A/N- Check out the music video for Thinking 'Bout Something by Hanson. (It gets points just for the Blues Brothers reference.) DANCE PARTY, NOW. LET'S DO THIS.
5000 reviews? In short: thank you. In long: merci, gracias, grazie, baie dankie, Σας ευχαριστώ, شكرا لك , obrigado, salamat sa inyo, terima kasih, danke, teşekkür ederim, mèsi, 谢谢, धन्यवाद, takk, dank u, 有り難う, Благодаря, Ačiū, and every other language out there. As a random fact, those are all languages native to countries that readers of this story are from.
Kudos to Shannon Bananon for wanting an IHOP scene.
Reviewer of the Week:
Shelbs13: Everything should be measured in BACONS. I wear size BACON jeans. Its BACON degrees outside. The movie Avatar is rated BACON. It would make life more BACON!
Comment of the Week:
Domenica LaRocco "dimi546": I really hope that when they told Daniel Radcliffe he got the role as Harry, they had Robbie Coltrane (Hagrid) come to his house and say, "You're a wizard, Daniel."
May 23rd, 2010
Dear Diary,
"Hey, Max, do you want to go out with me?"
"No, Fang. I hate you and want your soul to rot in Hell. I want to make sure that you can only eat kale and asparagus for the rest of your life. I will make sure that The Song that Never Ends is played constantly around you. I will then prove to the world that you have read Twilight and therefore are not a man. Moreover, I will broadcast to the world that your abs are less than satisfactory because you don't even have a four-pack."
This is why I'm scared to ask out Max.
I should have asked my Mom last night, since she'd know all about this girl stuff. I can't really describe how freaking hard it is to ask out girls. I mean, they have it so easy; they just have to accept the flowers and chocolates and swoon. Meanwhile, the guys actually have to put their hearts on the line. (And then have those hearts SHOT and CRUSHED and RIPPED.)
There's tough competition, too. All the girls out there expect their boyfriends to be mind-readers and sparkle and give them everlasting life. Seeing as there's a nine-in-ten chance I'm going to die in a week and I once watched an America's Next Top Model marathon, I really don't think I'm all that attractive to girls.
I waited forever, too. The past few days have been crazy. We've been pursuing every possible lead to find Dr. M, including going to everyone and everything from her dentist to her old elementary school in order to find something – anything! – that could tip us off to her location. There was nothing.
But I know she'll come to us, not the other way around.
I know she'll come to us before June first, too… I just know it. And that's why for the last while, I haven't really been into searching for Dr. M and I've spent all my time trying to figure out a suitable place to take Max for a date. So yeah, I'm a horrible person.
But where could I possibly take her?
Movies – Oh, yeah, only to have Max subconsciously compare me to the airbrushed/Photoshopped guys on screen. But I feel superstitious since the last time we were at the movies together, I had to hide from her since it was the opening of New Moon. That wasn't one of my prouder moments.
Concert- What music does Max listen to? Probably screamo, I just know it.
Dinner- That's an option, but chances are I would lose control of my motor skills and end up spilling my food on her.
Something Else That Involves Bacon- Hell yes.
Actually, the randomness of that gives me an idea. Mesa has quite a few public parks, and the weather has been great lately (I totally get that because I'm probably going to die soon, the weather should be all DEATH and DESPAIR and DARKNESS but it's actually been sunny with the occasional chance of clouds) and these parks have some pretty nice fountains and stuff. (Total run-on sentence there. Whatever.)
So wouldn't it be great if we could just… hang out? And not do anything?
Genius, Fang. Genius. I just pwned Albert Einstein… a real genius doesn't need the theory of relativity; a real genius knows how to ask out a girl. Did I actually just write "pwned"? I think all of my Genius Points were lost as soon as I wrote that.
But now that I had a brilliant plan that would make Max weak in the knees, all I needed to do was implement it, which couldn't be that hard.
HAHAHAHAHAHA – no.
