A/N- Kudos to kishimat12 for knowing more about Arizonian geography a heckofalot more than me, and to whenchickensswim, who was the only person to guess spot-on what my age was.

ALSO- I've been nominated over at the Maximum Ride Awards, which are different from Myrah's. Any nominations for any story are INCREDIBLY awesome. The link is on my profile – but once again, nominate stories by authors who deserve the award.

Reviewer of the Week:

Reiko Rose: Iggy and his perverted comments keep me entertained to no end...

Comment of the Week:

A friend: What did the zero say to the eight? NICE BELT.

August 1, 2009

Dear Diary,

Today's the day: according to my Timeline of Death, I need to start reading Twilight. Remember: Edward and I are both mythological creatures. And he's dead. So if a dead guy can get a girl, I'll be damned if I can't.

And I need Edward more than ever. (Creepy. I sounded like a totally fangirl there.) But ever since our near-passionate moment that Angel completely destroyed, shattered and crushed, Max wouldn't stay in the same room as me. The last time she stayed away from me was when I wouldn't stop speaking in a British accent. (I read on an online guide that girls dig British accents. Apparently not.)

"I'm heading over to the library," I said, sliding a messenger bag over my windbreaker. I'd been doing more research into the complete disappearance of Beyoncé Spears, but with no luck. It was as if she didn't exist. Well, technically she didn't, but...oh, God, this is just a headache waiting to happen.

Everyone was gathered in the family room, watching the local news. "Shh!" Ella said. She was petting Total absently. "They're about to interview the kid."

"What kid?" I asked, perching on the back of the couch right behind Nudge.

Ella answered calmly, but there was an undercurrent of panic in her voice. "A few nights ago some local teen got attacked. His nose was broken, and he was in such pain he couldn't talk. But the doctors just said he could talk without pain now, so the local TV people are going to interview him so they can profile the attackers."

I paused, panic starting to crawl up through my body. "What?"

Dr. M continued. "Crazy, isn't it? The whole town is petrified that they're going to be attacked. Practically everyone is going to be watching tonight. Hell, the interview was announced in the paper."

Below me, Nudge was a stone wall.

"Oh yeah?" I asked. Dr. M was about to say something when dramatic music started to play on the TV and a graphic popped up, reading 'CRIME WATCH'.

The anchor, a perky blonde type, said in a serious voice, "I'm Cassy Grace, and this is the evening's top story. Five days ago, an innocent teenager was brutally attacked outside of a local gas station. His injuries were life-threatening. Only recently were we able to get doctors' permission to interview the teenager. Here's his story."

Oh, no. No, no, nononono-

A voice cut off my dramatic monologue. "It was so horrible," a voice croaked. In horror, my worst fears were confirmed: the teen was the one Nudge had punched. He was lying on a hospital bed. Honestly, he didn't look that bad. He was a bit pale, and his nose was in bandages, but other than that, he looked just like the jerk had a few nights ago. Life-threatening my ass.

"There were two of them," he said in pain, obviously milking it. "A guy and a girl. The girl was short, around twelve, with fuzzy brown hair…the guy just looked like Harry Potter."

GOD DAMMIT.

"I was just trying to say hello to them," he continued. "They looked like nice folks. But – but they came over to me and started beating…beating the crap out of me! They kicked me all over...puched me everywhere...they were even swearing at me in Spanish! There was this horrendous crunch, and I knew my nose had broken. Then they suddenly fled, scared. My buddies went after them, but they got away. I don't think I'll ever get over…the pain…"

Cassy, the anchor, suddenly appeared back onscreen. "Luckily for the folks of Mesa, one of Antonio's friends is an artist who managed to get a good look at the two perpetrators. The friend was able to talk to witnesses at the event, including the gas station attendant, who sold several wares to the attackers, to come up with the following sketch." Suddenly, a black-and-white drawing appeared on the TV.

It was as if someone had taken a picture of Nudge and me.

The whole room exploded.

And I mean in literally, too. As in, if I managed to stick twenty tonnes of TNT into the room and set it off, it would've had the same effect as the drawing.

"FANG! NUDGE" Max roared, jumping to her feet from the opposite side of the room. "WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO?"

"YOU NEARLY KILLED HIM!" Dr. M shouted, also on her feet. Well, by now, everyone was standing. Ella had bolted to her mother's side, now realizing that the people she'd been fearing had been standing right beside her and had just eaten breakfast with her.

"JESUS, FANG, YOU'RE A WANTED CRIMINAL ON TV. THAT IS SO COOL," Gazzy said, something along the lines of hero-worship in his eyes.

Everyone else started to yell, too. I sighed. "Shut UP!" I yelled. They did so.

