Zits, zits, zits. They stink. And Max has a conscience? Since when?

Max: Since you gave me one . . .

Me: Eh. You needed one.

Disclaimer: Wooooooooowwwww. How many times do I have to tell you? Do you have short-term memory loss or something? I don't own these transgenic organisms!

I am so not going into detail of the horror that is a period. It's gross, and if you're a girl you already know what's happening. Guys: Don't even bother trying to understand it.

Jeb had gotten me this stuff that made the cramps dissapear, and it was like BAM. Cramps gone.

Anyways. I woke up happy as a clam. It was really weird. I had no idea why I was so happy, but whatever. Blame hormones.

I hopped out of bed and picked up the dirty t-shirts lying around the floor and put them in the hamper. Another landry day. Yet I was still happy.

I shrugged and put the hamper down. I really, really, had to pee. Walked to the bathroom. Caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Bursts into silent tears.

WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? THE INFAMOUS MAXIMUM RIDE DOES NOT CRY. WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU . . . YOU . . . PANSY! I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH YOU!

I took a deep breath and looked at myself in the mirror again. I had tiny littel red dots all over my face. Great. Fan-freaking-tastic. Zits. That's all I needed to add to Max's Funhouse of Puberty. Zits. Pimples. Red devils that implant themselves onto your forehead. Whatever you want to call them. I prefer the latter. (Yeah, I just used that word. Blame the day Jeb made us the study the dictionary. I still have nightmares.)

I ran the water in the foucet, and splashed my face the cold water. Looked in the mirror again. Yep. There real. And some of them had little white or black heads on them.

"Ugh," I said. "That's really gross."

Says the girl that ate a cockroach on a dare.

Hey! It was a challenge! I couldn't let Iggy win!

Whatever, babe. All I know is that cockroach tasted disgusting.

Psh. You're telling me.

But these zits are seriously gross. Sqeeze one, see what happens.

No! I don't want to see gunk come out of my face!

Its a challenge, babe. Plus, you've seen worse.

. . . Eh. Guess you're right.

I'm always right.

I got closer to the mirror until my nose was almost touching it, and put two of my fingers in the position to sqeeze a white headed pimple. Just when I was about to squeeze the gunk out of it, I stopped.

Had I just been talking to myself?

Did I call myslef babe?

Did I challenge myself?

. . .

. . .

. . .

I'm insane. But, what the Hell? Might as well see what comes out.

Advice from maximum Ride: Never, ever, ever, EVER sqeeze a pimple EVER again. Or EVER listen to that STUPID voice in the back of your head

It just hurts. A LOT. And makes the surrounding area of the pimple all red. AS A TOMATO. WHY ARE ALL MY THOUGHTS CAPITALIZED? I DON'T KNOW. I'LL STOP now.

Maybe I belong in a straight jacket. Maybe I should be put in padded room and they should throaw away the key.

"Max!" Fang yelled, pounding on the door. "Get out!"

"Shut up, Fang," I said and pulled open the door, and walked out with my head bowed. The last thing I needed was them knowing about the infestation going on in my face.

He raised an eyebrow, but walked into the bathroom and closed the door without uttering a word. Somethings been going on with him. He's been really quiet, never even talking for hours sometimes. He's always been quiet, but this . . .

I shoved it ito the back of my head and told myslef I'd get to it later.

Not likely.

Who exactly are you?

I'm your conscience.

I didn't think I had one of those things . . . and aren't consciences suppose to lead me in the right direction?

Eh. We're half and half.

I take it when you told me to squeeze the pimple, it was your bad side showing.

You got it.

I just had another conversation with my conscience. God, help me now.

I stayed in my room, fiddling with string or a Rubbix Cube. I'm a smart cookie. I would probably win the Genuis Book of World Records if I entered for fastest Rubbix Cube finisher. Yet, it still manages to entertain me.

"Max!" Jeb called. "Food's ready!"

Huh. I thought I was up here longer.

"I'm not going," I said.

I could practically here him roll his eyes. "You'll come in a little while."

"Yeah, sure, whatever," I said and redid the Rubix Cube.

However I hate to admit it, he was right. My stomach growled in protest when I tried to resist its pull towards the kitchen. My stomach was controlling my brain, ok? I didn't think it was possible either, but it happened.

I groaned and got off of my bed, and walked out of my room. Too hungry to resist . . . I walked into the kitchen, the hood of my hoodie up and my hands stuffed in my pockets.

"What ya make for breakfast?" I asked.

Jeb grinned from his spot at the table. "Pancakes," he said and looked up. His eyes widened in surprise.

"Don't say a word unless you want to die," I said and took my spot at the table, and forked some pancakes onto my plate.

"Say a word about what?" Iggy asked.

"Nothing," I said.

"Suuuurrrre, Max," he said, rolling his sightless eyes.

I flicked his head. He flicked mine. I poked his arm. He underestimated where my shoulder was and poked my boob.

I think that's considered sexual harrasment.

I slapped the back of his head. He slapped mine.

This went on for a while, until his fingertips brushed my face, and he felt all the little bumps there and screamed, "OH MY GOD, MAX IS A LEPOR!"

I grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back. I love being stronger than this guy. "I said not to say a word unless you want to die. Do you want to die?"

He gulped. "No."

"So, are you going to say anything else?"

"No," he croaked.

"Good," I said, releasing him. He rubbed his sore arm and tried to glare at me, but only managed to glare at Angel.

"Now, now, Iggy," I said. "Its not nice to glare at little kids. What did Angel ever do to you?"

He blushed and mumbled something I'd rather not repeat.

Sometimes, puberty is a btich. And others, it can really benefit you.

Eh. It was alright.

Max: I still can't believe you gave me a conscience.

Me: Deal with it, babe.

Max: AH! Are you my conscience?

Me: No.

Tank: Thank God. Because if you were, the world would be a little . . . different.

Me: Chinese resturaunts at every turn!

Skid: Yep. That's different.

JP: At least all those unfortunet souls who lack shinese food would get some.

Me: At least someone gets the logic.

- Sanity