A/N- So I was singing Airplanes to myself and I went to turn on the radio, whereupon the radio was playing that song in the exact same spot where I was singing. I had to take a step back and go "WOOOOAAHH." In addition, Daphne Jackson and nudge-the-penguin are awesome.
I'd also recommend Celebrity Status by Marianas Trench. Excellent to fist pump like champs to.
Reviewer of the Week
Phantom of the Orchestra: When I read "ONE LUCKY LADY WILL HAVE THE CHANCE TO JOIN JUSTIN ONSTAGE," I honestly thought it said 'do' instead of 'join' at first. -nods- Yep. That's how it went down.
Comment of the Week
Written in a bathroom stall: Sorry, the Chamber of Secrets is the next stall over.
(I'll admit I went into the next stall over to check.)
You know, I wish that all of the issues in life could be solved by Pokémon battles.
Wouldn't that be great? Right when you want to slap someone in the face, (if someone starts to text during a conversation, I should have permission to shoot them) then all you have to do is whip out your Pokéball and cream them back to Pallet Town.
Just imagine Charizard and those Justin Bieber fangirls.
Heh heh heh.
Of course, when all of them converged on me and the Flock, the last thing on my mind was Pokémon. Wait – that's a lie. The last thing on my mind was hypothetical astronomical physics or something like that, but you know what I mean.
My senses were completely overwhelmed. One girl who was pulling my hair; another had taken off my shoes; my shirt was completely torn off within seconds. Sadly to say, Max's shirt didn't suffer the same fate.
The stadium was throbbing with voices now, and it was hard to think. It was open-air, luckily, but we really didn't want to become the next viral hit if we suddenly flew off.
Then again, we wouldn't go viral if we were dead. Just a little something to note.
"Fang!" I could barely hear Max's shout. She was somewhere to my left in all the commotion. "I've always loved you, and we'll be able to meet again in Heaven, I just know it, because I'm sure you love me as madly in love with me as I am with you-"
Or not.
"Fang!" Max's voice was so pissed that she sounded like the time she reamed out Gazzy for uploading a video of her doing karaoke onto Youtube. (Search "birdgirl doing bad Madonna" and it's the first hit.) "Screw it. Up and away."
Gotta love Max and her screw it-ness.
I bruised a few noses and arms and legs as I started to fight back. My fist met a lot of flesh, and once the girls realized that I was fighting back, they jumped back quickly. It was just like in the movies, when the main, dashing, handsome main character is about to die, only to have a triumphant comeback.
The problem: The last girl – maybe six – managed to tear away the last of my shirt.
You do not want to be a shirtless guy in a Justin Bieber concert.
"Damn," I heard one girl say. She was holding one of my shoes in her hand. "Why don't we worship him?" Good question, Random Girl, good question.
Not a single person noticed the wings, which tells you that wings are commonly acceptable in society these days, or that people are completely oblivious, or that my back was to the stage. Probably the first one. I mean, if Snooki is acceptable, then I certainly am.
But then there was another problem. Obviously.
If you recall, there was an older man in the audience who definitely qualified as a genuine creeper. ('Stache. Purple low-cut shirt. Skinny jeans. Aaaannnddd we have a confirmed creeper! Remember: The bloody music -British bloody, not actual bloody- was too loud, and the constant people pushing at our backs didn't help. There was one older man who was particularly enthusiastic.
I had cast him off as unimportant. But no, of course not. Life, the universe, and everything had to prove me wrong. He didn't jump back. He kept fighting, if you could call what he did fighting.
"Don't you dare hurt Justin!" he said. It sounds so stereotypical, but trust me, those were his very words. His arm snapped back, and with a deafening crack, he slapped me.
Yeah, that just went down.
My cheek went numb, but so did the rest of my body. Rule Number One of Life: You do not slap Fang unless you want to die.
"What?" That was the only thing that came out of my mouth . I'm smooth like that. I couldn't believe I hadn't reacted fast enough; I just hadn't been expecting it. But I made up for the mistake when my own arm drew back, and it flew forwards, ready to smash into his face-
And he caught it.
My trademark Badass Punch of Everlasting Doom™, and he caught it. And he didn't let go.
F
M
L
It was the perfect moment, frozen in time: him and me, with my hand latched in his huge fist. The rest of the Flock had disposed of the other fangirls, meaning I had a rather captivated audience. Now would be the time to admit I have stage fright.
He grinned at me-
And everything flashed.
I was lying on the ground.
That's all I could figure out at first. One second, I had been standing, and now, I was on the ground. Needless to say, I was even more confused than when Iggy and Gazzy took an entire day to try and convince me that I was an immigrant from Australia whose life goal was to get my accent back.
I moved my head to get my bearings. The dirt rubbed into my cheeks, but I could see that I was wearing a purple shirt and skinny jeans.
Skinny jeans really do infect every part of the world.
