CHAPTER 3: LATE NIGHT SURPRISES

"Nick!" my mom yells from downstairs. "Dinner's ready!"

I groan, I just want to sleep. I worked 6 hours last night and then I was doing my homework until dawn. By the time I finished, it was time for school. Maybe getting a job wasn't the best solution for avoiding Lissa.

"Nick!" she calls again a couple of minutes later, this time with a hint of irritation. That's my mom for you, impatient. I roll out of bed, untangling myself as I go. Sometimes I wonder if my life would be better if I just laid in bed all day. Under my blankets, laying down, in blissful sleep. But then I realize it'd be a really sucky life, and I get up.

I walk down the stairs slowly, letting my feet fall like lead on each step, hopefully to make my mom actually mad. I love my mom, but I'm pissed off because I wanted to sleep.

In the kitchen, my dad is sitting at the end of the table looking through a stack of papers. My mom has already served the food.

I pull out a chair noisily and plop down, feeling my mom's reprimanding gaze on me.

My dad glances up, looking as weary as I feel, in fact we look pretty identical right now. We have the exact same features almost, black hair, dark eyes, olive skin tone, and kind of tall and lanky. At least he could never question whether or not I'm actually his son.

Not that he would ever have reason to, mind you, my mom is a respectable woman. I'm just pointing out facts here.

He drops the papers once my mom coughs purposely. We don't say grace. We're not that type. But we are naturally a silent family, so talking with us is minimal, but my mom's trying to change that because she says we don't communicate enough. So she starts, "How was your day, honey?" My parents have this bad habit of calling each other pet names. A result of being high school sweethearts, I guess.

My dad continues eating his pasta, but then eventually announces, with a grin on his face, "We got four new clients today."

My dad started a new company that develops computer programs a few of years ago, and it's still growing so any new client is good news.

My mom smiles at him. Then she looks at me expectantly. I sigh. I truly am happy, I just didn't expect that I would have to say anything. So I tell him, "That's great, dad." Oh yeah, that's me, a man of many words.

"This company is going to be a huge success, I tell you," my dad says enthusiastically. He is really proud of what he's done. And I'm happy for him, because really I'm the reason he is only starting to do this now. If they hadn't gotten pregnant with me when they were 17, he could've been a huge success earlier. But fate had other plans. He turns to me and smiles broadly. "Soon enough you'll be going to business school and learning the trades, then you can come work with me." My hand stills, holding the fork, wrapped around with pasta, near my mouth.

"Oh, that'd be just perfect," my mom adds, looking at us adoringly. I put my hand down slowly. "Father and son, working together, right Nick?"

I take a gulp my water and then nod once. "Yeah," I tell them. "I can't wait."

Then we fall silent again and resume eating. But I can feel despair settling in. Because I don't want to work with my dad. I don't want to go to business school. And I definitely do not want to have anything to do with that profession. But I'll disappoint my parents if I don't, so I knew that I would.

As soon as I finish my dinner, I get a text message. I'm about to pull out my phone from my pocket and read it when my mom says, smiling, "Is that the girl you like?"

I forget everything I'm doing and stare at my mom, confused. I don't usually tell my mom about the girls I like or even date, so this is weird. "What? What girl?"

She rolls her eyes and smiles at me knowingly. "The girl from your drawings."

I feel my heart skip a beat and my jaw tightens. "You were looking through my drawings," I state, deadly calm. But really, I'm mad.

She waves her hand, dismissing my tone. "You're just like your dad." I glance at him; he's gone back to looking through his papers. "So concerned with your privacy. And no, I went into your room to borrow your ipod and your book was open on a drawing of a very pretty girl."

It was Max, I realize. Well, my mom was spot on with her observation, but I'm not going to tell her that. I shake my head. "She's just a model I saw online, I don't know her," I lie.

"Oh," she says, disappointed. "I thought you were finally over that girl with the red hair."

"Lissa?" I ask, incredulously. I laugh. "Mom, if she comes around don't let her in. Don't even talk to her." She raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. "She can't take a hint."

She grins. "Oh, I've known a few girls like that." My dad laughs. "Back when I was in high school I had to practically fight girls off of your dad all –"

"Okay, that's great," I say quickly. When speaking about their early relationship, my mom likes to talk a lot, but unfortunately for her, I don't like to hear it. "I have to go now."

I practically run up to my room, shuddering. The last time she talked about their early relationship, she started to explain how my dad convinced her to have sex with him. Oh god, just thinking about it makes me want to throw up.

I look around my room for my uniform since I have to go to work in an hour. Then my phone beeps again. I pull it out and see that the messages are from Iggy.

The first one says: dude, u up 4 a prty?

