I hate my age and size.

Tank: Why?

Me: Because I can't get a kid costume without looking like a slut, and I can't get an adult costume without looking like a slut!

Skid: So either way, you look like a slut.

Me: Exactly!

Disclaimer: I don't own.

Max POV

I looked at a fake sleeping Fang and kept playing with a bit of his hair. He still kept his eyes closed. I sighed and started to trace his strong, well chiseled jaw.

He cracked open an eye and squinted. "Yes?"

I smiled at him. "Nothing."

He turned onto his side and looked at me. "You know you're the most beautiful girl in the world?"

I felt heat rise to my face. Damn bodily instincts to blush . . . "Hm. Really?"

He nodded. I smiled. The simplest things . . .

"I guess I should go before Iggy decides to wake you up, then decides to kill you," I said, and he nodded.

"I don't really want to be a dead man," he replied and I stand up, then look at what I'm wearing. Fang's shirt and boxers. Well that wouldn't go over too well.

I can just picture it now: "Hey, Max, why are you wearing Fang's clothes?" "Oh, we just had sex last night." "WHAT? He's a dead man!" Yeah, not going over that well. I changed my clothes into the one's I was in last night.

Fang got off of the bed put on some clothes himself. He kissed me lightly on the lips and walked over to the dresser. I smiled and slipped out of the room, then down the hall, down stairs, and down another hall. We have too many halls . . .

When I walked into the kitchen, I saw Iggy and Anne at the counter and the stove, their backs to me.

I slipped past them silently, but the Igster has the best damn hearing ever. "Mornin', Max. Spent the night with Fang?"

"Shit," I muttered and continued to walk out of the kitchen. I got into the small room and climbed up the stairs. I changed into some jeans and a t-shirt. When I was done with that, I pulled my painting from out of its spot in the closet, and pulled out the wrapping paper stuff. I slowly wrapped up the painting, being careful when I taped the ends of the brown paper together.

I smiled at my work and leaned the painting against the wall, and waited until I got hungry, which was about five minutes, but the smell of bacon somehow got up to me. Oh, how intoxicating the smell of bacon is. Damn Iggy for making it so good. Damn him.

I walked down my stairs again, but when I got there only bacon and a note were in the kitchen. I walked over to the fridge and tore the yellow square from the door.

Max,

I took Iggy and Gazzy to their Saturday detentions, then I have things to do around town. Angel's still asleep, and she's going to her friend Kalya's house at lunch. Please bring her there.

Anne.

I stuck the note back onto the fridge and walked over to the counter where a big, greasy pile of bacon awaited me. I put some pieces on a plate and dug in with my fingers. After a moment, arms wrapped around my waist, making me jump. Fang smirked, and kissed my neck.

"I'm sorry I was mean this morning," he said, and continued to kiss my neck.

"You weren't mean," I replied and turned around so I was facing him. He was so damn cute . . . Alright, so maybe I over exagerated when I said was a god when I first met him, but he was still hot.

"I felt mean," he said, and continued to plat light kisses on my lips.

"Well, you weren't." He moved his lips down to my neck.

"I guess I was just really tired." He smiled against my neck, and I shivered.

"Yeah, me too." I put my arms around his neck, and he planted a kiss on his soft lips. I tried to pull back back, but he pressed me against the counter.

"Fang," I whispered, pulling back. I really didn't want to do this in the kitchen.

"Hm?" His whipered into my neck. Oh, screw it. I tried to get onto the counter, and Fang helped me. I put my legs on his hips, and we continued to make out and get closer until we were basically skin tight. He ran his tongue along my bottom lip and-

"As I aprove of this relationship, I would like some nongross time with my breakfast."

I jumped and pulled away slightly from Fang. Where the Hell did she come from? I looked down at Fang and I, and understood what she meant. He was between my legs (I'm not going to say anything, because I know any way you look at it it can be turned into a joke.) and I was still pressed tightly against him.

"Sorry, Angel," I said and Fang stepped back and coughed, trying to cover his blush. Who wouldn't when an eight-year-old catches you and your girlfriend making out on the kitchen counter?

"I'll forget I ever saw this," she said, "if you two promise not to do it again." She glared at us while she said this. Yeah, I'm being scolded by a eight-year-old, and she's doing a better job than Nudge or Ella combined. We nodded, and she smiled brightly. "Good! Max, can you do my buttons?"

I grinned at her. "Sure." I knelt down to her level and did the buttons on the top of her frilly pink and white dress. "Why don't you eat you eat some breakfast and then we'll watch some TV or something?" I suggested.

"Sure, Max," she said and walked to the counter where the enticing bacon sat, just waiting for someone to eat it. She piled it onto her plate, and sat at the table, and happilly munched on it.

