being all suggestive and cussing and such. I think it will be kinda long, and I'll try and update once a week. I'm not one of those authors who are all "OH, I WON'T UPDATE UNLESS I GET SO MANY REVIEWS" because I just hate that. Hate. It.

Now that I've cover all that (and, no worries, that long note is a one-time thing), here's the song of the week, whether it relates to the story or not!

SONG OF THE WEEK: Do You Want Me (Dead?) by All Time Low (link's on my profile!)

The Shakira song that Rose sings in the beginning is Tu Boca, and the link to that is on my profile.

And last but not least,

DISCLAIMED: I do not own Maximum Ride (aww), all rights go to JP; but, if you find him, tell him I'm very disappointed in him. Give him my death glare. NO, better yet, give him MAX'S death glare! :D

Sparks Fly, Then They Burn

Chapter One

"No pidas tanto que es imposible evitar la tentación

Eres una cosa irresistible y tu boca mi adicción, excitando

Me dejaré quemar por el fuego en tu risa

Oyendo el sonido de tu respirar

Que lo que no hace bien solo puede hacer mal."

My best friend, Rosalyn, sang quietly, and I sang along with her. We were working together today, tidying all the rooms quickly, before any guests got back. I don't like working in the room while somebody's there, because it's so fucking annoying and awkward when they try to talk to you, or even if they just sit there and ignore you.

Oh, just so you know, I have no idea how to speak Spanish. But, since Rose lived half of her life in Mexico, she knows every single Spanish word. I just hear her sing that song everyday, so I've memorized the chourus. I mean, it's easy enough.

"I'm impressed with your Spanish so far," Rose commented in her Spanish accent. "But let me ask you something, Max; do you even know what any of that means?" I was silent for a moment. I think I'm a fourth or a half Spanish, considering my mom is, yet it's almost like I don't have a Spanish gene in my body.

I shook my head. "No. I just hear you sing it all the time, and memorized the lyrics. Anyways, it's a catchy song. It's hard not to learn it." She nodded in agreement, and we finished the room rather quickly. It wasn't very messy, because this was probably the room of a man on business; they don't spend much time in their hotel room. They're usually out and about, cheating on their wives and giving presentations!

"Last room," I said, relieved, as we went up the elevator. The maids in the five-star hotel each have a paper of rooms they have to clean each day; today, Rose and I decided to do ours together. This is my room that I do, but I haven't done it for a while now, because somebody just moved in, just last night. I had to prepare it the previous day, because, apparently, this is important. The manager wouldn't tell me who it is, though...

"Do you mind if I skip this one?" Rose asked as we got to the top floor with the Presidential suite. She seemed a bit fidgety, and just a little pale.

Concerned, I pressed the back of my hand to her forehead. "Damn, girl," I said, pulling my hand down. "I think you have a fever. You should go home, I'll take over for the rest of the day, okay?" She frowned, about to protest, but I shot her my death glare. "Go."

She sighed. "Thank you, so much, Max. Gracias." She got into the elevator, and I watched her press the lobby button in the elevator. I turned around, and put both hands on the handle of the maid cart, pushing it to the big door at the end of the hall.

You see, the Presidental Suite is on the top floor, and takes up that whole floor. It's mostly made out of gold and white, the hallway nicely decorated with vases of flowers and paintings.

As I got to the end of the hallway, I took out my key card and swiped it. The green and red lights on the door handle lit up, so I pushed it open, shoving the cart to the side and using a wooden block in order to keep the door from shutting.

When I looked up at the hotel room, I was horrified. It was a complete mess, with beer cans all over the floor and a few empty condom boxes. Stains were all over the carpet, from who knows what, and a random guy was passed out on the floor.

I sighed, and walked over to the guy, shaking his shoulder. He didn't answer until I said, "YO, IT'S THE COPS!"

He jumped up, his pants halfway down his butt. "I didn't do anything, I swear!" he cried, throwing his hands in the air. I just looked at him, arms crossed over my maid outfit. He looked me up and down. "Aw, man, you not the cops!"

"No, I'm not," I replied. "Are you the one staying in this hotel room?"

He shook his head. "Nah, girly," he said, smiling. "It's my buddy Fang's."

