Max POV
That ass hole! That egotistical jerk face! I called him several other words in my head, but since you probably don't know them, I'm not planning on being the one to tell you.
I stormed over to my truck, got in, and slammed the door behind me. I jammed the key into its hole (Alright, if you can make a joke out of that, I congratulate you, because you are up to my speed) and turned. The radio automatically blared alive, but I didn't pay any attention to it until I was on the road.
I then realized it was country. I can't stand country music, but I was afraid if I touched my precious radio I got the feeling I would break it. That's how mad I was.
I was fuming. I could feel steam coming out of my nose, and my fist around the steering wheel tightening until my whole hand was white.
Taylor Swift came on. Ugh. I hate her.
She was singing Just Another Picture to Burn. I smirked as I listened to the music.
State the obvious,
I didn't get my perfect fantasy.
I guess I won't have to kill her since she did say 'state the obvious'. But still . . .
I realized you loved yourself
More than you could ever love me
More like you could love Lissa more . . . Ugh.
So go and tell all your friends
That I'm obsessive and crazy,
Well, he'd be right about the crazy part, but that's a story for another time.
That's fine
I'll tell mine your gay
Yeah. Nudge and Ella have always been gossipers. I used to hate that, but now I'm kinda happy about it.
And by the way,
I hate that stupid old pickup truck,
You never let me drive
Yes. I have the brand new truck, and his is old and crappy. No air conditioner. I'm gonna laugh so hard when he realizes how hot it can really get in Arizona.
You're a redneck, heartbreak
Who's really bad at lying
Redneck . . . no. Heartbreak? Yes. Lying? Worst I've ever seen.
So watch me strike a match
On all my wasted time
As far as I'm concerned,
You're just another picture to burn.
I tore the picture of the two of us from my sun-visor thing in my truck and pulled the lighter from my pocket, (how did Jeb not get this one? Oh, yeah, I had put it in my bra. Hee-hee.) still keeping one hand on the wheel. I lit it on fire and tossed it out the window.
There's no time for tears
I'm sitting here planning my revenge
Hells yeah. I was getting tired of the idiot. He was so stupid!
There's nothing stopping me
From going out with all of your best friends
Slow down there, girly. Maybe flirt a little bit, but not go out with all of them. Which magically reminds me of my new uniform. Another ugh, by yours truly.
And if you come around here saying sorry to me
My daddy's going to show you how sorry you'll be
No. Not Jeb. Me. Maybe I'll cut off his tongue, then his lips, then something else that makes me blush just thinking about it, then I'll just keep chopping and chopping and chopping . . . Oh, hello violent thoughts. It's been a while since you came for a visit.
'Cause I hate that stupid old pickup truck,
That you never let me drive
Yes, again. And a truck with no air. Oh, I'm just thinking about it.
You're a redneck, heartbreak
Who's really bad at lying, yeah
So watch me strike a match on all my wasted time
As far as I'm concerned,
You're just another picture to burn.
And if you're missing me
Keep it to yourself
'Cause coming around here would be bad for your health
Chop, chop, chop, chop . . .
'Cause I hate that stupid old pickup truck,
You never let me drive
You're a redneck, heartbreak
Who's really bad at lying, yeah
So watch me strike a match
On all my wasted time
In case you haven't heard,
I really, really, hate that stupid old pickup truck,
You never let me drive
You're redneck, heartbreak
Who's really bad at lying, yeah
So watch me strike a match
On all my wasted time
As far as I'm concerned,
You're just another picture to burn.
Burn, burn, burn, baby burn.
Just another picture to burn
Baby burn
And the song ended, and I realized I had probably been sitting in my drive way for the past minute. How can someone who has no musical talent whatsoever write such a good song with an actual point? It's like Justin Bieber having so many Fangirls. It's just an impossibility. He must be brainwashing them.
I pulled my keys out of the truck and stuffed them into my purse. Yes, I, Maximum Ride, has a purse. It's black leather with little silver studs you see on some dog collars around the edges. I might be the perfect daughter, but at least I have good taste. Which reminds me: Why on earth am I having violent thoughts all of a sudden? I haven't punched anyone in ten years, since I was six. Something told me it was those little vitamins Jeb had been giving to me since I was, well, six. I stormed into the house and slammed the door behind me.
"Jeb! Where the Hell are you!" I screamed.
"Max," Iggy said from the living room couch. "He went pick up our exchange student."
Oh, yeah. I then proceeded to storm into the living room where I knew Gazzy and Iggy were. I pointed a finger at Gazzy. "Why the Hell did you change my radio station?"
