Ya know what pisses me off?

Tank: Everything?

Skid: No. That's not it . . . only a lot of things piss her off, not everything.

Me: What pisses me off is that I had to get something I actually wanted from the boys part in Walmart!

Tank: You've had no problem doing that before.

Me: No. That's not the problem. I'm perfectly fine with getting stuff from the guy's part but it pisses me off because none of the girls have stuff like that! It's and outrage, I tell you, an outrage!

Skid: I agree. We can wear plaid on Friday for a pep-rally or something and there wasn't a single plaid shirt not involving bright colors or pink.

Me: I'm disgusted. If you're disgusted, write it in your review or something. If you're not disgusted, whatever. I'm too pissed off to care. It's like I had to get my converse from the guys section when I got them because the only girl converse were pink. Like, what the hell?

Disclaimer: I'm a fortune teller, and I can tell you I won't be owning JP, MR, or Walmart any time soon, but you'll see. One day you will all bow to thy's mighty ruler!

Me: ANGEL! I banned you from my disclaimer doing! That's my job to tell people who'll be ruling the world! Bad girl!

I dropped the cookies to the floor and was tackled . . . into a hug.

Angels face was in my stomach, and I could feel tears staining my shirt, but I really didn't care. I had my baby girl back.

I knelt down to her level and gave her a bone crushing hug, and she returned it with one of her own.

"M-Max," she said and hugged me tighter. "I-I m-missed you."

"I know, baby. I know," I responded. "I missed you too. More than you know."

I then started to cry. Cry. Let's get one thing straight: I don't cry. Ever. I cried once. When Angel was taken. Then my tear ducts just seemed to shut off. Quite odd, but kinda cool, when you think about it.

I have no idea how long we stayed like that, but eventually we broke apart and Angel wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

"So . . ." Fang siad. "Anyone wanna tell me what's going on?"

I raised an eyebrow at Iggy, and he shrugged. "Didn't exactly know how to tell him, really. 'Oh, hey, man. I see you've met my long lost sister who was taken by some lunatics and kinda looks like Max's mini-me. Wanna go to the game?'" He snorted. "Yeah, right. Fang, Angel's our little sister who was kidnapped when she was five. Here she is now."

I rolled my eyes. I looked at Angel. Her wavy, platinum blond hair was weighted down and was slightly curled at the tips where it met her mid back. She was wearing a pair of ratty old jeans that were practically under her shoes, a dirty tank-top, and a pair of sneakers.

"You still have the locket, right?" I asked her, quite panicked. I had bought both of those lockets when she was born. And let's just say they weren't cheap, no matter how non-flashy they were. Inscriptions cost money.

She smiled at me and pulled her dark silver locket from out of her tank-top. "Of course. I sent a kid to the hospital for touching it."

I chuckled and stood up. "So . . . I see you've re-met everyone by now."

"Not the guy you called Fang." She shrugged.

"Oh. This is Fang, Fang, this is Angel. She was kidnapped three years ago, by what Iggy called lunatics."

"Hi!" Angel said, walking up to him and she stuck her hand out. I was quite shocked when Fang shook said hand. Alrighty then. Whatever. He must have fallen in love with my little sister.

Not like that. I don't believe he's like Jacob Black. Yes, I read the Twilight Saga. Sure, the Stephanie woman is a good author, but let's get one more thing straight: Real men don't sparkle. Gay guys, gay guys sparkle. Fang? He's a real man. I don't think he sparkles. Jeb . . . well, I don't really know, but my gay-senses are tingling . . .

Holy flying shit. Did I just say Fang was a real man? Angel's magical reappearance is making me loopy.

"Max!" Someone snapped there fingers in front of my face.

"W-what?" I asked.

Iggy gave me a funny look but said, "As I was saying, the guys and I were gonna go to the baseball game. We wanted to know if you two wanted to come."

I looked down at Angel. "Ange? It's up to you."

