Authors Note: Yay! I got some really good feed-back, which made me really happy. I hope you guys like this chapter as well. It's sort of filler-ish.

Chapter Two

- Flying -

Once I had reached the top I slowed down a bit, before finally skidding to a halt close to the edge of the building. There was a rickety railing along the back end that leaned precariously forwards. I could see the rusted nails that were bending backwards as the rest of the metal pushed in the other direction, out into the open air. I didn't hesitate to approach it, placing my elbows on it and resting all my body weight onto the thin rod. It gave out a low moan, creaking forwards an inch. That was all the farther it gave, though.

I put my head in my hands and blinked away the tears that were forming. One lone droplet escaped though, trailing slowly down my cheek. I swatted it away quickly, wiping my face dry with my sleeve. There was no use in crying. Weakness brought nothing. If I had thought formulating some sob story would make my mom change her mind about moving us here than I would have done it a long time ago.

This didn't change my view on things. I was still repulsed by the very idea that I would be stuck living in New York. Two years, two years I would have to put up with this. Then I would turn eighteen and I'd be free to do as I pleased. First priority? Packing my bags and shipping myself back to Arizona.

If it was legal I would do it now. I had always been pretty good at fending for myself. Being a single mother, Mom had to work a lot of extra hours to make enough income to support two teenage daughters. Though I wasn't exactly high maintnenced, and neither was Ella for the most part.

At least that was how it was before the checks . . . They started coming around two years ago . . . a lot of things happened two years ago, but it's not exactly something to mull over at a time like this.

My 'father' finally decided it was time to pay off some of those indebted child support bills. In addition to that, he began sending monthly checks that consisted of about three thousand dollars. I could do with it what I pleased.

I put all the money to good use.

Suddenly, we had extra funding. Mom could stay home more, which meant we had more time for the fluffy family bonding that made me want to gag. Ella could take spontaneous shopping trips, or she was able to afford those new hundred dollar jeans she had seen in the mall. Then the money leftover was stashed away in my bank account, the one that would be activated and open to my use when I was eighteen years old. I had a feeling it was going to come in handy in a few years time . . .

The more I thought the more my mind cleared, and ever so slowly I prepared myself to face the questioning glances from my family. I knew I wouldn't be truly ready though until I did one thing.

I needed to get angry.

It wasn't exactly a hard thing to do. There was any number of things I could think about that would turn my features hostile. There was a lot I hated about the world, not that I was a total pessimist.

Then there was the one surfire thing that would make me absolutely livid.

A letter . . . from my father. I had gotten it about a year ago, and its contents had me ripping the note to shreds. Not before I commited his words to memory, though.

Dear Maxine,

I hope you have been faring well these past years. I have come to understand that the traumatic event that occured has influenced you greatly. It has also come to my attention that unlike what most psychiatricts you've seen have predicted, you are taking the incident with varying degrees of hostility. I understand that this time is hard for you, but that is no reason to take your anger out on others.


For this reason I must suggest that due to the current circumstances, maybe what is best for you is a breath of fresh air. I offer a preposition for your taking.

It would be my utmost pleasure to tap into my previously neglected visitation rights. Perhaps a few weeks here in my home would help you calm down and think about your priorites in life.

If you choose to decline this offer, so be it. Enclosed in this envelope is your monthly check, along with a thousand dollar bonus. I hope to see you soon, sweetheart.

With all my love,

Daddy

Yes, just pay me off there, Jeb. What a good fatherly thing to do. Act completely formal and stiff until the very end, when you attempt to fulfill some of the space under your quota. I bet the letter had been scheduled into his planner by one of his assistants. He probably hadn't even wrote the note himself!

If there was one thing I hated more than New York, it was Jeb Batchelder.

With hatred burning in my eyes and an almost painful tightening in my gut I began the treacherous climb down the fire escape, knowing that through my fury I could handle almost anything Ella or Mom threw at me . . .

This was how I handled my problems. Anger was my only escape . . .

- }{ -

The rest of the day flew by in a flurry of activity. My thighs were thoroughly burning by the many trips spent walking back and forth with the many boxes Mom had somehow managed to fit into our tiny car. With every lifting motion my arm muscles coiled and flexed, aching in such a way that I had never experianced before.

I never knew moving could take such a work out.

Finally though, the car had been stripped bare of its extra bagage, and all the unnecessary crap Mom felt the need to bring was now strewn across any available surface in the house. I had slowly and painstakingly wound my way through the maze of boxes until I had collected each and every one that had my name printed on it in bold letters.

All two of them.

With each in tow I had stumbled up the steps, using my foot to kick open the door. I entered my room for the first time, hefting the boxes onto the desk that had been shipped out a few weeks earlier. With my hands on my hips I surveyed the room with disdain, taking in the white washed walls and the beige carpet. I planned to keep it that way. I didn't want to get too attached to the space . . . though that wouldn't be too hard when I thought about it.

Then I began methodically assembling my belongings.

I stored away all my clothes into the closet and dresser. I spread my comforting blue blanket across my bed, flashbacks of Arizona ringing through my head at the familiar object. Last but not least I placed one picture on the bedside table, after holding it delicately in my palm for a few moments. I had let out a soft sigh, running a thumb over the smooth glass while staring thoughtfully at the picture encased within it.