Okay, I could do this. I could do this. I could do this. I could – NOT DO THIS IN FREAKING HELL WHAT WAS I THINKING I CAN'T ASK HER OUT I WOULD RUIN EVERYTHING EFF EFF EFF.
My, I do retain my composition in times of duress marvellously well. Heh heh. Say that previous sentence in a British accent. Do it, Diary, right now. Heh heh.
Wow.
Just… wow.
My infatuation with Max has officially driven me to the point of insanity. I'm at the point where I'm so desperate, I'll do anything. Because if a British accent can't do something, than no one can.
But I guess I should move on, because my rambling has officially hit an all-time high (or would that be a low, because I'm so pathetic?) and if it was possible, I would slap myself… never mind, it is.
Then again, I haven't actually described the date yet, have I? Well, I'll start from the beginning. I was watching TV (a re-run of MythBusters – see? I'm not all that bad. It's not like I was watching 90210 or anything) and generally feeling pretty miserable about myself. Iggy was slumped on the couch stuffing his face with Jello, which wasn't working out very well, because it was sliding out of his fingers and staining the carpet below.
"Iggy, look," I moaned, feeling a burst of horribleness. "I write in a diary. I've read Twilight. I know the lyrics to "Tik Tok" by heart. It's official; my soul is worth nothing."
"Do you listen to Justin Bieber?"
"No."
"Then you're fine."
Iggy really does know how to look at things differently.
"Dude," he said, licking his Jello'd fingers. "The floor is covered in the hormones that you're dripping. I could probably swim in them. It's a nice day. Go take Max out to the park. Kiss her senseless and buy her ice cream and listen to some buskers."
"Dude, you're serious?" I asked. I was surprised that he'd picked up on my… feelings, and that he'd also had the park idea.
"Dude, yeah. Just go. I'll explain to everyone else when they get back from Dr. M-hunting. You're lucky it's just us here. Go before they get back. And while you're at it, stop saying 'dude'."
"Solid," I said, standing up. Nerves suddenly shot through me – there was nonono way I would do this - and I sat back down again. "You know what? She's probably busy. Maybe tomorrow."
"Fang!" Iggy's voice was actually reproachful. "Don't be such a dick. You might not have tomorrow! You might not even have today! It's called living without regrets. Go get her, man."
"Did you just call me a dick?"
"I like how you ignore everything but that part. But yeah, I did call you that, because you're madly in love with her. But you can't bring yourself to ask her out."
I hate it when Iggy is right. It happens once every millennium, but it does indeed happen. (As a random segue, Iggy recently purchased Tac Bac off of the Internet. That would be short for Tactical Bacon. It's Bacon in a can. Shelf life? 10 years. Dear Internet: I don't know if I hate you or love you.)
I didn't say anything. Instead, I just shut off my brain, stood up, and quickly walked down the hallway to Max's room. I didn't knock, because I didn't want to think, and I didn't want to give myself time to think.
This was it.
This was it.
This was it.
If I was in an action movie, the epic soundtrack would be reaching a crescendo and the lighting would be dark and mysterious and something would be blowing up. But it was just a nice sunny evening in suburbia.
I wish that there were rules on how to deal with things like this. (As a side note, the only rules the universe agrees upon is that one should never get involved in a land war in Asia and one should never go against a Sicilian when death is on the line.) A sure-fire rule like a girl will always say yes to you if you wear leather pants.
But I will never wear leather pants. Ever.
On that disturbing image, I'll move on. Max was on Ella's laptop and was half-heartedly trying so search through old files. "Hey," she said, not looking at me.
"Let's go out."
"Excuse me?" That got her attention. But my idea of getting down on one knee with a rose in my mouth sort of died since it was rather impractical. Bloody Disney romances. (Then again, have you seen Miley Cyrus' new music video "Can't Be Tamed"? Wings are popular right now! …But before you ask, Nudge showed me the video, I swear.)
"Let's go out for ice cream," I said, re-phrasing my words, since Max's eyes were wide. "It's been stressful lately. We can go over to the park."