She smiled at me. "Nah. I wanna relax some."

And that's how we ended up on the couch, watching Phineas and Ferb. It's surprising how entertaining kid shows can be. Who knew?

"Hey, Max?" Angel said.

"Yeah, sweetey?"

"I wanted to tell you I love you. A lot. And that I don't blame you. At all."

I nodded. I always thought it was my fault, but Confucius Max enlightened me towards a new path. The path of blaming your parents for everything wrong in your life.

I didn't realize I had said that out loud until Angel giggled.

"I'm glad I could help entertain you," I told her with a chuckle. "But that doesn't mean you can go around blaming Jeb for everything."

"Alrighty," she said and smiled up at me from her position on the couch.

Jeb . . . "Hey, Ange, where's Jeb?"

"he said something about having to go to work and tell Max she's in charge." SHe shrugged and moved closer to me.

"What a dad we have," I told her and ruffled her hair. She giggled and sighed when the show ended.

I flicked off the TV and said, "C'mon, let's go." I got up and grabbed her hand.

"Where are we going?" she asked, a little worried.

I smiled at her. "You need a uniform, don't you?"

I sat in English class, zoning out of Roz's lecture. I was doodling the Pringles guy on the toe of my converse with my black sharpie when I realised tow things: One, how much the pringles guy looked like Jeb. I mean, take a good look at the Pringles guy. What's his name, anyway? Oh, let's call hm Jeb 2. Anyway, look at the mustache. Mustache = lame. Unless you're a biker, than an awesome mustache just shoots your badassness level through the roof. When you're Jeb or Jeb 2, on the other hand, it just makes you lamer. Biker mustache screams, "I've got a mustache, I'm badass, don't mess with me unless you wanna feel the mustache's wrath." When Jeb's mustache screams, "I'm a scientist and I only have this mustache to prove to all those jerks in highschool that I can indeed grow body hair, so ha!" Just no, Jeb. No.

And the second thing: Iggy and Gazzy haven't blown anything up yet.

"Maximum Ride, you are wanted in the principals office," the announcer said, interrupting my little moment of thinking. Guess I spoke too soon. Whatever. I'm out of class, right?

I slung my book bag over my shoulder and walked out of the classroom. Iggy, Gazzy, my brain is having a civil war wether to kill you or thank you. The thank you side is winning. Lucky you.

I walked into the office, which was basically just a counter with three desks behind it and a door leading to Dr. Pruit's office. Pruit, oh, how I despise you...

Pruit the Prune was holding the door open and was waiting for me. Through the door I could see guilty looking Iggy and Gazzy. And new news in the war! Killing side is now taking the lead!

Pruit had a stern look on his red face. I swear, that guy is never happy. I feel bad for his wife.

I walked into the Prune's Lair and decided to push his buttons. I walked behind the desk, sat in the spinning chair, and propped my feet up on the desk. "What's up, Doc?" I asked in my best Bug's Bunny voice. If I do say so myself, it was pretty dang good.

To my surprise, he didn't tell me to get from behind the desk. He just sat down in the parent's chair next to Iggy and said, "You're brothers here set off a stink bomb in the second story boy's restroom." (A/N: I like sticking to the books as much as possible, like now. Damn, I'm good.)

I stayed as calm as possible, even though I was cracking up inside because the Prune had let me sit in his chair. Iggy and Gazzy's faces were scrunched up from the effort not to laugh. "Really? Now, tell me, Dr. Pruit, why did you not call Jeb to handle this?"

"I did," he replied. "He said if someone isn't dying he doesn't want to hear it and hung up."

"Huh." I turned around in the chair and said, "Pruit, you're dismissed."

I heard him stand and leave the room. Wow, it is so nice to know that my school is run by an absolute idiot. Iggy and Gazzy were cracking up like addicts until I turned to them and said, "What are you laughing at? You two are in so much trouble." That sobered them up real fast.

