Harro!

Sorry for the long, long, long wait for me to update (rhymes!), but I've been one busy little cat. So here's chapter 2! Yay!

Highlight of the day: I was at soccer practice and the coach was yelling at us, saying "Come on girls, you just have to kick the ball in the net! It's not rocket science!" To which I replied "No, it's physics!" He was speechless.

I pulled out my laptop as soon as all the guys were gone, completely ignorant of the huge mess occupying my couch. I'd get to that later; this was way more important. I opened up the internet and went to Youtube. I prayed to god I had been mistaken.

I clicked on the search bar and typed in Maximum Ride and hit enter. Maybe I had been wrong about it... because Maximum was such a common name, right (note sarcasm). I watched as the screen illuminated displaying different video results. I scrolled through them all, and from what I could see, Maximum Ride was a mainstream music artist. Max had never been that good at music and stuff, at least I think. For the first time I wished I really listened to a shitload of mainstream music, just to see.

I clicked on a video labelled Maximum Ride: The next big star.

The screen illuminated. A song was playing in the background, which I immediately identified as Your so Damn Hot by OKgo. A reporter starting talking as video of the girl, "Maximum Ride" started playing.

"Maximum Ride is an Arizona born singing sensation that has risen to fame rapidly in the past few months. Her songs which all seem to be oriented around 'casual sex' have been attacking radios everywhere."

She was in the background, walking up the red carpet in a black dress that pushed her boobs up dramatically, looking pretty slutty in general.

"Maximum, could we have a word?"

Maximum looked up. "Uhhh, sure."

"How were you discovered?"

She smiled lazily. "It was pretty coincidental. I'd been playing my guitar and singing down by the beach. I'd spent the day there with some friends, but those bitches ditched me, so I was trying to play to get enough money for bus fare. I was supposed to be playing down at this little cafe. People were tossing money and stuff, and then this guy tossed a business card in there and was all like 'call me'. I thought he was a creeper, but I called him anyways a couple days later. He was a music producer. It went up from there."

"So, when did you start playing music?"

She looked thoughtful. "Once I snuck into a bar with my friends when I was seventeen and we all got totally wasted. I sang some karaoke. I think that was the first time I did anything musical."

"Underage drinking Miss Ride?" The reporter asked innocently.

"Got a problem with that?" Maximum replied with a bored expression on her face, and an icy undertone.

"Um, thanks for your time."

Maximum put on a little smug smile, and I knew that all hope that I had been mistaken was false. I'd seen Max give me that look a million times before while growing up, when we were three years old, and when we were teenagers. It was her trademark look.

But she was so different at the same time. I mean, what happened to the girl who wore her tracksuit most of the time, and refused to wear makeup? The girl who wore modest clothes and made fun of girls who dressed like total sluts? Did someone make a Max clone who had a different personality? That seemed more likely than her changing to be...like that.

I clicked on another video, and then another, but they were all the same. Max talking back to reporters and dressing like a whore; don't get me wrong, Max looked like sex on legs, no doubt. But it wasn't her. It was like someone was playing some sort of sick joke on me.

Just then the door to my apartment swung open. "Hey Nick, have you seen my brother?"

Angel walked over and flopped down on my couch. Angel was my friend Gazzy's little sister. She's seventeen, and I swear, if I was in high school, I would've been wheeling her. She's intensely hot, even though she's a lot younger, but most of us guys agree she's pretty sexy. I mean, she's got this gorgeous angelic face and everything and curves like an angel too. If Gazzy found out what I was thinking, he'd kill me.

"He left my house over an hour ago," I told her.

She cursed. "Damn. My mom sent me to go after that son of a bitch but I have no fucking idea where he is. 'Honey, can you please go find your brother for me? He's supposed to be coming over for dinner.' Just fuck it."

I rolled my eyes. "Language Angel."

She turned towards me with a cute little smile on her face. "Sorry Nicky."

"Here, I'll call him for you, okay?" I asked her, picking up my phone.

"He doesn't have his phone. I tried calling him."

I shrugged. "Maybe that's because he saw your number and didn't want to answer. You know, because of how your stalker friends always use your phone to call him."

She slapped my arm. "My friends are not fucking stalkers Fang!"

"Uhuh, sure." I ran through my contacts until I found Gazzy's number and called, putting the phone to my ear.

"God, you're such a dick." Angel muttered.

I bit my tongue back from replying then suck me. Because then she'd tell Gazzy about it and I'd get in shit for "leading her on" again.

"Hello?" Gazzy picked up at the other end.

"Hey it's Nick. You sister is in my apartment and she's—"

"What, my sister's in your apartment? Dude, I thought we talked about this, she's seventeen, she doesn't know what she's doing! God man, I thought you were my friend."

I face palmed. "Gazzy, she just walked in okay? She took the spare key and walking in without my permission, okay? She's looking for you, something about dinner with mom."

"Shit fuck! I forgot. Um, just tell her I'm stuck in traffic and I'll be there in ten." Gazzy hung up the phone quickly.

Angel rolled her eyes. "He forgot, didn't he?"

I shook my head. "He's stuck in traffic. He'll be there in ten minutes."

She put her hands on her curvy little hips. "I know you're lying Nick."

According to Gazzy, Angel always seems to know what's on people minds, or what they're thinking, or if they're lying. It's creepy, because I don't think she's ever been wrong.

"Okay, he forgot. He's on his way. Now get out," I told her, walking to open the door.

She pouted while putting on her famous Bambi eyes. "Nick..." she whined

"No."

"Can I please stay here instead? My mom is so annoying. She'll bug me endlessly about things I don't care about and try to prowl through my social life."