I raised my eyebrows, and then shook my head. What kind of a name is Fang? "Get outta here," I said, pushing him towards the door. He left, stumbling and telling me that we should hook up sometime. I just rolled my eyes and went to scan the rest of the large hotel room.

The bathroom was empty, but it reeked of puke and had a pair of panties laying in there, lacey and see-through. Obviously slut panties. You know, when you see a pair of underwear at Victoria's Secret and you just think, Ugh, slut underwear. I wrinkled my nose and headed to the bedroom.

The door was slightly cracked open, and I pushed it open wider. Lying in the bed was a guy with black hair (naked) and a girl with red hair (also naked) with her back to him, the tainted white sheets pulled over them half-heartedly.

I shook my head before walking over to them. This is the gory part of being a maid; walking in on people durring their morning-after. More than likely, after I wake them, this will be ugly. Usually, I don't have to wake anybody. I can just do my job. But, in this case, I have no fucking idea who the hell is supposedly living in this room, and I feel entitled to know.

"Wake up," I said in a flat voice, hitting the guy on the shoulder. It took a moment of me constantly hitting him on the shoulder, for him to wake up. He looked back at me, and then looked me up and down. "Are you the one who's staying in this room?"

He squinted his eyes, and then nodded, seeming tired. Then he looked to the girl next to him, who he just left there, getting up. Without wrapping a sheet around him. Which meant he was... let's just say, he was letting it all hang out.

I'm sorry, I couldn't help but stare for a moment in shock. As soon as I could collect myself, I whipped around and covered my eyes. "God!" I blumbered out, trying to shake the image from my mind.

"See anything you like?" I could practically feel the arrogance in the air and hear the smirk in his voice. I could still tell he was standing there, and it was pissing me off. "Because, you seemed pretty nervous."

Suddenly, I got an idea. I whipped around, and looking him up and down, hands on my hips. "No, not really," I replied with a sickly-sweet voice, smiling at him sarcastically. The smirk I knew was on his face disappeared as I smiled at him and walked out of the room with some serious... sassiness. Okay, sassiness is lame. What would I call it, though?

I immediately got to work, grabbing a bag from my maid cart and throwing some beer cans, condom boxes, empty take-out containers, and some scattered pieces of pizza. I filled up a whole garbage bag, all the way until it could barely be tied shut, just from the living room; I sighed, thinking about how many more bags I'd have to use in this room.

The guy came out of the bathroom after I had picked up the living room. His hair was unbrushed, and he was wearing a black shirt and a black pair of jeans. I rolled my eyes at his style; so... emo.

He sat down on the couch, which I had just cleared off. He sat in a real casual way, arms slung over the back of the couch. "So, maid," he said, stretching, apparently still tired from me waking him. "What are you doing waking me so early?"

I looked at him, only pausing for a meer second. I shook my head, chuckling under my breath. "It's one in the afternoon," I replied. "Unless you're used to sleeping until six in the evening, I don't think one is that early."

"Whatever," he muttered. He was silent for the rest of the time I cleaned the living room. I picked up the kitchen, wiped out the sink (which had blue-tinted puke in it; ew), and then moved on to the other rooms. I decided to scrub the floors and vacum and all that last.

But when I made it back to the living room, the red-haired girl was standing there, staring longingly at the guy. Is it weird I don't know his name yet? "Good morning," she said, fully dressed already. She sounded like she was dreaming.

He looked semi-awkward. "Morning," he replied, nodding. "Don't you, uh, have somewhere to be, Leah?" Oh my God, he's breaking this girl's heart.

Luckily, though, she was way too wonderstruck and oblivious to even notice. "It's Lissa," she said dreamily, not caring that he didn't know her name. "Bye, Fang. Call me!" She said that desperately as she walked out the door, staring at him for just a moment longer.

I shook my head. "You're such a player," I muttered.

Fang raised his eyebrows. "What?" he asked, seeming shocked. I looked up at him, and he was just bewildered. "Don't you know who I am?"

I stared at him for a moment before saying, "America's National Man-Whore?"

He was looking seriously pissed after I said that. He opened his mouth to let out his furry, when someone said, "Good morning, sunshine!" We both looked up to see some guy with pale blond hair and peace-shades on, smiling wide; and wearing bell bottoms and a psychedelic silk shirt.