A.N. I own nothing of Maximum Ride.
I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt. It was a regular pink t-shirt that anyone would wear. I took a quick look in the mirror at myself. I looked…preppy; with my honey blonde hair (naturally highlighted) and bright blue eyes. Colored contacts are so much better than clear ones. I quickly grabbed a hoodie off the hook. I mentally begged myself to remember not to push up the sleeves. On impulse my eyes had widened and I started to breath faster when thinking of the many, MANY, scenarios that would occur.
Breathe in, breathe out. That's something someone would tell me right now. But no one knows who I really am right now. I don't have any friends right now. It doesn't matter, though. I'll find some soon. After all: New school, new look, new friends, new life.
I've been doing awesome so far. I've been to one class and have already been deemed "not a freak". There's no such thing as normal as far as I'm concerned, but others think different. I haven't spoken to anyone yet, but the time will come. Speaking of which…
A boy with black hair and dark eyes parted with a group of friends to my right. He smiled friendlily at me.
"Hey, you're the new girl. Maxine, right?"
I kept myself from correcting him on my name. Maxine is my name now.
"Yeah," I said sweetly, forcing a smile.
"Cool, I was in your first hour."
Ah… So this boy saw me a couple minutes ago in class, one that I did not raise my hand in, and must have memorized my name off of the roll call.
"Oh, cool." I agreed with more fake sweetness. I'm good at being fake, though. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
"Nick, but you can call me Fang." He said. "Umm… I was thinking since you're new and all you might need some help getting around."
My smile grew a teensy bit genuine. I was completely lost.
"Yeah, that'd be great, actually."
"What's your next class?"
I dug my brand new schedule out of my brand new paisley back pack that only sickened me a little.
"Arts and humanities," I said.
"Sweet, mine too. You can sit with me." He laughed.
I laughed too and followed him down the hall.
Ha, take that, world! I already made a friend.
As we walked down the hallway, talking lightly, I spotted a poster meant to discourage self harm, most likely never even read. But just seeing it… I was sent into an array of flashbacks that three months of therapy can't reduce. And here's where the torture began.
