Thank you so much to those who reviewed/favorited/put on story alert! It made me happy. :D Replies:
~ Well, Max has done her best to put her past behind her; and I wasn't quite sure how to fit it in anyway. XD *shuts up before I reveal anyting else* Thanks for reviewing!
linkinparkandsimpleplan ~ Your wish is granted. Thanks! That means a lot to me :3
jordygirl ~ Thank you so much(:
FaxlastsForever ~ EMILLYYYY. Thanks for reviewing. NOW I can finally put up the chapter xD Hehe thanks dear~
Random note: today in lunch, our table was talking about how much we hated Dylan and the various ways we could kill him. It was fun. :D
DISCLAIMER: Maximum Ride=not mine.
First class: French. Yes, I'm taking French. It's such a cool language . . . très sophistiqué. (A/N: Very sophisticated. :P) I feel like such a pro speaking it. Fang and Iggy, being the lazy butts that they are, take Spanish. Eh, whatever.
Mrs. White—or Madame Blanc, as we're instructed to call her—greets me in French. I nod in reply and sit down at my seat. My table partner, a happy-go-lucky girl named Jennifer Joy (JJ for short), grins at me. "Hey, Max! How are you?" We chat for a little while before the bell rings and class starts. I zone out a bit for the next few minutes as Madame Blanc begins to start the class, switching between French and English rapidly.
It's nice having such an easy class as the first one of the day. I'm still half asleep and my mind wanders, thinking about the dream I was having last night. The one where I had wings. What would it be like to fly? I muse. A nudge from JJ startles me and I glance up, realizing that Madame Blanc is looking at me with expectation. Oops . . . there goes my being the perfect student.
"Uh . . . excusez-moi?" I say lamely. Now I can tell that Madame Blanc's smile is forced as she repeats the question, asking me what my favorite food is. I say chocolate chip cookies—aka tiny bits of heaven—and she moves on with the lesson, apparently satisfied. I heave a sigh of relief and start thinking about chocolate chip cookies. Mmm. Sweet, warm chocolate melting in my mouth . . .
As you can tell, I'm not really thinking clearly.
The next class is Language Arts, and I have the worst teacher ever: Mrs. Torrybell, or Mrs. Horrible as we call her. I don't like reading or writing in the first place. Never did. I'm more of an outdoors, active person, so I don't like language arts to begin with. Add that with Mrs. Horrible and you have a very, very unhappy Max. At least Fang and Iggy are in my class as well; we make fun of Mrs. Horrible behind her back. Yes, we are very bad students, now shush.
"We're starting a new project today," says Mrs. Horrible in her nasal voice. This is greeted by a few groans, the loudest of which comes from Iggy and I. Fang, of course, doesn't say anything, but I know him well enough to pick out the look of horror on his face. Language Arts projects are never, ever good. They usually involve essays and sometimes research and maybe even some creative writing thrown in, which I'm horrible at. Oh, joy.
"This project will be a bit different," continues Mrs. Horrible. I perk up and the rest of the class stills, waiting. "It'll be done in groups." A few people let out cheers, and Iggy whoops while I roll my eyes. "Please split into groups of three or four people and then I'll give you further instructions."
I glance over at Fang, who's looking back at me, then over to Iggy. There are two giggling girls, the brunette from this morning and some other girl, standing in front of him. He's smiling, but it looks forced and it's clear that he doesn't want to be in a group with them. I hold back a snicker when he glances my way and mouths help. (Yeah, it's creepy how he always knows where everyone is.)
I walk over and drag Iggy away, headed to Fang's desk (he's watching all of this with Fang-y amusement), calling, "Sorrrrrry, Iggy's taken," over my shoulder. The brunette frowns, but the other girl seems amused. Good for her.
Once everyone is separated into groups, Mrs. Horrible tells us that we have to write three poems, all different but related in some way. Three. Freaking. Poems. We also have to perform them in front of the class! There's also an essay tacked on at the end. Fang jabs me with his pencil. "You're doing all the work," he tells me, his signature smirk plain on his face.
"Uhhhhhh, no, I'm not," I reply, tossing my hair. "You know how bad I am at writing poems." Plus, Fang's the creative one. Oh, and also the artistic one. You should see the drawings he creates; they're bee-yoo-tiful. I'm so jealous.
Anyway . . . we spend the rest of the period fooling around and being oh-so-productive. The next period is gym, and I'm really looking forward to that. I'm not particularly athletic, but I'm pretty strong—as in, I can pack a good punch, so don't piss me off—and I looooove running. Running makes me feel so . . . free. I'm not weighed down by anything when I run; my feet are just flying along, with nothing holding me back. It's an amazing feeling.