She shrugged and stood up from the laptop. "Sure. I'll go get Iggy." But as she moved to pass me, I grabbed her forearm. Her eyes snapped to mine and the unresolved sexual tension (what else can I call it?) multiplied.
"No Iggy. Just us."
I don't think that sentence was grammatically correct, but I could practically see the gears turning in Max's head as she re-assessed my meaning. After a few tense moments she said, "Oh." She cleared her throat. "I guess we can't keep dancing around each other, can we?"
"I'm good at dancing. Waltzing, jazz, tap – I'm better than best." But I didn't give her a chance to say no. "I'll meet you outside," I said, unlocking my hand and moving into the hallway. I could hear her scoff as I walked away.
I purposely didn't look at Iggy as I moved outside, since I'm sure he'd be wiggling his eyebrows or whatever. After waiting on the porch for about a minute, I was worried I'd gotten stood up, but Max finally calmly came out of the house.
She didn't say no.
Oh yeeaaahhhhh. (Make sure to say that like the Kool-Aid guy who bursts through walls.)
"Iggy was telling me to make sure that you don't 'deflower' me, whatever that means," she said, throwing her face into the sun. My heart leapt to my throat at the sight. Her wings were tucked into her T-shirt like mine were, but I could tell she itched to let them out.
"Don't listen to anything Iggy says. Ever. He once told me that if you listen to Hilary Duff's music backwards it sounds like anti-government propaganda."
"I always knew she was up to something," Max said, smiling, and everything was alright with the world. For the first time in a long, long time, Max and I were just… us.
After arriving at the park full of little kids, we managed to find some spaces of the swings. From where we were sitting, we could see a Little League game going on. A guy selling his hotdogs (literally, not metaphorically, you dirty thinker, Diary) was yelling his prices as he walked by. The absolute normalness of the situation made me laugh.
"Why are you laughing?" Max asked. We were swinging in tandem and going as high as we could. A few of the younger kids threw us envious looks. I felt bad for them; the swings would be the closest they could ever get to flying.
"Do you think I'm going to die?" I'm such a good mood killer.
"Ask me on June second," she said, flashing a smile that held secrets behind it. She continued to pump her legs to try to get even higher, if that was possible. "Why do you ask?"
"Do you believe in an afterlife? Reincarnation? Nothing?"
"I believe in you and me, if that's what you're asking."
It wasn't, but that was okay. We continued to swing perfectly in sync. I don't know why we were limiting ourselves to the swings when we could have flown off and just escaped, but this felt more right. "If you died right now, what would you regret the most?" I asked.
"I don't regret anything. No, that's not right. I wouldn't regret anything in the past. I'd regret for the future though. I'd regret the lost chances and hopes and dreams… and the opportunity to eat more chocolate."
We kept on swinging, almost as if our very lives depended on it. "Oh, and Fang?" she continued.
"Hmm?"
"I don't believe that death is the end. I don't know what it is, but it's not the end. And that's all we'll know, and we've got to be happy with that."
If death was swinging in the sunset in Mesa, Arizona, I'd be happy.
"I never told you something," I said. Actually, I've never told her a lot of things. I stopped pumping my legs, and so did Max. We gradually fell back down to the earth. "My birthday is today."
Max looked right at me. The breeze caught a few strands of her hair. "I thought it was November twentieth."
I shook my head and looked up. "No. It's today. May twenty-third. I'm sixteen." I looked over at her again. "I guess this means I can drive legally now."
"I don't think I understand," she said softly.
"It's hard to explain."
And I told her.
I told her everything; I told her that I overheard the whitecoats talking that one day, and that I was older than her. I told her that I purposely chose a later date so that she would become leader of the Flock.
The one thing I didn't tell her was that Iggy sacrificed his sight for her. That wasn't my secret to tell.
"You did that for me?" she asked once I had finished with my explanation. Nearby, a few children screamed in delight while being chased by their parents. I didn't bother paying attention to the pang of jealousy in my stomach.
"I did it for all of us. If I'd been the leader, I would have killed us all while trying to find dinner." But both of us knew I did it for her. Some things don't have to be said - and shouldn't be said.