"M-Max, w-why are you-" I cut him off.
"You know what!" I threw my hands up. "I don't want to here it!"
I stormed off, but not before hearing Iggy saying, "Don't worry, dude. She's just on her perio-"
"Iggy, I am not on my period!" I yelled. I walked through the the kitchen, down a hall, and to Jeb's bathroom. I opened the cabinet and looked through the many pill bottles. I found the one with my name on it, and read the label. Word I can't spell, too long a word to spell and probably never will learn to, something starting with a 'm', and my name. Ride, Maximum. In simple words: Behavior medicine. I let out a frustrated scream, and popped open the cap. I dumped the remaining pills into the toilet, and flushed. The pale little pills flew down the pipes, to the sewers, where they would be boiled and turned into whatever they are once you swallow them, and eaten by rats. Hope it helps them. I'm done being daddy's little girl, the teachers pet. It wasn't me. And it was hard not wanting to punch someone's lights out. So hard I had to take pills. And Jeb let me!No, encouraged me.
"Max?" Iggy called. "You ok?"
"I'm fine," I called back. I pulled a red Sharpie out of my pocket and drew 'ENOUGH' in big, bold letters that even Jeb could see with his old man eyes. Without his glasses. I put the empty pill bottle in the middle of the cabinet, the 'ENOUGH' facing me.
Looking at the pills reminded me of the song Backbone by There for Tomorrow. I had no idea Dylan was cheating on me, and half way believed him when he said he had to study. Eventually, though, I got suspicious. Like, a month after starting to date him. And a month later, here we are. He was secretly seeing the slut, Lissa. Well, they were more like friends with benefits. But, still, it's considered cheating. And I had no idea until today. And before that, I had no backbone due to those stupid pills. I got choked up as I remembered her. It was all my fault.
No, Max, my inner self scolded . . . myself. Jeb put you on those pills, so he's the one who's at fault. Not you. You're right, inner Confucius. Jeb put me on the pills, so its his fault. I'm always right, outer Crazy Girl. Crazy girl say what? This is where I say, "What?" Huh. Guess Confucius Max was right. Confucius Max: *facepalm*How on Earth does she get good grades?
I closed the medicine cabinet and went up the spiral stairs that went straight to my all the fourth floor room, then pulled out scissors, my easel, sketch book, spray paint, normal paint, and manga pen things.
It's been a while since I drew something I wanted.
Fang POV
I sat in the front seat of Jeb's truck, my forehead pressed against the cool glass of the window.
Jeb kept on blabbering away, about his kids and how I'm just going to love them! Bleh. He had two sons, James and Zephyr, who were most likely jocks or players. He had a daughter named Max. She was probably just like all the other ones. Slutty, a whore, anything else you would like to add? Oh, yeah? Just contact me at so not telling you (at) haha (dot) net. Aren't I just hilarious? Yeah. I've been told I have a great sense of humor when I use it.
Before he had gone to a full description and personality identification of his kids, I had asked how many he had. Mom hadn't gone into detail, just telling me had a few kids and I'd probably fit right in. He hesitated, then answered, "Three," in a choked up voice like he was holding back tears. Men don't cry. Even men with a mustache like him. I mean, seriously? No one has those anymore, old man. Time to get your head out of your ass and see we're no longer living in the Old West.
I closed my eyes, letting every bump in the road absorb me until I was use to the pattern, it lulling me to sleep.
. . .
"Fang," Jeb said, shaking my shoulder gently.
"Hm?" I replied reluctantly, trying to sink back into the comfortable leather with the old car smell. I don't know how people love the new car smell so much. I think the old car smell is much better. Reminds me of fries, fast food, and sweat. Not as gross as it sounds. No, I did not ever eat that. It reminds me of home, which I won't see for several months. When you move from cool, chilly Colorado, to hot, humid Arizona you start getting homesick pretty fast.
"We're here," he said and opened the truck door. I groggily opened my eyes, and what I saw shocked me. I wasn't expecting a four story house. More like a small, cozy two story. That's what I live in. All the more reason for me to hate this place.
I hopped out of the truck, and grabbed my bags from the bed. Two duffel bags, and a carry on I had in the front seat with me. That's it.
Jeb led me to the house, which was white with green lining. It was pretty simple, except the whole four stories thing.
We walked into a small room, where Jeb told me to put my bags and we'd get them later.
"Kids! C'mon, Fang's here!" Jeb yelled.
"We can hear you, Jeb," a strawberry blond kid with glasses said and walked into the small room. "I'm Iggy."