Fang's in my gym period, so we head down together. "See ya, Iggy," I call over my shoulder as we walk down the stairs. He nods and makes his way to whatever period he has next. Once we've all changed into our gym uniforms and Coach Jefferson has called roll, he tells us that we're doing sprints this week. Yay! I feel a thrill of joy run through me and happiness soars in my chest like a newly hatched bird flying. Wait, what? Woah there, Max. Don't let Fang hear you getting all poetic, or he might make you do all the work on the language arts project.
Nudge bounces over with Ella (yeah, 7th and 8th graders have gym together). "Max! We're doing sprints!" Well, duh, Coach just told us that. Of course, telling her won't make that much of a difference, so I just roll my eyes and exchange half-amused, half-frustrated glances with Fang as she chatters on. "I'm horrible at sprints! Everyone will laugh at me. It'll be terrible. But you're a great runner, Max; you're sooo lucky. I'm not athletic at all . . ." I tune her out until we get to the track outside.
"Fang, Max, Lily, and Roger. You're up." Coach Jefferson nods to the three of us.
Fang and I walk up to the starting line as well as Lily, a nice blond girl who I've been friends with since elementary school, and Roger, a brown-haired nerdy-looking guy. He pushes his glasses up his nose nervously and Lily joins me. She makes a face as we stretch for a few seconds. "Gah. I hate sprints."
I laugh. "Sprints are fun," I say in reply. She stares at me incredulously and I grin back. We get into our starting positions.
"On your mark . . . get set . . . GO!" I throw myself forward, relishing the feeling of the wind against my face. My legs pump harder and I pull ahead of Lily, Roger, and Fang. This feels amazing. I can feel my blondish-brown hair streaming along behind me and I feel like I did in my dream, like I'm flying. It's not as awesome as it felt in my dream, but it's close enough.
Something enters my line of vision. The something gets closer, and I can tell that it's Fang. What—how is he gaining on me? I was the fastest in the seventh grade! But then again, he went through that growth spurt in the middle of summer and his legs are probably longer now . . . curse puberty. I pour on the speed but it doesn't work, and we cross the finish line together.
"Very well done, Ride and Collins! Very well done." Roger comes panting up a minute later, and then, finally, Lily, who's red in the face. She plops down on the grass, breathing hard, but manages to give me a weak thumbs-up. I burst out laughing and bend down to hug her despite the fact that we're both all sweaty and gross.
"Hey, how come I don't get a hug?" Fang complains. I blink, then smirk, shaking my head. He fake-pouts and my heart does this little annoying flutter thing. I don't even know why . . . so instead I focus on the next set of runners.
"Nudge, Ella, Emily, and Josh!" Nudge is still talking super-fast as she joins the starting line; I can tell by Ella's expression that she's trying to get her best friend to shut up. Emily, a super-nice and super-athletic Asian girl, is stretching, a determined look on her face. Josh, some stuck-up jock, is waiting casually in the starting position, apparently too cool for stretches. Hah. Emily will show him.
"Ready . . . set . . . GO!" They take off, Emily and Josh taking the lead. I'm cheering for Ella and Nudge, but I'm watching Emily. Gosh, that girl runs amazingly. She has the grace of a gazelle and the speed of a cheetah . . . oh, crap, there I go being poetic again. Anyway. I grin and give her the thumbs-up as she crosses the finish line way ahead of everyone else.
"Good job!" She smiles and thanks me; then we watch the rest of out gym class run sprints. Most are either really lousy or decent. There's no one as fast as Emily . . . or me, actually, but that sounds kinda stuck-up. Eh. Whatever.
Our next class is orchestra. Yes, yes, I'm not really the orch-dorky type, but I heard the sound of a violin once in first grade and it was so pretty I wanted to learn it. So, I now play the violin. I love having orchestra after gym, because that means I can sit back and relax after whatever workout we did in gym. Fang and Emily are in my orchestra period as well (they both play cello), so we all walk up to the orchestra room together, laughing and joking around. (Actually it's more like Emily and I are laughing and joking around—Fang, of course, just walks along in silence and smirks.)
Once the bell rings, our conductor—Mrs. Mayson—claps her dainty hands together. The class immediately quiets down. Mrs. Mayson is old and strict, but we've all grown to love and respect her. Well, most of us. Anyway . . . she gets us started by tuning, then we play a few scales to warm up, and finally we get started in our music.
