A/N- In Environmental Science one day, I got bored while reading a package about wastewater treatment facilities. On the top of the page I wrote, "BACON IS ATTACKING" and drew pieces of bacon firing bazookas and flamethrowers at the plant, which now had flames and smoke spewing from it. Basically, it was awesome.

Then, a few nights ago, I was studying for my upcoming test, when my Mom walked over to talk to me. She looked down at my page, and was just like, "Bacon is what?" I just threw back my head and laughed.

Reviewer of the Week:

MagnusMinion: …And my iTunes was on shuffle and "Thriller" by Michael Jackson came on. I totally expected you the Creeper Child to pop out and kill me. Thanks a lot.

Comment of the Week:

The Facebook status of the same person who said that picture of me was creepy: Dear Biology: That dark figure at the end of the bed with a gun pointed at you.... Yeah, that's me. Sweet dreams.

January 22nd, 2010

Dear Diary,

YOU WOULD NOT BELIEVE WHAT I FOUND OUT.

This is unbelievable.

I can't believe I didn't figure it out before. Wow. Just… wow. It makes so much sense, you know? It's about as obvious as Albert Einstein in the middle of a rave party. I can't believe I missed it, because once you go back and look at the facts, the truth is what glares right back at you. I feel like a fool, but at least I've figured it out now-

Dr. M must put marijuana in her cookies.

There is no freaking way they can taste that good without illegal substances in them.

I figured this out about halfway through my seventh gooey, warm, succulent (I'll admit I just shivered) chocolate chip cookie. And yes, I contemplated selling my soul if I could have a never-ending supply of these cookies.

But ohmyfreakingGod, words cannot describe the wonder. Bacon is edible sex; cookies are edible orgasms. Think about it. Bacon lasts longer and involves foreplay, while cookies, like orgasms, are over in a second.

…I am such a perverted child.

Cookies… and orgasms? In the same sentence?

My apologies, Cookie Monster, I have forever tainted your image.

But Dr. M was totally amazing about the whole cookie thing. You see, me, being a complete spaz, slipped on some water while I was cooking, wiped out, whammed my head, and basically made a fool over myself.

Dr. M was the only one around at the time, so she made sure I was okay and put me in bed. And basically, ever since then, she's practically been waiting on me hand-and-foot to make sure I recover. It's awesome; everyone needs their own personal cook.

Dr. M is awesome. I can't believe I was every angry at her for the whole wedding thing.

The thing is, since I've had a lot of time off (from what, I have no idea), so I've started to read the newspapers and try to make some sort of heads-or-tails of the month's events. From the New Yorker came this small blurb:

Police are still dumbfounded as to the cause of the massive New York City blackout back on January first. Officials were surprised to find that only the NYC power grid was blacked out, and other areas were completely untouched.

And then, from an Ontario newspaper:

So who or what is the mystery surrounding Niagara Falls? Most of North America has seen the famous video of the figure falling off of the Falls, but no one has yet to offer an explanation how the person managed to fly away…

Yeah, you read that last paragraph right, Diary. "The famous video" happened to be taken by a tourist from the Maid of the Mist and showed me in all my glory tumbling over the Falls. In my defence, I already have eight million views on Youtube. "You could've at least tried to look cool," Nudge had muttered as the digital me smashed into the digital water. It was so weird seeing me make a fool of myself over and over and over.

So other than reading newspapers, my main source of entertainment has been cookies. I think I'd like to wipe out more often.

Still, the only sucky thing about my graceful (sarcasm) accident was that I completely lost my short-term memory, but all in all, that's not a big deal when you consider what could have happened. I'm just lucky Dr. M was around.

And the other awesome part about being a spaz?

Being able to play the sympathy card.

"Arrggg," I groaned from the couch as I heard Max step into the kitchen. This actually happened just this morning – I'll fully admit I stretched out the whole ordeal for extra cookies. "Ughh… my head…oh, poor, poor, me… I'm sure a full-body massage would help me so, so much…"

"Do you really expect me to believe that?" Max asked. I couldn't see her, but I heard the fridge door open and close in rapid succession. "I bet if some random person breaks into the house and tries to kill us, then there will suddenly be a wondrous miracle and you'll feel marvellously better." She perched on the arm of the couch, but I had my eyes closed.

"Are you really expecting some random person to break into the house and try to kill us? Please, we're above that. They would be hardcore pirates with katanas." Well, actually, they'd be ninjas. Whatever.

OH ME GOSH.

(I totally meant to say "Oh my gosh" but the Irish accent crept in there somehow, and I hate crossing words out in you, Diary, because it looks like some poor stickman bled to death on the page.)

YOU KNOW WHAT WOULD BE SO COOL?