"Okay," I said, realizing I was skating on thin ice. Max was ready to kill me, then and there. I leaned on the back of the couch with one hand. Even if I was nervous, I wasn't going to show it.

"One, we didn't nearly kill him. He was an asshole and we broke his nose. Two, he was an asshole, as previously stated. He started coming onto Nudge. Three, there was only one punch delivered, and we bolted as soon as it happened. Four, there was nothing seriously wrong with him. I've delivered enough punches to know which ones are fatal."

Silence fell onto the room. And then-

"Fang, you are officially the coolest person on the planet. Cooler than bacon, even, and that's pretty damn cool."

Dr. M had her head in her hands. I didn't envy her for that kickass migraine she was about to endure. "Which one of you broke his nose?"

"I did," I spoke quickly. Nudge just looked at me, astonished. I shook my head slightly. It was my fault we had gotten into this mess – I shouldn't have allowed us to go out in the middle of the night so we could bake a cake. I mean, it was a good cake, but for a cake to be worth being on a criminal watch, it fell short. I think most cakes would. Well, maybe not one of those thousand-dollar ones that have gold all over them...

"I think you should leave," Dr. M said slowly. "Just give me a second to think this through."

I nodded. Okay, it was understandable she was angry – she was harboring two of Mesa's most wanted criminals.

"I'm off to the library," I said, grabbing the first library card I saw on the counter. "I'll be back by sunset."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" Iggy asked. Out of everyone in the room, he was the most calm. He was so apathetic he made No Drama Obama look like the queen of tantrums. "I mean, you're a wanted criminal. Don't you think someone's going to recognize you?"

I shrugged and zipped up my windbreaker. "Anyone who was watching that program was at home, and they probably won't go out to the library of all places."

I left at that, seeing as I really didn't want to be argued with. I started the short walk to the bus stop, thinking everything over. Mesa had a population of over four hundred thousand, and if a lot of people had been watching the news program, I was pretty much screwed.

The bus arrived quickly. As I put my change in the little slot, I couldn't help but feel all of the occupants of the bus sizing me up. Their eyes followed me as I sat at the very back.

There was no way they could have seen the program and have also been on the bus. But still…their beady little eyes…

"Nick! Hey, what a coincidence!"

God, please stop playing practical jokes on me.

It was none other than Lissa.

"I can't believe we've seen each other twice now, and both times on the bus!" she squealed, sitting beside me. The bus was pretty full, and a figure stood right beside her seat. She noticed that I was looking at the guy.

"Oh, right, sorry," she said, blushing slightly, "This is my boyfriend, Ryan."

Ryan looked like the person who would murder children with an axe as they dreamed at night. Lissa couldn't be older than fifteen, and Ryan looked twenty or so. He had some pretty awesome muscles under his shirt, and he even had a beard. The only people with beards are creepy old men and Santa Clause impersonators. I nodded towards him. "Hey."

He just nodded as well. See, in the Man Universe, guys nod to each other as a form of a greeting. None of that wussy, "Hey girl, how have you been?" crap girls out through. Nods scream badassness.

"So where're you off to?" she asked politely, noticing a lull in the conversation.

"Library," I answered quickly, looking out the window. Don't ask why, don't ask why, don't ask why…

"Anything special you're looking for?"

"No," I answered quickly. "Maybe something manly, you know, like the novel form of Die Hard or Transformers. Not something girly or anything, obviously…"

She nodded, and I felt a surge of happiness that she didn't continue. Actually, she wasn't all that bad. At least she wasn't looking for a boyfriend, then.

"So did you hear about that poor kid that got attacked? I missed the interview with the kid, but my parents taped it," she said. I sighed. What was with this town?

"I'm going to go watch it right now, actually. My parents don't want me out late anymore." She shifted her eyes nervously.

"Huh," I said, nodding. Well, in a few minutes, Lissa was going to see my picture. What the hell, I might as well have some fun. "You know, I heard one of the attackers was really good-looking. Hot, even."

Shock ran through her features. "You mean it was a girl who attacked him?"

I proved my strength by not rolling my eyes at her stupidity. "No, it was a really hot guy who attacked him-"

I cut myself off.

Why do I say stupid things like this?

Damn.

"Oh," she said, not sure what to say. Ryan, meanwhile, was lost in his own thoughts. (Probably thoughts of decapitating kittens, but whatever.) "So a hot guy attacked him? Anyone else?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, that's all I heard."

She pursed her lips awkwardly. "Oh."

"Oh, indeed."

More awkwardness followed that was punctuated only by the sounds of snoring from someone at the front of the bus. I couldn't help but wonder what Ryan did for living. An assassin, probably.

"Here's my stop," I said, sliding out of my seat. "See you later,"

"Bye," she said, rather sadly. Ryan sat in my empty seat. He nodded, as did I. (Diary, if I could, I would recommend that you nod to someone at least twice a day. It feels so kickass, let me tell you.)