I put some on a plate, sat down at the table, and Fang soon joined us. Angel started to talk about her class, and I nodded absent mindedly.

My mind was in a whole other place. I think you can guess where.

I didn't even notice when Angel pulled me onto the couch and flipped the TV onto Disney. But I did notice when Fang put an arm around my shoulders, jolting me out of my world. I sank into him, and watched Phineas and Ferb with Angel. How is half of what they do even possible?

After several hours of the torture that is Disney Channel, I said, "C'mon, kiddo. Time for you to go to Kayla's."

I could practically feel the happiness coming off of her in waves. "Yay! We're gonna play Barbies and dress up and, blah, blah, blah." Alright, so maybe she didn't say those exact words, but that's what I heard after the words 'dress up' escaped her lips.

"Bye, Fang," I said and planted a quick kiss on his lips.

"Leaving me already?" he asked.

"Yeah, but I'll be back."

"You better be."

"I will be," I replied, gave him another peck on the lips, and grabbed Angel's hand. We walked to the truck, Angel hopped in the front seat, I put my painting in the back, and we drove on. I had grabbed my painting from next to the door.

Angel gave me directions to the house, and I pulled into the driveway. Angel hopped out and knocked on the door, and a girl with dark skin opened it. She was probably about an inch or two shorter than Angel, but that was understandable because Angel was tall. Angel waved goodbye and dissapeared into the three story house.

I pulled out of the drive (Ohhhh. I feel fancy schmancy because I just used the word drive instead of drvieway . . . I'm such a loser.) and rolled down the street, to down town. I was turning my painting into my old art teacher, at my old art studio thing. Fun.

Did I tell you I was kinda kicked out of that place? No? Heh-heh. I might have broken one of the students noses . . . then used the blood to make a painting. Look. I hadn't taken any of the 'vitamins' that day, and I was ready to punch something! Yeah, yeah, I know making a painting with blood isn't the most pleasant thing in the world, but the but the butt head had taken my red paint!

He took my paint and said I'd just have to get some on my own. And I did. From his nose . . . Blame global warming.

ANYWAYS.

I pulled up to the art studio and closed my eyes, taking deep breaths. This was it . . . time to face the snob.

I got out of my car and pulled the canvas out of the back of my truck, and walked to the art studio. I walked in, and found the snob standing their, waiting impatiently for his turn to hand in his "masterpiece of brilliance". He serisously called all of his artwork that.

He turned around and snarled at me. "Max."

"Omega."

We stood in silence, tension so thick you could shoot a gun and see the path it made.

"Still making crappy art work, are you?" he asked innocently.

"Not so crappy when I beat you in an art competition for us students, was it?" I replied.

He glared at me. "False judgement. George was mistaken when picked your work over mine."

"Whatever, Omega. It doesn't matter anyway." I moved forward with the line.

"Aw, no need to be defensive, Maxie," he said. "We both know your work has always been inferioror to mine."

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to keep my temper under control. I had done a pretty good job until now. But this guy seriously pushed my buttons. My buttons don't like being pushed.

In fact, they hate it. The despise it.

My buttons have short fuses and wear out easily. You don't want to push my buttons.

"I doubt you'll even place in the competition," he said smugly. "With so many greater artists out there, like me for example, who would want your work to even win thrid place?"

My buttons were pushed.

"Well. Maybe they'd rather see a painting made with your blood," I snarled and wound my fist back.

Before my fist could make contact with his nose, a hnad caught my elbow and a male voice said, "Miss Ride. Please do not break his nose again."

I turned my head and ripped my arm out of Michael's grasp. "Hello, Michael."

"Max. Good to see you again!" he said. He had a deep voice, and when he laughs you're reminded of Santa.

"Yes, very nice to see you after you kicked me out." You couldn't help but feel calm in Michael's presence, but that didn't mean I couldn't bring this stuff up.

He shrugged. "Omega's parents threatened to sue if you weren't taken out of classes with their son, and that was the only class we had for kids your age."

I nodded. Silence. "So. Are you a judge?" I asked.

He laughed. Hello Santa. "Trying to suck up, are we?"

It was my turn to laugh. "Me? Suck up? No." See how easy it is to get along with this dude?

"How's your dad?" he asked.

I shrugged. "He's in prison."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Awkward silences suck. Because when it's an awkward silence, you keep rethinking the last thing you said, over and over again, looking for flaws in how you said it, or if you hurt someone's feelings by saying it.

"Good luck, Max," Michael said and drfted away to do what artists do. I don't really know what he does with his free time, so we'll stick with that.

Finally, after however minutes of waiting, I walked up to the fold out tables they had assembled, and said, "Maximum Ride." and put the picture against the wall.

Short, crappy chapter, but a chapter.

Keep the reviews coming.

- Sanity