It had been taken around two years ago . . . a few weeks after the accident. Ella and I had been relaxing in the back yard, sipping lemonade and chomping down on Mom's amazing chocolate chip cookies. The ones that made my mouth water when just the thought of their taste formulated in my mind. I had been scanning the horizon nonchalantly, not really looking for anything in particular when my vision zoned in on a small wheeling creature in the sky. Ever so slowly it had dwindled towards the earth, close enough for my to clearly see what it was.

A hawk.

Just the sight of it had sent a trill down my spine, and there was this feeling in the pit of my stomach, one that I couldn't identify no matter how hard I tried. A sudden bout of longing had wracked my body, and with an exclaim of joy I had jumped to my feet, steaking across the yard to get closer to the bird.

I don't know why I did it then. I mean, I was fourteen years old at the time, quite old enough to know better . . . but I couldn't stop the childish sense of glee from enveloping my entire being.

I wanted to fly.

I wanted it more than anything I had ever wanted before. I wanted to spread wings I didn't have and soar high above the earth. I wanted to feel the wind whipping through my hair at dizzying heights, where only airplanes ventured.

Somehow, I had managed to climb the fence surrounding our property. I had perched on edge there, tipping this way and that, trying to find my balance. Finally I had found the right position, and there I had stood straight and tall, with my arms stretched out wide around me.

For the first time I felt just a little bit complete.

At some point or other, Mom had snatched up her camera and taken a picture. Now I had a little piece of my already fading memory stored in mint condition. The little details that would go fuzzy for most people would be perfectly pristine in my mind as soon as I examined this picture; with my hands aloft at my sides, stretching outwards as far as they could go . . . and the hawk above my head, swooping towards the trees.

You couldn't see my face, because my back was turned, but I would always remember how I felt that day. Not in the subtle tilting of my head as I gazed upwards at the vast sky . . . but in the still present longing to fly.

That was something that would never fade.

- }{ -

I slumped lazily on the couch, sighing in content as the familiar fabric sunk and molded to my body, just like always. It was all the familiar things that made me miss Arizona all the more ferverantly . . . all the little pieces of home that had been glued into a picture they weren't originally made in. A strange and entirely different world that made them stand out all the more obviously.

I grasped for the remote, flipping aimlessly through the channels; never staying on one for more than a few minutes. Around me Mom was rifling through the remaining boxes, trying to sort through all the important stuff and that which we didn't immediately need.

I heard Ella tromp down the steps, a light skip in her step. She really was genuinely excited to be here . . . Sometimes, it was like my sister and I were from a whole different planet. Almost like I had grown up in an entirely different way than her.

"Ella, it's almost ten o'clock, you need to go to bed," Mom said sternly, catching sight of Ella meandering in the kitchen doorway.

"Why?" Ella whined.

"You have school tomorrow, remember?"

"What!?" I exclaimed, her statement catching my attention immediately. I jabbed at the power button, turning the TV off before swinging around to face my harried looking mother.

She groaned in frustration, running a hand through her hair before putting her head in her hands and sighing once more.

"We just got here today, and you except us to go to school!? Why so soon?" I demanded.

"Well, I already had you registered, and I figured it would be easier for me to handle moving all the rest of the stuff in and clearing away all the boxes if you two weren't under foot," she explained tiredly.

"This is ridiculous! Don't you think we need some time to settle down!?"

"I'm sorry, Max, but the school has already made plans for your arrival. It's too late to back out now."

"It wouldn't have been too late if you had told me about it earlier, not the night before!" I exclaimed.

Mom shook her head, obviously not knowing what else to say. She instead turned to Ella and ordered, "Bed. Now."

"But Mom, why do I have to go to bed? We live in New York now! You know, the city that never sleeps," Ella insisted.

I snorted. "Really? Because it looked pretty dead to me at seven o'clock in the morning."

"Yeah," Ella said quickly, searching for the rights words, "but when we came out of that little cafe we ate breakfast in, things were bustling!"

"Yeah," I replied, mimicking her tone, "because Macy's had opened for the day."

"Girls! Stop arguing!" Mom shouted, throwing her hands up in desperation. "Ella, bed!"

Reluctantly Ella turned away, trudging back up the steps. A few seconds later I heard her door slam shut forecefully. I couldn't help but chuckle to myself, though this only seemed to anger Mom further.

"Max, take out the trash and then head on up to your room yourself," Mom commanded, giving me a look that said 'don't you dare defy my'.

"I don't know where to take it," I spat, walking over to the two large trash bags and hefting them over my shoulder.

"Just go straight through the back. There's a parking lot behind the house. You can't miss the dumpster," she explained, propelling me towards the back door, as if she couldn't wait to get rid of me . . . or maybe it was just the trash she wanted gone.

I strolled out into the night, lugging the bags behind me. I had just slammed the lid of the dumpster back into place when there was a flash of movement out of my peripheral vision. I tensed up immediately, preparing for the worst.

Authors Note: Would it be too much to ask for a review?