"B-But, Max we-" Gazy started and I cut him off, rising to my feet. Ya know, I can get used to this principal business.

"I don't want to hear it." I then told them that I was going to kill them, how I was gonna kill them, then explained how much pain they were gonna be in when I kill them. I then cursed them out several times and said, "C'mon. You're going to class."

I walked out of the office with Gazzy and Iggy behind me, their shoulders slumped but their eyes darting everywhere to make sure I hadn't somehow hired an assassin while I was yelling at them. Puh-lease. They should know Gozen's on vacation . . . or is he?

"Pruit, you can have your office back," I told the form that had his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. They broke Pruit, man! Maybe I should thank them . . . Nah. Killing them is way more fun.

Once we were out of the office, I broke the calm face facade. I grabbed Gazzy and Iggy by the ear and dragged them down the hall. And the best part? Class just got out. Oh, yeah. They did die today. A social and incredibly embarrassing death by their big sister. Sure, I was only about two minutes older than Iggy, but that counted.

Snickers and giggles ran through the hall as I dropped Iggy off at his next class and pionted a finger at him. "James Ignite Ride, if you set off one more bomb, I swear to God you'll know very well what the true meaning of pain is." I then stomped off, towing a snickering Gazzy by his ear along with me. "I don't know what you're laughing at, you're next."

He probably paled and started to stutter out, "M-Max, you don't wanna do that. Please, please don't do that. Please, Max, please!" But I wasn't listening. Ya know, I'm starting to like this being in control thing. It's fun!

I was walking through the middle school part while jaws dropped. They probably never got any high schoolers over here but I paid them no attention and continued to drag Gazzy along. His ear is gonna hurt in the morning. It might just stay red.

I stopped in front of his classroom, pointed my finger at him, and gave a speech similar to Iggy's except I changed the first two names to Zephyr Gazzy instead of James Ignite. Oh, how embarrassing my little brothers gives me joy. Is that not normal? If it's not, contact me at 1-800-so-not-telling-you.

I then changed my glare to a smile and said in an ultra cheery voice, "Alright, love! Have fun!" Then skipped down the hall. Man, I must be really happy about embarrassing them if I'm skipping.

I sat in my room, wearing a pair of old jeans and a ratty tank top and was bare foot. I love being bare foot. Unless it's cold. I hate the cold. My music was blaring, I had a pencil in my hands and a sketch book on my leg. I was as happy as a clam.

Someone knocked on my 'door' and I sighed. I was feeling the inspiration. Damn people interrupting my art time. "Come in," I said over the music and heard the door slide open. Up walked Fang, handsome as ever.

"What?" I asked in a harsher tone than I intended it to be.

"I wanted to talk . . ." he trailed off when he saw my walls. I had painted the sun onto my ceiling, and birds along the walls. If the bird could fly, it was pretty much drawn onto the wall. Just the clear blue sky and birds. No landscapes, water, grass, or trees. Just birds and the sky. Well, except half of the far wall which was just a big bookcase.

"Talk about what?" I asked.

"What does that tattoo mean?"

I sighed. "Let's have a trade."

He raised an eyebrow. "A trade?"

"Yeah," I said. "I tell you what the tattoo means, but I get to draw you."

His eyebrow went up even higher and I blushed. "Fully clothed you. Geez. You're worse than Iggy."

It was his turn to blush, but he got over it quickly. "You don't seem like the person to ask for permission to draw someone."

I shrugged. "I always do that. It be like taking pictures of someone without asking. I find it kinda creepy."

He nodded understandingly. "I agree. So . . . how does this work?"

I shrugged. "Just sit down."

He did as told and flopped down on my black metal very antiquish bed. It's not antique, by the way. Just looks like it.

"The tattoo," he enquired.