I'm fifth chair, first violin—not that good, but who cares? I'm pretty content where I am. Fang is amazingly good at cello and he's first chair. His stand partner, second chair, is Emily. Gosh, that girl is just amazing at everything she does, isn't she? ...*awkward silence* Okay yeah anyway. We're playing Phantom of the Opera right now, also known as THE MOST AMAZING MUSICAL EVER.
I'm not gonna bore you and describe every single note I play, so let's skip ahead to next period. LUNNNCHH. Also known as my favorite period of the day! Our school is small, so all three grades have lunch together. It's awesome because I get to hang out with Gazzy, Angel, Nudge, Ella, Fang, Emily, and Jenna, a tall skinny girl. She's our first chair violist and she is HILARIOUS. We all get our food and sit down; Nudge, of course, is talking rapidly about her day. Words are shooting out of her mouth like bullets—gah, I swear, I really need to stop with the poetic stuff.
"Hey, Max." I jump at the sound of my name and turn around to see Fang looking at me intently.
"Hmm?"
He looks at me for a few more seconds. It starts to get really awkward, but then he says, "So do you wanna come over with Iggy after school so we can get some ideas for our language arts project?"
I'm really confused. I'd thought he was gonna say something else, what with that look on his face . . . Fang seems to take my silence as uncertainty, so he adds, "You know, we really didn't get that far second period."
I shrug off my thoughts and laugh. "Yeah, sure. My mom probably won't mind." I mean, Fang lives across the street, so it's not like I need a ride or anything. He nods and turns around to tell Iggy while I tune into whatever Ella, Nudge, and Angel are chattering about—probably something Justin Bieber related. (I was right: they were talking excitedly about his new song, Boyfriend.)
Sixth period is US History, also known as my nap time. I have the best teacher ever: Mr. Williams. He is really cool and pretty much lets us do whatever we want. I've fallen asleep a couple of times in his class; he doesn't even care. Like I said, best teacher ever. Today we're watching some movie—I don't even bother to see what it's about before laying my head on my arms and promptly falling asleep.
"Uh, Max?" Jenna shakes me awake. I blink up at her. "It's time to go . . . the bell just rang." Oh. Crap. I hurry to gather up my stuff and grin sheepishly at her. She smiles back and we hurry to math, making it to our seats just in time.
"Max is late!" says a high-pitched, squeaky voice. I have to hold back a groan. Lissa. Math is my least favorite class of the day. Not only because I suck at the subject, not because I have a horrible teacher that loves to play favorites, it's because I have the most annoying girl I have ever had the misfortune to meet in my class: Lissa Brown.
Lissa is short with flaming red hair, and she is incredibly popular. For the first week of middle school or so, she'd be really nice to me. It was well into the school year when I realized she didn't want to be friends with me, she just wanted to get closer to Fang. Yeah. I ditched her and she's hated me ever since. The worst part is that she's still trying to get Fang to like her.
And everyone loves her—even the teachers.
Jenna shoots me a sympathetic glance as Mrs. Miller glares down at me through the small glasses perched on her nose. Our math teacher is really, really old, and horrible. She loves some certain people (cough cough LISSA cough cough), but others . . . let's just say she'd probably force detention on every single student if she could. "Max, tardy. Jenna, tardy. I'm disappointed, ladies." She tsks softly as she marks our names down on the attendance sheet.
Jenna's mouth falls open and I can't believe what I'm hearing. We weren't tardy! We were in our seats when the bell rang! Lissa smirks at me, sticking out her tongue when Mrs. Miller isn't looking. It's not like she'd care if she saw, anyway.
Jenna and I pass some notes. By the end of the class period, we've come up with an interesting list of ways to kill Lissa and Mrs. Miller. That girl is quite creative. Smirking, we hurry out of class as soon as the bell rings and part our ways. Science, my last period, passes by quickly—I work with Iggy on a science review sheet (he types up the answers, since his handwriting is horrible. Well, he can't see, so what did you expect?) Finally, FINALLY, the day is over. Yay!
Iggy rides the bus home with Fang and I, since he'll be working on the Language Arts project with us. Hmm. This should be an interesting afternoon.
This chapter was really... draggy and ugh. I thought it was horrible. Sorry, guys. :c
Hopefully the next chapters will be better. There is some fax coming up, you'll just have to wait xD and also there probably won't be a set update schedule or chapter length; I just write until I get to a good stopping point, and whenever I have time. It'll probably be around once a week though. :P Please review! Reviewing = motivation = faster updates! Thanks for reading :3
~Stunningfire