Pinjas.

Pirate ninjas.

HAHAHAHAHA.

I really hope no one's thought of that before me, because it's a brilliant idea, thank you very much. But you can't get more legit than pinjas. (I have to admit, "pinja" sounds like a Spanish snack food. Are Nirates better? Nah, that sounds that a chemical.)

But I think I should get back to the conversation Max and I had. I literally think it's impossible for me to stay on the same topic for more than a page without some totally unnecessary side note. (My notes are just as unnecessary as Jacob randomly stripping off his shirt when Bella got that little cut – OH MY GOD I'M DOING IT AGAIN.)

"Are you expecting pirates or something? I thought I said no pirates." I opened one of my eyes and found an amused Max staring down at me. "They have an annoying tendency to steal the loot and mutiny against me."

"But they have cool parrots."

"I agree. The parrots are cool."

Yeah, that's right. My attempt at flirting involves parrots.

"So you won't believe who I was talking to last night on Facebook." This caught my interest, and my other eye popped open. I had a feeling this wasn't going to go in my favour.

"Oh?"

"Yeah." She paused. "Aren't you going to ask who it was?"

Ugh, darn, she called me out. In my gut, I knew who she was talking to…and my gut is always right. (Especially when my gut says it wants bacon. Then, it's faultless.) My voice was accidentally sarcastic. "Who?"

"You remember Sam, right?"

OF COURSE I REMEMBER THE BASTARD.

"Yeah, actually, I do." Oh, and by the way, I knocked him out and sent him to the hospital. "He's a cool guy."

I must tell you, saying those last four words was about as painful as threading a needle through my tongue. (Eww…) But I knew Max appreciated it. "What's up with him?"

"Did you know he's in Arizona?"

"Get out." My voice was stupidly bland, and Max totally saw something was wrong. Max and I have this thing where we can tell when the other person is "off". This ability should be romantic, but it sucks when I just want to be emo. (That previous sentence was a joke, Diary. If I'm emo, so is Selena Gomez.)

"What's up? You don't like him? Why not? Don't tell me you're jealous."

How in the world could she possibly get it so accurate? If she told me to pick a number between one and ten, and I' picked "tomato," then she would guess it spot on. She's freaky like that. "Me? Jealous? Psssh. That's like saying Chuck Norris can feel pain – ridiculous and slightly insulting at the same time."

She laughed. "Of course. Anyways, I'm meeting him for lunch."

"Oh, really?" WHATWHATWHAT?

"Yeah, it's going to be great."

"Where are you going?" I'm going to stake out the place and punch him in the face.

"Applebee's."

"What time?" He'll never come out of there alive.

"One."

"Cool." I've already chosen my weapon.

"Are you sure? I feel sort of bad about leaving you here alone after that accident." She put a hand on my shoulder, which caused my heart to leap out of my chest. "But it's not as if it's… a date." She said the word like diarrhea. "I just want to chat with him."

Oh, come on. Forty-year-old ladies with Chihuahuas chat. Two teenagers make out. I'm not totally crazy. (Only, like, ninety percent.)

"That's fine with me. Say hi for me."

"Of course." She patted my shoulder again. (How could she not hear my heart pounding out of my chest?) "But I'll get going now."

"Already?" I glanced at my watch; it was 12:30. Time flies by really, really fast when you're shoving cookies in your mouth. Try running on a treadmill for one minute and then stuffing your face with cookies for a minute. Which one is more awesome? Yeah, I thought so.

"Yeah. We're catching the 12:40 bus together."

"And you're going to the Applebee's downtown, right? Not the one in the south end?"

"Yeah. Why do you care?"

"No reason. Just curious." Curious so I wouldn't bomb the wrong Applebee's.

"Okay, sounds good. I'll see you later." She got up from the couch and grabbed her jacket before waving and leaving the house. The door banged harshly behind her. I noticed that as she moved, her hair curled around her shoulders, and her jeans were rather hip-hugging today... let's just say that after a few more descriptive sentences, I'm glad Angel wasn't home at that precise moment.

As soon as the door shut, I sprang into action. I flew off of the couch, shedding blankets as I went and changed into new clothes. (I may or may not have been wearing the same shirt for three days.)

Within two minutes I was outside and flying. As I glanced down, I saw Max waiting at the bus stop, and I smirked.

So, yeah, I officially hit a new creeper level.

I was just going to keep an eye on Sam and Max to make sure he didn't hurt her or anything, since there was no way he was going to be pulling any moves today.

My motives were purely for Max's personal safety, and had absolutely nothing to do with my own feelings, of course.

Not at all.

(Liar.)