Max didn't say anything, but looked down at her feet which were gently brushing the sand beneath them. "It's your sixteenth birthday, and I don't have anything to give you." She was holding the necklace that I had given to her on her birthday in July. Both of us wore our respective necklace every day. "Happy birthday. I guess since it's your sweet sixteen, you should be expecting a pink Cadillac and some Chihuahuas."
I hopped down from the swing and offered my hand to Max, who took it warily. "Definitely. Pink looks great on me." I smiled. "Come on; let's go out for dinner. I stole some money from Jeb's wallet."
Her face brightened up. "That sounds like a great idea." She jumped off the swing and we started to walk towards downtown, which wasn't all that far away. I didn't let her hand go. You sly dog, Fang.
And you know where I took her for dinner?
IHOP.
There's something I've been meaning to do.
"IHOP? For dinner?" Max asked as we slid into the booth. An elderly waitress handed us the menu, but I didn't need to look at it. This has been on my mind for a while.
"Yeah. Sick, I know."
Max perused (that's a weird word) through the menu until the waitress came back. "Can I help you two sweethearts with anything?" she asked kindly, flipping her notebook open. I could see Max bite the inside of her cheek at the endearment.
"Yes," I said, smoothing out the tablecloth. I really, really, didn't want to do this, but if I'm going to die, I want to say that I've done this. "Can I get a Fangcake, please?"
THERE. I SAID IT. TAKE THAT, LIFE.
"A what?" the waitress asked, and Max looked at me with a mixture of amusement and dread. It was the look she once gave Nudge when she somehow managed to catch her cereal on fire. "Sorry, darling, my hearing isn't what it used to be."
"A Fangcake." I spelled it out for her. "They're all the latest thing."
"Of course," the waitress said, and scribbled something down. She turned to Max. "And for you?"
"I'll get the number three combo," she said, handing the waitress the menu. The waitresses' face was one of relief; she probably expected Max to order pterodactyl meat or something.
"A Fangcake?" Max asked once the waitress had left. "What's that?"
Something occurred to me. "I didn't even tell her what it was!" At Max's continuing stare, I said, "It's a pancake, but with Bacon bits inside of it. It's totally the new breakfast food; think about how much time you can cut down on! It's the two-in-one deal of the century." I took a sip of water.
"…Of course. It just reminded me of Fangbangers."
I spewed out the water and I didn't even have the brains to be embarrassed, although now that I think back on it, Max was rather happy. "There's something out there called Fangbangers? Are you legit?"
"Very. Technically, the term is described by someone who… does things… with vampires. But I guess the term could be applied differently in your case."
Say it with me, Diary:
Awwwkk-waarrrrddd.
"Um, yeah. I guess it could." We spent the next few minutes in tense conversation that was completely different than the one we'd shared in the park. I started to stack the little butter dishes into a pyramid. After what seemed like eternity, I noticed the waitress coming towards us with plates.
"Here's your combo," she said to Max, sliding a plate full of Bacon and eggs and sausage and toast towards her. "And here's your… Fangcake." Her voice broke on the last word. She left quickly, and I looked down at my plate.
And you know what?
I don't think I've laughed so hard in my life.
Because I had a pancake, all right. And on top of it was a picture of Edward Cullen, shirtless and all. It looked as if someone had hastily printed it off from a computer.
"He looks…delicious," I said, and I instantly caught the slip. "I mean IT looks delicious – not Edward, I mean, because he's paper and all and it was the pancake I was talking about I swear and it's not like I'd actually eat him because eww I didn't mean it like that I swear it's not like I'm talking about inappropriate sexual acts or anything because that's just nasty and I was only trying to make small talk and I thought the pancake looked good and-"
Max leaned over the table and kissed me.
"I've never heard you say so much. You didn't even breathe," she said, breaking away once she noticed an elderly woman a little too enraptured in our embrace. "That was impressive."
"I'm sure you taste much better than Edward." Her eyebrows shot up. "NO! I didn't mean it like that! I just- …I'm just going to eat my pancake now."
