Disclaimer: I am not JP, so i do not own max or the flock or anyone except for my many, many fan characters.
Prologue
Emily stood in the doorway of the room she shared with Faye and stared, her mouth agape. Her backpack dropped unnoticed from her hands.
Oh, crap, thought Faye.
"I was kinda hoping you'd stay in New York forever," she said aloud as she set down her Teen People magazine. "How was it? Did you and Angela go shopping? Knowing you, being there for an entire weekend, you probably bought, like, a keychain."
"Shut up, Faye. This is not about New York."
Faye tried to look puzzled, but she was not a great actor. "Well, what is it about, then? 'Cause I can't think of—"
Emily blew up. "Stop being stupid! Look at our room! Look what you did to our room! You . . . you . . . you pinkified it!"
Faye braced herself for the torrent of abuse that she knew was coming.
"How the heck did you get away with this? You can not seriously expect me to live in a pink room! You could have at the very least left my side alone! Pink makes me sick! You just don't live with someone for thirteen years and not know that they consider pink the dirtiest word in the English language! I have always hated the color pink, and you know that! Now you just—"
"WHAT is going on up here?" demanded their mother, cutting Emily off, which Faye considered a small blessing.
"Faye redecorated," said Emily simply, crossing her arms and putting on that "I'm-getting-someone-in-trouble-and-too-bad-so-sad-for-them-ha-ha-at-least-I-get-a-few-laughs" face that Faye hated so much.
Their mom seemed to notice the room for the first time. Her jaw dropped open.
"Faye, when did you do this . . .?" she asked, the incredulity clear in her voice.
Emily looked, if possible, even angrier. "You mean . . . you didn't know? She did this all right under your nose? She didn't have your permission?" She was angry, but Faye detected a hint of respect in her voice.
"No, she absolutely did not!" answered her mother as she glared at Faye.
Faye flinched. She was in for it now—big time. She started to twirl her honey-blond hair—a nervous habit.
"Faye Elizabeth Hawthorne, what in heaven's name made you think you could do this?"
Behind her pink glasses, Faye rolled her eyes. "Because, Mother, I really needed to redo my room, but I knew you wouldn't let me unless Emily did, too, and I knew that she would instantly veto pinkness, so what else could I do? And when she went to the Big Apple with Angela this weekend, it was the perfect opportunity!"
"Nonetheless, Faye, you can't just up and drastically change the room, especially not with the p-word!" shouted Emily.
"If it was up to you we'd be living in a tent!"
"What's wrong with a tent?"
"Hel-lo! Tents are outside, and so are bugs! And snakes, and frogs, and mountain lions—"
"Mountain lions don't live around here, stupid!"
"So what? I still would rather not have to sleep in a tent all the time!"
"Prima donna!"
"Tomboy!"
"Stuck-up—"
"All right, stop it!" shouted Mrs. Hawthorne. "This is getting out of hand."
The girls were both red-faced, and, looking around, they saw they had an audience.
The worst part about big families, thought Faye. Nothing you ever do is private.
Emily swallowed her insult and slung her backpack back over her shoulder. She stormed over to the closet and flung it wide open.
"Thank god you at least left my clothes alone," she muttered. She grabbed her skateboard and tucked it under her arm and pushed through the crowd of spectators, a.k.a. her family.
"Now wait just a minute, young lady. Where on earth do you think you're going?" demanded her mom.
"Somewhere where it's not pink and where hateful little brats don't exist!" she responded, whirling to face her sister.
That was it. Faye had heard enough. She could take these other insults, but she had gone too far now. If there was one insult she couldn't stand, it was brat—and Emily knew it.
"I HATE YOU!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.
"JOIN THE CLUB!" shouted Emily as she turned to go. She stomped down the stairs. "I'M GOING TO ANGELA'S!" she shouted just before the front door slammed. She pushed off on her skateboard and rode off down the street.
The group slowly turned to see Faye. She was seething.
"I hate you," she added, more quietly. Then she spun around and slammed her bedroom door behind her.