"Sit still," I told him and poised my pencil. "Alright. Angel was taken by the loony toons on the seventh month, Friday the thirteenth, two-thousand seven. I was pretty much in hysterics. I was only thirteen and my baby girl was taken from me in front of my own eyes." I had subconsciously started to draw him, but just his face. His gorgeous face . . . "I had raised Angel since our mom had left us. We don't know where she is, why she left, or if she's still alive. We just know she's gone. Moving on to the tattoo. I had promised myself never to forget that day, and until we found her, body or alive and well, I wouldn't stop looking, and I would never forget. So I had it inked into my back. A permanent reminder. I plan to get the date we found her - or, really, she found us - under the date she went missing." I continued to sketch his face, his long nose, obsidian eyes. "Any questions?"

He thought for a moment. "Not really. We could get to know each other a little better since it seemed you hated me the first time you saw me."

"Yeah, about that," I said. "I was extremely pissed off with the male race then, so sorry. What's your first question?"

"Hm . . . favorite color?"

"Dark blue. I already know yours so I won't ask."

He smirked. "That obvious? Don't answer that. Favorite subject?

I shrugged. "I don't really like school. Hate all my classes."

He raised an eyebrow. "Even art?"

I snorted. "Not much of an art class. What's your favorite subject?"

"English."

"You write?"

He shrugged. "A little."

"You're gonna have to let me read your work sometime."

"We'll see," he said, not moving his facial expression.

"You should smile more often," I told him.

He smirked. "Why? Find it dazzling?"

I rolled my eyes but continued to draw. "I haven't seen you smile once since you've been here. Plus, you'll get scowl lines."

"Where on earth did you hear that?" he asked, amusement creeping into his words.

I shrugged. "Interweb."

"Ah."

Unbreakable by Fireflight came on and I hummed to it, continuing my work.

"You have good taste in music," Fang commented.

"At least it's not Jistin Bieber. Bleh."

"The dude creeps me out," he said.

"Yeah. And why does't he just cut the damn bangs?"

He glared at me. "I like my bangs, thank you very much."

"Yeah, but on you they look hot," I muttered. Crap. Let's hope he didn't hear that.

Oh, but he did. Damn the bad luck.

He smirked at me. "What was that?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing at all," I said quickly.

"So," he said, standing up. "You think my bangs are hot?"

"You're ruining the drawing . . ." I said and trailed off as he moved closer in long strides. The desk wasn't too far from my bed, so he got here very quickly.

"What was it that you said, exactly?"

I sighed. "I said, 'But on you they look hot.' Happy?"

He leaned down so his nose only about an inch away from mine. "Ecstatic." His cool breath tickled my lips, and he smelt like cinnamon. His lips were so close . . . I could . . .

He put his hands down on the arms of the chair and was leaning in when Iggy decided to pop in. "Max, you did- oh. Sorry to interupt," he said with a snicker. Iggy. I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You. Of course, Fang had jumped back when he heard Iggy's voice, but he was still extremely close to me.

I looked down at the sketch book in my hands and smiled. I had been done drawing him, and was coloring his eyes. They were dark and deep and as endless as midnight. I was about to tear the drawing out and hand it to him when his hand covered mine, sending electric sparks running through me. "Keep it," he said and walked over to my door.

I hugged the drawing to my chest, and thought one thing and one thing only:

How am I gonna kill Iggy in a very painful way that last for a very long time without him dying?

Max: I like this chapter.

Iggy: Can't say I'm too happy about it.

Me: I know this chapter kinda sucks, but whatever. I'm still kinda pissed off at Walmart and all clothes designers of the world.

Tank: You could come out with a line of clothing on your own.

Me: Yeah! One problemo, senior: Can't. Draw.

Tank: Oh, yeah.

JP: But nothings impossible!

Me: Probably never tried slamming a revolving door, now have you?

JP: Touche.

Me: *sigh* Almost ten . . . gotta go to bed soon if there's any hope of me waking up in the morning. *yawn*

Max: Hey, where's Skid?

Me: She passed out on my bed about five minutes ago in the middle od New Moon. I can't say I'm offended.

- Sanity