It was late out, which was evident from the setting sun. I quickly made my way through the many stores around downtown, finally arriving at the public library. It was pretty shabby and run-down, the city no doubt spending its budget on things like doughnuts for the Mayor's meetings.

There were two levels: one for children, and one for adults. Where would Twilight be located? With a heavy heart, I went up the stairs to the children's department.

All the little kids stared at me as I went through the many bookcases. It didn't help I was three feet taller than most of them. "His back is so lumpy!" one of them squealed, only to be shushed by an embarrassed parent.

Humph. A lumpy back? The Hunchback of Notre Dame has a lumpy back. Mine is simply…curvy.

With a sense of relief, I pulled a copy out of the bookshelf that was tattered and dog-eared. As I brought it up to the front desk to sign it out, I couldn't help but feel embarrassed as I set the book down.

The frumpy librarian broke into a grin as she saw the book. "Oh, Twilight," she said, starting to scan the book. "It's so romantic. I broke up with my Freddie because he wasn't enough like Edward. He's such a prince…"

Woah.

She broke up with someone because he wasn't enough like a fictional character?

I was never, ever going to let Max read the book.

"Oh, sorry," the librarian said, frowning. Her glasses were starting to slip down her nose. "A book can only be signed out by someone with their own card. You can't borrow someone else's."

I vaguely remembered grabbing the first card I had seen as I escaped out of the house. "It is mine."

The librarian lowered her glasses, as if to get a better look at me. "You're Ella Martinez?"

I bit my lip. Why couldn't I have taken Gazzy, Iggy, or even Max's card?

I nodded. "Ella, yes, that's me. My parents had already picked out the name, since they thought I was going to be a girl. They had the name printed on all of my baby stuff, and they didn't want to replace it."

Huh. That wasn't that bad of a lie. Nice one, Fang.

The librarian just shrugged. "That's a shame. You must get teased mercilessly."

"You have no idea." Then again, Fang is a pretty weird name. But 'Fang' is a lot cooler than 'Ella'. If I had to rename myself, it'd probably Claw or something cool like that. I mean, you get in a fight for the death with someone named 'Fang'. You go shopping with someone named 'Ella'.

"Here you go, Ella," she handed the book over. "You'll love it."

"Thanks," I mumbled, taking it and shoving it in my messenger bad. There was no way I'd let anyone see it.

I quickly made my way out of the library and back to the bus stop. By now, the sun had set and the city looked remarkably like a horror movie waiting to happen. I practically expected the people from the Thriller music video come out and turn me into a zombie or something.

Downtown was busy at this time of night. A lot of university kids from Phoenix came here to party, obviously, since they were all dressed up in shiny, flashy clothes that looked shockingly like aluminum foil. I was walking on the sidewalk, trying to make the bus, happy that I could get some tips on how to get a girl – even from a fictional character.

And then it happened.

I caught a pretty girl's eye as I passed by her on the crowded sidewalk. Her eyes narrowed, checking me over, and they suddenly widened. She stopped in her tracks and screamed.

"OH MY GOD IT'S HIM, THE ATTACKER! SOMEONE HELP HE'S GOING TO KILL ME."

...Damn.

Everyone around the girl suddenly jumped back, forming a circle around me. They were all talking loudly, trying to figure out if I really was the person they'd seen on TV.

"No way!" one of them yelled, drunk. He stumbled into the circle as more people joined the circumference. He walked right up to me. "I'll take care of him! It's okay, girls, you're safe with me!"

He threw a lazy punch towards me which I dodged easily. "It's not me!" I yelled. "I'm the wrong person!"

Everyone around me laughed and shouted, "Liar!" and "Asshole!" (Actually, there were worse insults, including a rather inspired one that included my mother and a monkey.)

"Come on boys, let's bring him to the cops," someone said. Four older teenagers stepped into the ring, grabbing me.

"Let go!" I shouted. I couldn't let them bring me to the cops – the first thing they'd make me do was take off my windbreaker. And the definition of 'keeping low' does not include 'get caught by the cops', sadly enough. Bummer.

Each teen grabbed a limb each so that I was suspended above the ground. I felt like a pig that was about to be roasted. There were two things I could do: Let them take me to the cops, or escape.

Escape was the only option.

Mentally, I sighed. This wasn't going to be pretty.

"You've got five seconds!" I yelled above the turmoil, people crowding my vision. I didn't hear what they said, but three seconds later, I reacted.

I ripped my legs out of their grasp, my feet hitting the ground, but my arms still being held. With a huge effort, I tore my arms free and started running. The crowd was weaker where it bordered the street. I pushed through them easily, most people thinking I was trying to attack them. I jumped from the curb and sprinted across the street, nimbly jumping over a moving car that would easily garnered a million hits on Youtube if someone had caught it on camera.