His strawberry blond hair was dies blue at the tips, and he was wearing a white shirt and a pair of light, baggy jeans. His glasses were black, standing out from his wardrobe and skin. And his pale blue eyes.
We did the whole head nod thing, and a little kid about twelve walked in. "I'm Gazzy."
He had on camouflaged shorts, a green t-shirt, and a gray bandana around his neck. (A/N: Don't doubt the bandana awesomeness! I think they're totally bad ass if you know how to wear them. Which I do.) He was blond, with big, mischievous blue eyes.
"I don't want to know," I told him, putting my hands up.
"No, you probably don't," he said, grinning.
Jeb sighed. "Where's Max?"
Iggy shrugged. "Don't know. She came in here all pissed, stormed through the house, and went upstairs to her room a few hours ago."
Jeb sighed. "Max, c'mon!"
"I'm coming, asshole!" an angelic voice called. Well, I wasn't expecting that to be one of my thoughts.
Jeb had this look of complete shock all over his face. So did Iggy and Gazzy. Well, this wasn't normal, obviously. I almost laughed. But I don't laugh.
A girl with platinum blond hair came down from a flight of spiral stairs I hadn't seen before. Her hair was cropped short – probably just below her earlobes, which had one, two, three piercings – and was spiky, like she had done it herself. I wouldn't be surprised. She had on a black tank top that was splattered with a a bunch of different colors. Mostly dark, but bright compared with her shirt that hugged her curvy body. Moving on . . . she had on black skinny jeans that hugged her perfectly long legs. On her feet were a pair of mismatched ankle socks, one black and one purple. Around her neck was a dark silver locket with a pair of wings on the front. I wondered what was in the locket . . . And one thing really struck my attention.
She was beyond gorgeous.
Max, I guess, studied me up and down. I thought today was over with surprises. But I guess I was wrong.
She flipped me the bird and turned around and headed back towards her set of spiral stairs. On her back, shoulder blade to shoulder blade – well, what I could see – was a pair of wings tattooed onto her back.
Max POV
"Max, c'mon!" Jeb the ass called upstairs after a few hours of just my art and music for company. Why couldn't it have stayed that way forever?
I pulled back my little door in the floor that I used as a door to my room and started down the stairs.
"I'm coming, asshole!" I called back and was completely serious. He was an asshole.
I got down to the edge of the spiral staircase, and jumped from the last step. What I saw shocked me. A boy a little taller than me – my eyes were about to his nose – with black hair and olive skin was waiting in the mini room. He was wearing all black clothing; black skinny jeans, black Three Days Grace t-shirt and a black leather jacket. And the worst thing: He might, just possibly, maybe a god. He was beautiful. Even through the jacket you could see the muscles from his arms. Not huge, but not tiny, either. Normal.
Then, I flipped him off. Right now, I'm extremely pissed off at the male population. And it didn't help that I was the only girl in the family plus one.
He was shocked, to say the least. I turned around, and started to walk towards my stairs.
"Max!" Jeb yelled.
"What?" I snapped, not stopping.
Jeb waited a few seconds. "You have a tattoo?"
"Yeah, so?" This time I did stop. I knew he'd want an explanation.
"Well? What is it?"
"Angel," I said, my voice rough and harsh with unshed tears, and just loud enough so only he could hear me. He fell silent.
"Yeah," I said, starting to walk again. "That's what I thought."
I was almost completely upstairs again.
I heard Iggy say to, uh, Fang . . . I think. "Don't take it personally, dude. She's just on her-"
"Iggy! If you tell one more person I'm on my period I will personally kill you!"
I'm getting the feeling he believed me. It's just a feeling, but my feelings were right so far, weren't they? I'm gonna start trusting those feelings.
~This is a line~Do you believe this is a line?~You don't, do you?~
There is no plot to this line
There is no line to this plot
This is just a lineless plot
This is just a plotless line
The world has no plot to it
So why should this?
Tank: What's up with the crappy and slightly emoish poetry?
Me: *shrugs* Don't know. Just wanted to get the point across . . . Think it worked?
Tank: Well, people don't usually read poetry, so I don't know.
Me: Well this was pretty straight on, so I hope they do. And, I was inspired by this song when I went to see my dad. My step mom had country on and boom! Inspiration!
JP: *yawn* I'm tired. Can we sleep now? Please?
Me: I guess . . . I'm getting kinda tired, too. That's why I'm not as crazy. Oh, and I forgot something. Disclaimer: Me don't own Three Days Grace, There for Tomorrow, or MR. Yet. You'll see you stupid converse, oh, you'll see . . .
Tank: She's officially lost it. Send her to the looney bin before she murders us.
– Sanity