I beat Max and Sam to Applebee's by a good twenty minutes. In order to stake out their arrival, I hid out in a bush. (Yeah. A bush. You wouldn't believe the stares I got.) The restaurant was in the middle of downtown, too, which made it even weirder. (Me and Weird are like Paris and Nicole.)

Basically, just as I was about to stand up, since my legs felt like they were on fire, I saw Max and Sam walk over to the entrance of the restaurant.

He held the door open for her.

Asshole.

As they disappeared through the doorway, I knelt down and ran across the street, looking like a total douche since I was dressed in all black looking like a ninja in the middle of the day in the middle of the street.

I am so cool.

(Sarcasm, again.)

I waited for a few seconds before slipping through the doorway. The most wonderful smells of over-salted and greasy foods filled my nostrils, and for a second, I was sidetracked. But when I saw a waitress seating Max and Sam in a private booth near the back (well, as private as you can get in Applebee's) I remembered what I was doing.

"Can I help you, sir?" A bored waitress looked at me sceptically. She seemed to match the tacky decor. (Did I really just comment on the decor of a restaurant? How low can I go?) "Oh, right. Welcome to Applebee's."

"Yeah. Um, can you get me that booth right there?" I pointed. "I'll wait there. My…friend is coming later."

She blinked. "Excuse me?"

This wasn't brain surgery. (And even if it was, she should still know freaking brain surgery. It can't be that hard.) "Can you seat me there, but not serve me? I'm waiting for a friend."

"Oh, okay. Follow me." She led me past all of the other tables and sat me down at the booth behind Max and Sam's. You see, the headrests were high enough so that you couldn't see the person in the next booth. As a bonus, Max was sitting in the seat directly behind the one where I was sitting, meaning that she didn't see me as the waitress sat me down.

I glared at Sam as I sat down, but he didn't notice, since that lovesick puppy's eyes were glued to Max's soft, warm, caring face-

"Do you want something to drink?" The waitress asked.

"No. Go away." Eh, screw manners.

The startled waitress did a sort of weird snort and walked over to a table with some five-year-old dancing on the table. I settled down and creeped Max and Sam.

"So," Sam began, "How have you been?"

Max took a moment to answer, no doubt calculating some sort of simple life she never lived. I mean, saying, "Yeah, I'm good, my best friend is going to die in June, and by the way, I have wings," isn't the greatest icebreaker.

"I'm good," she said, "I really like Arizona. It's great to have a relatively warm winter."

"I know what you mean…blah, blah blah, blah…" As you can tell, I zoned out then, Diary. Honestly, everything they talked about was innocent and totally platonic. I mean, you couldn't have picked two more guiltless teenagers in the whole state. I felt like I was in the fifties or something.

That was, until –

"Hey, do you still live with that Nick, er, Alex kid?"

Woah. Do you want to die today, kid?

Even though I couldn't see her, I could tell Max was taken aback. I quickly thought over my escape plan; if Max hinted that she was going to leave, then I'd boot it into the bathroom, where she obviously couldn't go. (Unless she was a pervert, of course.) "I live with Nick, yeah. You remember him?"

"You mean he didn't tell you?"

"Tell me what?"

Stop now, Sam, preferably before I kill you and get arrested and am forced to serve twenty-to-life in some sort of hellish prison where there is a serious lack of cookies.

"Never mind, I'm sure it wasn't him."

"Why, what happened?"

"It wasn't a big deal. I just happened to end up in the hospital."

"What?"

And just like that, Sam spilled the beans on our little encounter that occurred on December eleventh. No matter how much it pains me to say, I agree with Sam; it so wasn't a big deal. It's not like he's dead or anything.

"So let me get this straight," Max said calmly. "He punched you, and then next thing you know, you're in a hospital? That's all you remember?"

"Yeah. I think I blacked out from blood loss."

Silence. I could feel the tension rolling off of Max, and I grimaced. I wasn't going to get away with this. "I've got to go," Max said suddenly, and within the second, she had grabbed her coat and got out of the booth.

I repeat: within the second.

I didn't have time to hide.

As soon as Max stood up, she happened to glance right at me.

Her mouth dropped.

"Fang!" she yelled loudly, catching the attention of anyone within a five-table radius. ("Fang" isn't the most inconspicuous of names, I'll admit it.)

"Fancy seeing you here," I said blandly.

Note to future self: When a girl is pissed, don't add fuel to the fire.

She was pretty much trembling she was so angry. There was a little part of my brain that thought she looked like she was about to transform into a werewolf. She said each word as a sentence, which was a grammatical tragedy. "What. Are. You. Doing. Here?"

"Enjoying my lunch," I said, before looking down at my empty table. This was a total example of how my sarcasm is a defence mechanism, since all I really wanted to do was grab Max and make out with her passionately on one of those Applebee's tables. (I will admit, however, that Applebee's isn't the most romantic place in the world.)