"Get him!" I heard one of the guys yell.

Even though I was sprinting like crazy, I rolled my eyes. Yes, why don't you chase after the alleged attacker? Probably for the glory of getting me in jail.

The bus was completely out of the picture by now, since I'm pretty sure Mesa Transit doesn't like supposed assailants on their buses. I kept running, the sounds of running footsteps gradually disappearing as the stores thinned out and I went into the neighborhood surrounding downtown.

Cookie-cutter houses lined the streets as I kept up my job. I was in luck – the community bordered onto a forest. I headed towards there, hearing shouts behind me. I turned.

They had a car.

A freaking car.

I was officially in an action movie. I was half-expecting a helicopter to appear on the horizon with half-naked women shooting at me with bazookas.

I can outrun a car, easy, but not while trying to keep a low profile. Cursing at the royal assholes in my head, I sped up, my messenger bag bumping uncomfortably against my leg. I just managed to make it to the forest, jumping over the curb and disappearing into the trees. I whipped off my windbreaker and bag, holding them close to my chest as my wings spread out behind me.

I bent my legs and sprung upwards, the cool night air feeling nice. (Isn't it awesome that I can still think about how nice the air feels while running from a group of half-drunk men?) Seeing a tree perfect for perching on, I sat carefully, watching the events going on below.

The guys had gotten out of the car and were tramping around the forest, shouting, "Come out, come out, wherever you are!"

Haha, right.

I sat there for a good ten minutes, until finally they gave up and went back to their car. After another five minutes of waiting –safety first, kiddies – I jumped down and started the walk home.

It took about half an hour, since I kept mainly to the forest and the occasional side street. Whenever a car came along, I'd jump behind the nearest bush. So basically, now I'm going to get arrested for trespassing, too.

Don't you just love life?

I mean, today was one of the more memorable days I've had in a while. I'm a wanted criminal with a copy of Twilight. I can't help but wonder if there's some sort of link. Finally, I could see the house.

"Where've you been?" Max called from the front porch. As I came closer, she asked, "Damn. Did you get in a fight with a tree and lose?"

I looked at myself. Hmm, she was right. My clothes were all dirty and cut from my forest escapade, and there was a scratch through my jeans that you could see blood through. When had that happened? I guess my pain tolerance is higher than I thought. So really, chances are I'll be chopped in half one day and I'll just be all, 'Oh, my, what a curious tingling sensation!'

"It was a big tree," I answered sadly. "Mother Nature struck back."

"So Mom went out," she said, taking my bag from my as I climbed up the steps. "I have no idea where she is."

"Is she mad?" I asked, opening the door. The house smelled like gasoline and vanilla. (Just so you know, diary: never, ever let Gazzy cook.)

"Pissed."

"Always better pissed off than pissed on," I replied, sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. Max, who was still holding my messenger bag, starting to unzip it.

"What'd you sign out?" she asked curiously, peering in.

"NOTHING," I yelled, lunging for the bag. She held it behind her, teasing me with it. She was leaning against the counter, so I took the opportunity and pinned her there with one hand. We paused, locked in the embrace.

"Oh really? Why so possessive?" Something had changed. We weren't brother-and-sister Max and Fang. We were let's-get-hot-and-heavy Max and Fang.

"I tend to be possessive over the things I love most," I whispered, very aware of my hand on her waist. I leaned in. Her eyes were wide, she was breathing heavily, and her mouth opened up ever so subtly-

Closer…

Closer…

"Hey Fang, I'm glad your back, I sat on your laptop and no one can get it to turn on."

Iggy came stumbling into the kitchen, going straight to the fridge. Obviously, he had no idea of the position that Max and I were in. "And I think Gazzy ended up burning your favorite pair of jeans. I have no idea how he did it, but somehow his toast ended up on fire, and things went downhill from there…"

Max and I were frozen against each other in fear, not making a sound. Iggy looked up. "Fang? You okay?"

"Yeah," I breathed. He didn't know Max was there! "Um, it's okay about the laptop. And the jeans."

"Cool beans." He took out a can of soda and popped the tab. He took a long sip. "I'm off to bed."

"Night." I could barely speak.

"Night, Fang." He started to walk down the hallway. Halfway to our room, he paused. He didn't turn around, but I could hear the smile in his voice. "Night, Max."

Max and I stared at each other in horror. "He knew," she said softly.

I shook my head. We were so close my hair brushed against her forehead. "I don't think so. I think he was just trying to fake me out." But saying that didn't stop that horrible pit in my stomach.

Did Iggy know that I was in love with Max? And for that matter, did the rest of the Flock?

Well then.

This sort of sucks.

-Fang