I gave her a stern look. "No."

Gazzy once told me that Angel had this creepy little crush on me, and I didn't mind that much, but Gazzy got all worried.

"I know she looks like she's all innocent and everything and you think it's cute," he warned, "it's not. She doesn't understand boundaries. She won't hesitate with you just because you're older than her. She's too naive."

And that's how the story goes folks.

"Angel, out. Now." I said strictly, like I was her dad or something.

She gave me a cute little pout before exiting. I closed the door behind her and locked it. I turned my attention back to the computer. I logged on Facebook and looked up Maximum Ride. Her profile pic? Her in some incredibly short dress making out with some guy.

Then my eyes landed on her wall.

I'm going to be signing autographs at the Rockefeller Centre after the Central Park Concert tonight until 10:00. Come check me out. Actually.

I didn`t even think, I just grabbed my keys and ran. The Rockefeller Centre was only a twenty minutes drive form where I lived, at least the way I drove. It would take the average person a little bit longer, but I like to drive fast.

I locked my apartment behind me, and moved the spare key from under my doormat to under the fire extinguisher; though I knew Angel would find it in no time. Again. I got in the elevator and hit the button to get to the parking lot, anticipation burning inside of me. I searched through the lot. Fuck where did I park? I scanned over the cars, my eyes eventually landing on my black 2003 Honda Civic.

What? Did you expect me to drive a mustang or some other intensely cool car? Ha, yeah right. Not with what I got paid. What can I say? My boss is cheap.

I jumped into my car and made my way out of the parking garage. I sped down the streets, weaving in and out of traffic like it was nothing, maintaining a average speed ten or twenty miles per hour over the speed limit. Thank god it was a Sunday, so the traffic wasn't half as bad as it was on work days. I got to the Rockefeller Centre in record time (17 minutes, 37 seconds) and parked my car. It wasn't difficult to find the line up; it was huge. I stared at it for a moment.

That's when I realized I had absolutely no fucking idea what I was going to say or do. Hi Max, remember me, Fang? You never called me back when we were sixteen.

And as I got into line, I realized how stupid I felt. I mean, what was I doing there? Max had been my friend like, five years ago. Would she even want to see me? I mean, there must have been a reason we kind of fell off and got distant, right?

You're obsessing over this like a chick the normal part of my brain told me, so I stopped and took a deep breath.

I'm just going to walk right over to her, and say hi. That's it. I'll ask her how she's been, how life is for her, ask her when she became all different—never mind, I wouldn't mention that, but I'd just act cool. Yeah, that's it.

Then I was ushered into the room by security and I got a look at her. Oh damn.

See, back in the days, Max was like a tomboy. She hardly ever got dressed up, living most of her life in grass-stained, ripped jeans and an oversized t-shirt. But as well as she hid them, Max still had killer curves and a rack, even back then. Maybe she didn't know it, but I did. I probably knew her body better than she did.

Whoa, before you get all "you're a pervert" on me, I spent more time with Max than I can even remember. How could I not have her memorized by heart? Plus, I was a teenage guy. Nuff said.

I looked up at Max again. Her messy hair fell loosely around her shoulders, like a frame to her face; God I sound poetic. She smiled at the girl in front of the desk as she handed the girl an autographed picture. The girl was ushered away by security as the next person stepped up.

The line moved at a painfully slow speed. Actually. But it was for Max, so I was going to stay there and wait.

God I feel desperate. Or at least I look it. I mean, waiting in line for an hour for a girl? Yeah, I know. Totally un-me like.

"Why hello," Max said to the guy in front of me. He was younger than me, maybe a senior in high school, dressed in polo and jeans.

"Um, uhhhh, hi!" he responded slowly, looking like he was about to pass out. I mean, really?

Max smiled. "Who's this addressed to?"

"M-mike," he stuttered.

Max looked down to the photo and wrote To Mike, From Maximum Ride, and finished it off with a great big heart. He looked like he would have a heart attack as security pulled him away. Poor kid.

"Um, hi, who do I make this out to?" Max said, looking down at the photo without even sending a glance in my direction.

I swallowed. "Hey Max, it's Fang. Fang Mason, remember me? I know I haven't talked to you in a while but I saw you on T.V and thought I'd say hi."

She didn't even look at me. "Well it's nice to meet you and everything, and thanks for coming out to see me. My career is made possible by fans like you. Have a nice day." She finished, handing me a photograph.

I didn't want a fucking photo graph. "Max, it's me, remember? We used to be best friends."

She looked up at me, and smiled sweetly. "Have a nice day sir." She replied through gritted teeth as she bobbed her head towards me. The security came and took my arm, but I shook it off.

"I can walk out myself," I growled as I stepped away. I walked out and to my car in frustration as I unlocked it and sat inside. I crumpled up the autograph and stuffed it into my pocket as I drove home slowly. I pulled into the parking garage mad as hell. I just wasted my time.

And the worst part? She didn't even acknowledge me, and then she got security to take me out, I mean really? Fuck. Just fuck her. What a bitch.

I walked to the elevator and punched the up button. I waited for half a minute before the elevator doors slid open with a ding!

When I got up to my apartment I went to get food. I needed to have a therapeutic Doritos eating session while watching some Wipeout.

Later on that night, I emptied out my pockets before going to bed. Some gum, my keys, a beer can tab. I reached into the other one and pulled out the autograph. I was about to toss it out when the silvery writing caught my attention. I quickly straightened out at the crumples.

Hey Fang!

Hoy shit, it's you! Call me sometime at 212-463-8898. We'll hang out.

p.s. Look like my little boy is all grown up and sexy ;)

Oh. That makes it different.

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