"You followed me here. How could you? Don't you trust me?"

Admit it. That was a cliché sentence.

I couldn't really think of anything that I could possibly say to cover up my tracks, so I sat there stupidly, until Sam finally said, "Your name is Fang?"

"Shut up!" both Max and I yelled at him. By now most of the restaurant was looking at us, and some waiters and waitresses were eyeing us dangerously. (Not eyeing us sexily, but we're-about-to-kick-you-out-ily.)

"We're leaving," Max said to me, and an instinctive part of me wanted to go, "Yes, dear."

"I'll phone!" Sam shouted as we burst through the doors and out into the sunshine.

We hurriedly walked to the bus stop, seeing as we needed to keep up appearances if Sam followed us. Max was fuming, and as soon as we arrived at the blue pole that signified it was a bus stop, and turned on me.

"Did you really just follow me on a date?"

My heart died. "You said it wasn't a date."

Max laughed lightly, which was a good thing. "A lunch date. There's a huge difference between a lunch date and a date date."

"But can a date date lead to a date?"

"No!"

She paused, closed her eyes, and breathed out. She looked down and started to twist the end of her unzippered jacket. "Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spaz at you. It's just… I've been screwing up a lot lately, and I keep getting worse."

What? This conversation had taken a total twist. It's like saying, "Hey, how are you? I like turtles."

"You haven't been messing up!" I said. "Not at all."

"Are you kidding? Fang, we just blacked out New York City, and you just plunged into Niagara Falls! And you're saying I didn't mess up? I'm the one who lost their temper! I pushed you over the border, and that's why you fell. It's my fault, Fang, and let me deal with that!"

"You're just self-pitying yourself! Snap out of it, Max!" That must have been why she agreed to have lunch with Sam. She was just looking for someone to talk to. Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself that. Who knows?

She closed her eyes again. "Look. Let's forget it and move on."

I smiled. "Forgiven, but not forgotten."

The bus came shortly after, and we talked amiably enough during the ride. When I say "amiably" I mean I didn't blast Sam and/or make out with Max. Bummer. (About the latter, not the former, of course.)

We arrived home to find Dr. M hanging up the phone with a slight smile on her face. The smile grew when she saw us walk in the door. "Who was on the phone?" Max asked as she slung off her jacket.

"Hmm? Oh, I just phoned the Red Cross. I donated some money for the Haiti relief fund."

"That's great!" Max said, kissing her Mom lightly. But for some reason, the fact that Dr. M donated to charity sort of felt… weird.

"What's with the weird look, Fang?" Dr. M asked kindly. It took me a moment to realize what she said, since I was watching Max as she walked down the hallway to her room. Dr. M added, "You know, not everything is black or white. Sometimes, life is in shades of grey."

"What do you mean?" Talk about a random comment.

She waved a hand away. "Never mind. And if you see Gazzy, can you tell him to come here? I'm missing some flour, and I'm pretty sure a white Total just sprinted past the window."

I laughed. "Sure thing."

And so, the rest of the day was mainly spent eating more cookies. Gazzy got grounded, Iggy got away free, and Nudge had caught everything on camera. Max hasn't spoken to me since the bus ride, but I'm pretty sure she's finally chilled out.

Right now, I'm sitting in bed, which is where I've spent a lot of time lately since my accident. The only annoying thing is whenever I need to eat, I need to get out of bed. Hey, wait a minute… what if I invented bacon furniture? How cool would that be? The convenience would be astounding!

And why do I get the feeling that someone's already invented it? That's a shame, I could've been a millionaire.

But I guess that's all that happened today. I feel that something is... wrong, but I guess having only a few months left to live will do that to you. I can tell Max is ready to fly to Australia and back in order to find a solution for my expiry date.

But maybe… maybe I should just go with the flow. Maybe everything happens for a reason.

Maybe I'm supposed to die.

Still, I can't help but think back to what Dr. M said.

Not everything is black or white. Sometimes, life is in shades of grey.

-Fang

A/N2- So, this story is past the halfway point now, and I've got some questions:

What's your favourite and least favourite part of the story?

What has been your favourite scene?

Who is your favourite character?

What's your opinion on sex jokes/swearing/the stuff half this story is made of?

If I say, "Duck," what do you say?

What would you like to see happen next in the story?

What do you NOT want to happen?

Do you picture that creeper child writing this story?

ARE YOU SICK OF BACON?

Thank you guys so, so much for making this story work. I really can't thank you guys enough! (Internet bacon props, fo'sho.) (Also, links and emails are taken out of reviews. If you want to send me something or guarantee that I respond to you, feel free to email me.)