There was garbage on the ground – a bag of Doritos, a Coke can and a chocolate bar wrapper that I didn't recognize. Beside the garbage was a long railing, and on the opposite side, a stage…and there were panicked people rushing towards me, dressed in familiar security jackets…
It was the stadium. I was still in the same place, but something was different.
The sounds. Yeah, there were more sounds. Yelling. Screaming. Crying.
And then the pain started.
Oh, pain. We're BFFs, but we're the type of BFFs who wished that each other were dead. Pain would probably cut the brakes on a car so that I'd go shooting over a cliff and be snacks for vultures at high noon.
I'm sure there are a lot of high school kids who can relate.
It all began as a dull ache in my chest, but within seconds, it was like someone was stabbing me. Where was the knife, the stick, the whatever? Where was it coming from? It had to be somewhere, it had to be, because it hurt it hurt it hurt and it wouldn't stop and it just kept going and building and throbbing and going and-
I blinked.
I was suddenly hungry.
With a snap of my fingers, I whacked Skinny Jeans' hand out of the way. I took a step back.
It was definitely a WTF moment.
One moment, Skinny Jeans and I had been locked hand-to-hand, and the next, I was dressed like him and lying on the ground where we were standing. I could see the Doritos bag drifting along.
It was as if I had lived his life for a few moments.
Now that is trippy.
"Fang!" Nudge yelled. They already had their windbreakers off. "What are you waiting for?"
Excellent question.
I decided to at least make the exit dramatic. I swooshed out my wings, causing a few more people to stumble back in downright shock. "Don't mess with the Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death," I said, because I was trying to be hardcore, and those were the most mofo words I could think of. (Thanks go to Iggy for increasing my vocabulary.)
Yeah. Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.
"Really, Fang?" Angel took the time to say. "That is so stupid. I'd be more afraid of undead bunnies." Of course, she was in the process of bashing a few girls as she said this. All of the dust she was raising with her kicks and blows was getting in my eyes.
In my defence, undead bunnies would be pretty freaky.
"Three!" Max yelled, snapping me back away from my thoughts of bunnies. (Did you see that thing flying out the window? Yeah, that was my manliness.) The rest of the Flock moved so that there was space for each others' wings.
"Two!" The rest of them shot open their wings. Screams and yells and shouts greeted that little move.
"One!"
Houston, we have liftoff.
With one great push, we shoved off in sync, and the Anarchist Angel Avengers of Death shot into the starry sky, leaving behind thousands of lovesick gaping girls who wanted to-
"Seriously, Fang," Angel yelled in into my ear. I could barely hear her over the rush of wind that threatened to steal her words. "Just stop.' I grinned.
We were flying in a tight V-formation, with Max at the head and me on her right-hand side. I took a moment to look down – at the constant barrage of pulsing flashes from cameras, and the blinking of the lights– and realized that man, we have style.
It was strange to be in the cool night air with a ton of space so suddenly. Since I didn't have a shirt on, it was on the cold side, but I could deal - all shirtless men can. Heck, I bet I could hunt bears or go ice fishing shirtless.
Iggy, always the practical one, cut into my reverie. "I say we go to Vegas and get so hammered that we don't remember what just happened."
"Nah," Gazzy countered. Blood was dripping from his nose, but I don't think he noticed. That, or he thought it made him look tough. "I get bad vibes from Vegas. Like, vibes that are saying Vegas is an over-used, unoriginal idea used by authors who need their characters to do something."
We all shot him looks.
He shrugged. "It's just a feeling."
Now, of course, if this was 2009, I would have made a Black Eyed Peas reference right there. Gosh, I miss that year. All 2010 has is BP destroying the world and a bunch of people screaming AAAYYYOOO.
We flew in silence for a few minutes, mesmerized by the suburban streetlights of Lansing. It was hypnotic. You could pick out all the little rivers and streams, or where the big shopping centres were, just from the patterns of light. Naturally, with nothing else to occupy it, my mind flew (see what I did there?) to my little "encounter" with Skinny Jeans.
The pain the pain the pain-
It's hard to forget some things.
It was Nudge who broke the silence around an hour later. I was glad of it. "Then what should we do?" she asked. All of us were still in recreational mode, and found it difficult to remember we had full-time jobs, just without dental insurance. We had been flying east, but we didn't have a purpose. Sometimes it's just best to enjoy the night. "We could continue on to that so-called Itex plant in Albaskatchitoba, or whatever that Canadian state is."
"Canada doesn't have stat-" Gazzy started, when Max cut him off. Her voice was high in pitch.
"Where's Total?" she asked.
Angel's wings froze.
They just stopped flapping. She plummeted into the night for a split second before regaining control.
"He's not in my bag," she whispered. She must've been able to tell from the lack of weight. We were hovering somewhere in the general path of most airplanes going into Michigan, but no one cared. "I didn't notice until now, I wasn't paying attention, there was so much going on-"
We lost Total.
In the night.
Miles away.
We are such winners at life.
