Max Ride isn't mine. Welcome to chapter two!

Today, I've experienced more awkward things than I think I have all month. I mean, when was the last time you got attacked by a crazy mental patient? Granted, she used to be one of my favorite customers at the Starbucks I cashier for, a few months back. She asked my name, and I told her.

If I had known she was crazy and that she was gonna try and molest me later, I probably wouldn't have done that.

But anyway, the point is, I was about to start making random animal noises just to bridge the gap in conversation.

I was in a conference room, with the cop assigned to the case, the patient's doctor, and the patient's daughter, whose last name was Martinez. When I was introduced as Nicholas Ride, aka Fang, she gawked and said, "Wait. Stop. Pause. Rewind. You're real?"

I nodded to say yes. Maybe crazy disease was hereditary.

"So the name Fang…it's real? You aren't just a figment of her imagination?"

"Nope…"

And that's how the conversation started. The doctor had already filled her in on the vague details, and the cops answered any extra questions. They asked if I wanted to press charges.

"Nope. Can I go now?"

"If you have nothing further to say, Mr. Ride, yes, you may leave."

So I left the room. I went and said bye to my little sister, Grace, who was in her for various reasons, one of which is crack. She's my little sister, sure, but she's still nineteen. Old enough to be a druggie, I guess.

On my way out to the parking lot, I stopped. I took a double take.

Sitting in the car next to mine was the Martinez girl. The one who's mom just tried to kill me? Yeah, that one. She was beating her head against the steering wheel. Yeah, crazy was definitely hereditary. There's no way that this girl is sane.

I walked over out of courtesy and respect for the countless espressos I served her mother (now that I think about it, probably not such a great idea) and rapped my knuckles against her passenger's seat window, with my own car keys dangling from my other hand. I motioned for her to unlock the door when she finally stopped trying to give herself a concussion and looked up. She pulled up the stopper thing on the car door, and pushed it open. I stepped in.

"So, Martinez…What's got you down? Not still worrying about my existence, are you?"

"It's Max. Call me Max."

Max Martinez. Her mom must have been big on alliteration back when she was sane.

"Alright, Max, I'm Fang. Nice to meet you again."

She looked up, sighed, and smiled. It was weak, and totally exhausted, but it was a smile nonetheless, and it encouraged me to keep going. "So what's the issue? Problem back at the office?"

She glanced over at her steering wheel. "Kind of, I guess. "

I leaned back sideways against the window. "Then enlighten me, young grasshopper. They've always told me that I'm an exquisite therapist, you know. I could make millions on TV. Hey, here's an idea: you tell me what's up, I fix it. Then I get a talk show and make more money than I can spend, and you marry me, we both retire at twentyfour and never worry about anything ever again."

She really laughed this time, a loud, happy laugh, and instantly it was as if her entire face and body were in better form, less tired and less withdrawn. She was a totally new person.

"We'll see about that, although retirement that young is really appealing. Do you really want to know? My mother just attacked you, she's been drawing crazy conclusions in her head, and my car won't start."

Hmm. We'll see. Who was the imbecile that said we'll see always means no? I can work with a we'll see. Suddenly, getting this girl to go out with me, even if I don't end up marrying her and retiring at twentyfour, is the goal of the day.

"How about this? We forget about the attacking. Okay? Let's wipe it from our memories. I've already forgotten. What are we talking about again?"

She sighed and let out a breath. "But it's not that simple, Fang."

I smiled and brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and behind her ear. She looks at me questioningly, as if to say, way to make a move.

"Oh, but it is. Just put it behind you, alright? We can pretend it never happened. Zap. Gone. Next step: I drive you home. You give me your keys. I come back with my buddy who'll take a look at your automobile, and I take it back to your place."

She looks at me skeptically, her left eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Just because my mother tried to off you doesn't mean I'm going to surrender my car to you."

"I know. Which is why I'm taking you out for ice cream before you fork over the keys, baby."

"Don't call me baby. Where's your car? I know a great place over on East and Carmichael.

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