Then the next: u have 5 min 2 answer b4 I go w/o u

Is it really that hard to just write out the entire word? I text back: Can't. I have to work right now.

A couple of seconds later, as I'm changing into the formal black pants, I receive another text: total buzzkill, bro

I ignore it, and soon I'm heading downstairs. As I pass by the kitchen, my parents are still in there, I yell, "I'm leaving. Don't wait up for me."

I run to my car and back out of the driveway before they can say anything. My parents don't like that I work the graveyard shift, and never fail to tell me so whenever they can.

.

"Nick, I need you to wash the dishes," Sally tells me. I look back at her and frown. I'm not a dishwasher, I'm a waiter, I want to tell her, but I can't because she knows that and the guy who usually washes dishes didn't show up, so I have to.

I head into the backroom and slip on some gloves. They don't do much against the scathing hot water, but at least I won't have my skin peeling off. I finish an hour later. I really think I should get paid extra for that; it wasn't in my job description.

It's about three am now and there's no one in the diner except for this big guy who's just drinking coffee. So I go back to where the cook is. He's a cool guy, but he always seems depressed. He's always looking at the food sadly like he can't believe he's not allowed to eat it. Actually, that's a good reason to be sad.

I'm not allowed to eat either, but I grab a waffle anyway. Not like anyone will notice.

But I have to be wrong, don't I? "Nick!" Sally yells, and I drop my waffle immediately, landing with the syruped side down. Damn her. I straighten up from where I was leaning on the back counter and glare at her.

She rolls her eyes. "Don't look at me like that, you're not supposed to be eating anything in here." I still glare at her. The last thing I had eaten was the pasta almost nine hours ago and I'm starving. She looks down at her notepad and orders, "I need you to bring out a raspberry iced tea to table 3." She looks down. "And clean that up." Then she leaves.

I pick up the waffle, but I don't bother to mop up the sticky residue. That's what she gets for making me drop it in the first place.

I don't know why she couldn't have just made the iced tea. It's not hard. But she's the boss so I have to do what she says. I take a long time, too, because she's putting me in an even worse mood. I put it on a tray, because it's mandatory, and head out already dreading having to be polite and social at this hour.

I look around, trying to spot the person and I finally see someone with a hoodie on and hunched over the table. I scoff, only freaks come here this late, and this person's no exception.

Once I'm at the table, I set the drink down. "Here's your raspberry iced tea, sir. If you need anything else, just ask," I mumble, already starting to walk away.

"Ma'am."

I turn around and stare at the man. Is he stupid? "I'm a guy," I tell him, stoically.

Then he looks up. "And I'm a girl," she says, and I nearly drop the tray.

It's Max.

And I just called her a guy. I called her a 'sir'. Of all the bad luck…I want to run out of here. I want to go bang my head against a wall repeatedly until all the stupidity is out of me, but I'm not the type to react quickly, so I stand there like an idiot.

When she looks back down, I manage to say, "Sorry, I didn't realize it was you."

"Obviously," she says without her usual mirth. I frown.

"Well," I say, glad that I'm not stuttering or anything. "Enjoy your drink." Then I walk away. I want to go back and ask if she remembers me, but how embarrassing is that? What would she say? Oh yeah, you're that loser I rejected a couple of weeks ago. You can leave now.

I slump against the wall on the other side of the diner so she doesn't see me. Like she'd be looking at me anyway.

What is she even doing here anyway? It's Friday night, which means she should be out doing things that Maximum Ride is known for doing, like crashing a party, beating up some people, or something. But instead she's at a crappy diner with a baggy hoodie on, which makes her look a little like a man in my defense, and she's drinking a raspberry iced tea, which really is a wimpy drink. She could've ordered something with alcohol in it and I would've served it to her anyway, even if that got me fired.

After ten minutes I notice that she hasn't even touched the drink since I set it down. Just because she can't see me doesn't mean I can't see her. In fact, now that I think of it, with all the mortification I felt in not noticing it was her who I was speaking to, I didn't even realize that her eyes were kind of red when she looked at me. Was she drunk? Or even worse, high?

I grimace. I hope not.

Gathering up all my strength and straightening up, I walk back to her table. Of my own accord entirely, too, because the pointed looks Sally has been giving me had no influence in my decision, at all.

"Do you need anything else?" I ask her, my voice neutral. I fiddle with the strings of my apron – they're so long I had to tie them in front – when she doesn't look up nor says anything. I clear my throat, jeez, way to make me feel awkward. "We have a special on chocolate cake," I blurt out and then immediately bite my tongue.

I hear her sniffle and then say, "Really." But it sounds kind of muffled and low.