She laughed, taking the picture of Edward off of the pancake. "I've never had a thing for fictional characters. And for that matter, Edward is an eighty-year-old pedophile. I don't know why all the girls are into him, for that matter. And Jacob Black… he needs to grow up."
Max couldn't have said anything sweeter if she'd tried.
We dug into our food. I'll admit that the pancake was delicious (technically, it wasn't a real Fangcake) and it took all the strength I had to eat properly. Most of the time the Flock didn't use utensils to eat with… they just used them to poke other people. Angel nearly lost an eye once.
You know all the pictures on the Internet of cats going OM NOM NOM and everyone's hearts melt at the adorableness? Somehow, Max manages to look that… cute, for lack of a better word, even while eating. I think Max could be zombie hunting and she'd be really for a cover shot for Vogue.
Once we'd finished eating, we paid and left to walk home in the twilight. I'm pretty sure the waitress thought we were going to dine and dash, but there was no way I was going to pass up an opportunity to spend Jeb's money.
"I had a great time today," Max said once we were on the porch. We were holding hands. "It was fantastic."
"Then we'll do it again," I said, and I KISSED HER ON THE CHEEK. That's right; I initiated a kiss! For the first time in – ever… I felt brave.
"I'll count on it," Max said, and we stepped into the house. Our hands fell apart once we saw everyone at the kitchen table, including Jeb and Mom. They had concerned looks on their faces.
"This was in the mailbox," Mom said, handing over a note on scrap paper that read:
Fang, I'll see you on Saturday.
Love,
-Val
"She's coming to us," Angel said, sitting near Jeb. "Something big is going to happen, but I don't know what. I'm not getting any reading from her, so I don't think she's nearby."
"But we can't worry about the future, can we?" Max asked, crossing her arms. The burden of leadership made her look older and completely different from the girl on our date. I don't think I'll see that side of Max again for a while.
"No, but we can prepare-" Jeb said, before catching Nudge's yawn in the corner of his eye "-tomorrow. We should all get some rest."
Everyone agreed with that, and with one more glance at Max, we went our separate ways. And here I am now, in bed, both scared and excited for the future. Because if I survive the next week, maybe, just maybe, I can have my future with Max.
I guess we can only wait.
Ugh.
-Fang
A/N2- HEY THIS IS BOLD SO IT MUST BE IMPORTANT.
I don't know why you're reading this, because you SHOULD BE DANCING AT THE AFOREMENTIONED DANCE PARTY. Complimentary bacon on me. (For an instant dance song, turn on Boom Boom by Carmen and Camille. It's hard to find a good quality version of it, but it's pretty much Iggy's song through and through. The best quality I've found is by justdancemonster on Youtube.)
Meanwhile, this Saturday, Sunday and Monday will be the climax of the story. I would recommend reading until the end of the story…even if that sounds weird. (Oooh, foreshadowing!) Please note this story is going to exercise its T rating, and there will no longer be Author's Notes until the end of the story. Unless, of course, I happen to have another creeper moment.
Since I only have one A/N left after this, I'll say my thank-you's now: first off, to you, the reader and the reviewer. Without you, this story would never have existed. Second, to my family for putting up with me. I promise to keep a fire extinguisher nearby at all times. Third, to axisfiraga, who kept me sane (or drove me more insane, whatever the situation demanded). When I came home from Ecuador back in August I said, "I don't think I can be funny any more." She told me to "Shut the hell up and write, bitch".
HEY EVEN MORE BOLD. The awesometastic 6464MiniDiceofRandomness has created a Diary of a Lovesick Mutant soundtrack. The link is on my profile, and feel free to PM her with any more song suggestions. Seriously, there are some awesome songs on there. I nearly had a heart attack... it's like this story, but in song format.
If you feel like killing me during the next week or if you just want to chat and ask about my favorite types of tea, you can add me on my only-FNN Facebook account. I'm Liz Bacon - search for the email fangoftheflock at hotmail dot com.
One more thing-
Every mushroom cloud has a silver lining. - Adam Young