I sigh, knowing she's not going to order anything and she's not going to say anything to me either so I leave. Sally looks at me expectantly, but I just shake my head, indicating that our only customer isn't in need of our service so we're back to our boredom.

But something is making me want to go back, which is just stupid since Max clearly doesn't want to talk to me. I stand around, alternating between going into the kitchen and then back to the stools in front of the cash register, all the while Max sits motionlessly in her booth.

Sally's about to go to her break and so she starts making her usual lunch, a strawberry-banana smoothie and a piece of chocolate cake, and I don't know what comes over me, but I take one of the drinks she made and a put a slice of cake on a plate and then go to where the love of my life - ha, just kidding, kind of - is at and sit across from her.

I place the cake and the drink down in front of me, and even though she didn't give any indication that she noticed me, I know she's aware of my presence.

I slide the food to her, and then cross my arms on the table and lean forward. She lowers her head even more and ignores me.

It's silent for such a long time, but I just stare at her, even though I can't see the top half of her face. She sits there, her hands in her pockets, leaning over the table, and her hood drawn up, not moving once. And then, a teardrop.

My breath catches in my throat.

It glides down the side of her nose, slowly down the contours of her lips, towards her chin, and then falls gently onto the table. She breathes in again through her stuffy nose, and then brings up her hands and pulls the hood of her jacket off before I can say a word.

She stares at me, through unflinching, puffy red eyes with the face of someone who has given up. Her hair is in disarray, windblown, the bottom half severely tangled, and the dark make up she presumably had on is smudged around the bottom and the sides of her eyes. But, god, even at her worse she still looks amazing to me.

"I'm not going to sleep with you."

I nearly flinch from the void in her voice, but instead I shrug. "Do many guys offer you cake and a smoothie in return for sexual favors?"

I can tell she wants to roll her eyes, but for some reason she holds back. "I'm not up for playing games right now, so just leave me alone."

"What makes you think I'm playing games?" I ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, you mind telling me why you're here, then?" she inquires, now glaring at me.

I smirk. "I work here."

This time she doesn't refrain from rolling her eyes. "Smartass. You know what I mean."

"I'm lonely, you're lonely." I shrug, and then move the cake so it's in between us. I grab a fork and take a piece of it. "I'm also hungry, and I figure you might be too."

I want to ask so badly why she's crying, but I know she won't tell me and it's not necessarily my business, so I don't. Instead I pretend that it's like any other meeting.

"I didn't make the cake, but it's good," I tell her eventually, after I eat about half of it and she still hasn't touched it.

"That's fantastic. Now leave," she demands, glaring at me.

I ignore her. Which makes her even more mad. I grin.

But then she blows air through her nose, irritated, and moves so that she can get out of the booth. I grab her wrist before she can. She looks back at me with derision, but I just tug her hand once more and after a second she settles back down.

We stare at each other, I'm doing this half in admiration, and half because I honestly don't know what to say. I bet she's thinking of ways to knock me out, so she can leave.

"I brought the smoothie for you," I tell her and let go of her hand.

"Why are you doing this?" she asks finally, her tone resigned. She glances at the smoothie and then reaches for it. She sips it and then, deciding it's good, keeps it to herself. I smile inwardly, glad that she's in some way accepting me being here.

"I want to be your friend," I confess, feeling like a first grader again.

She stares at me with slightly wide eyes, looking genuinely surprised. Maybe she thinks I'm not good enough to be associated with her, or she doesn't think that I'm being honest. Just as my thoughts are getting deeper into the paranoia level she says, "Just a friend. Not friend with benefits?"

I shake my head slowly. I'd actually love for her to be my girlfriend, but I'm not going to go through that humiliation again. "Just a friend," I confirm.

She bites her lip and then sips at the smoothie again. "Give me a good reason."

"I'm trustworthy. And I'm not trying to sleep with you," I add when she looks at me dubiously.

She smirks. "So you're not going to try to ask me out again?"

My heart skips a beat. Well at least now I know that she remembers me. "No," I grin. "Not unless you want me to."

She spends a long time drinking the smoothie until she finally says, "Fine. I'll give you a chance."

My heart cries out in glee. Not like the TV show Glee, with music and all, but more like it's yelling "YES!" and it's going to burst because I'm so happy. But I'm cool, and I can't have her regretting her decision so I just nod and smirk back at her.

Then I take the smoothie out of her hands, drink it, and push it back to her. She stares at me, confused, and then shrugs and drinks it too, where now our precious germs are intertwined. Uh, never mind, that sounds kind of wrong. But still.

"I like strawberry-banana," she tells me, smiling. "How'd you know?"

"I like to stalk you in my spare time."

She looks taken aback for a few seconds, but then starts laughing. "A true stalker would know that my favorite mixed drink is raspberry and orange." Interesting, I file it away in my mind for future reference.

I point to the now melted untouched iced tea. "Is that why you ordered that?"

She glances at it and shakes her head. "I didn't order anything, but the lady said she'd start me off with that to get me going." That sounds just like Sally, deceitful. Max looks back at me. "I'm not paying for any of this either, since I didn't actually ask for it."

I smile. "Is that a bird I hear?" She furrows her eyebrows. I continue, "Cheap, cheap, cheap." Then she starts laughing, and I notice her eyes are nearly cleared up. They're a little puffy around the edges still, but they're no longer red.

Max rolls her eyes. "I have the money, I'm just not going to fall for this type of scam."

I grin. "Oh well, I guess there's always the one person who's going to beat the system."

Her entire demeanor changes suddenly, going from playful to stoic in a second. I'm wary of the change, but I continue on as if I didn't notice.

"My shift's over," I say.

She takes out her phone and, seeing the time, stands up. It's then that I notice she's wearing a black formal skirt.

She must have noticed my staring because she says, "I don't know how you thought I was a man when I was wearing a skirt, but hey, I don't judge." Then she shrugs.

I stand up too and scoff. "Who wears a hoodie and a skirt?"

"So now you're a fashion police?" I roll my eyes at her, and then follow once she starts walking out.

"I'm just saying." Max heads out, and I quickly clock out, take off my apron and hurry after her. Out in the parking lot I notice that her car isn't there; it's a black mustang, fairly new.

I glance at my own car, alone in the desolate parking lot. I'm not ashamed of it, a Ford F-150, but what if she sees it as not luxurious enough?

I swallow my nerves and ask her, "Do you need a ride?"

Max looks down at her phone again, types something out and then says, "No, I have someone coming to pick me up."

"Oh."

"Well, thanks anyway, for offering and for the smoothie," she says distractedly and then starts to take off the hoodie. I'm respectful so I don't blatantly stare at her as she does so, but out of the corner of my eye I see that she basically has on an outfit that makes her look like a secretary.

Oh god, if she were my secretary. The things I would do to her. She catches me staring and raises an eyebrow.

I shrug and tell her, "What, I can't appreciate beauty when I see it?"

She starts laughing. "You're weird, Fang. First you make me think you're shy, and then you have me thinking that you're overly cocky."

I hold in a smile. "You bring out the worst in me."

She smirks. "Sure, you better get going."

"I'll wait with you."

"Don't. This might take a while."

"All the more reason."

She sighs exasperatedly. "Seriously, just go. I don't need your protection."

Knowing what I now know about her, then yeah she most definitely does not need my protection. But I'm not about to tell her that I want to stay just because I want to keep on talking to her. So I tell her, "Okay, give me your number and then I'll leave."

"Sure, whatever," she answers and once I bring out my phone she snatches it out of my hands, puts in her number, and shoves it back at me without even looking at me.

She doesn't say anything else, so I make my way over to my car, and right before I'm about to open the door, Max calls out, "See you later, Fang."

I smile back at her. "See you." Then after debating for a few seconds, I add, "I'm glad I could make you stop crying."

Her gaze fixates on mine, her expression slightly closed off, but then a corner of her mouth tilts up and she softly mutters, "Thanks."

We stare at each other for a few seconds and then she looks away. I take that as my cue to leave, so I get into my truck and pull out, watching as she starts walking in the direction of the park.

.

The house still has a ton of food lying around. It's everywhere: the kitchen, the living room, dining room, even on the floor. I maneuver around it, not wanting to touch it all, and silently make my way up to my room. I should make a bunch of noise, but then I'd get into more trouble than I'm already in and I just really want to avoid everyone.

Just as I'm about to turn the knob to my door, I hear a stern voice say, "Max."

I take a deep breath, release the knob, and turn towards my mother. "What?" I ask, not nicely.

Still dressed in the appropriate attire for the day, she crosses her arms and hisses, "Don't even bother coming back if you're going to be coming in this late."

I scowl at her and push my door open. "If it were up to me, I wouldn't ever come back at all."

I walk into my room and shut the door loudly, but not before she says to me, "You and I both."

I sit down on my bed, bring my knees under my chin, and wrap my arms around my legs. In the distance, I can hear the baby crying, other voices joining in with my mom's, and then the angry whispers and tired sighs. In the privacy of my room, I finally let the tears fall.


Disclaimer: Characters are owned by James Patterson.

I feel like it's only been two weeks since I posted this story. Well, college, you know. Did you guys like this chapter?