A/N: Amanda here! I'm updating for Hannah, since she wasn't available.

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"I'll see you tomorrow!" The girl yelled after Max. Max waved back, nodding and smiling coolly as she walked off down that too-familiar path home.

Unfortunately, Max had to walk to school, and walk home, every. Single. Freaking. Day. Well, unless it was a "special" day. Like her birthday, when she would be driven to the hell-hole personally, in a crap-car; as a preciously generous gift. That is, only if her parents actually remembered – which was rare.

Well, back then, Max actually thought of that drive to school as a gift; considering the three mile walk she woke up to every other morning.

So, sadly, since Max wasn't getting any older today, it was a day like any other: walk to school, walk home. Fun, eh? 'Cause everyone enjoys moist air and disease-infested bugs up your pants.

Max crunched away through the brown crackling, dry grass. She was halfway there, and didn't know if she'd rather stay where she was, all repelling, grotesque and sweaty; or go "home". Air quotes intended.

Max wouldn't really call that place a home. Homes were supposed to be cozy, and loving, and warm. Homes were the place a kid couldn't wait to get to, after that dreadfully long day of school. Homes were where that best-mom-in-the-world-that-sometimes-gets-on-your-nerves-but-you-love-her-anyway awaited; dinner and all that yummy stuff cooked and waiting in hand.

But not Max.

All she had to look forward to when she got home was some burnt toast (which, by the way, was all she knew how to cook) and a fresh, steamy pot of neglect. Oh, the joy.

So, as Max stood there, in the boiling heat of a late-summer afternoon, debating whether or not to keep walking, she wasn't expecting him to appear. She never expected him.

"Oh, if it isn't my little Maxie Girl," he cooed. Max froze, before she turned around to face the one and only pissing monster of hell.

"And if it isn't my little dick head." She muttered, glaring back at him with full force.

The perfect example of loving best friends.

"How old are you, considering the form of language you speak so fluently?" He asked, grinning evilly, and slightly amused. He was already eighteen.

"Fourteen. But I'm a fast learner." she said, drowning her words in pure sarcastic wit. Her parents taught her well. "Now, enough with this crap, about me. Why are you here?" She demanded, getting strait to the point.

The answer to her previous question had been confirmed. She wanted out. She wanted "home" and away from him. But it seemed her way would be harder to get; today especially.

"I've got an offer for you." He replied, stepping closer as Max took a step back. His hands in the pockets of his gray hoodie. Max wondered why he'd be wearing such a heavy sweater when it was over ninety degrees out there, not one cloud in the sky to block out the fiery sun that felt like it could surely burn them both alive.

"You have no life, now, don't you?" He asked, shamelessly. Max gritted her teeth, about to cut him off when he added, "You want one, now, don't you?" using the same tone and words of accusation and question.

What was he going to do? Rape her? Hurt her? Kill her?

To that, she had no answer, entirely.

"I can give you one." He finished in a quiet tone. She didn't speak; just stood there, with her eyebrows slightly raised, not knowing what to do – let alone say.

But Max being Max, went with something witty, of course, to disguise her eternal fears, "No thanks, I just purchased one at Walmart, actually. No need for the generosity." She said, fake-smiling, sweetly. "But if your interested, I hear there's a clearance on brains there, too. Just your luck." She added.

He clicked his tongue, steadily shaking his head left, and right. "You don't get it."

"No, apparently I don't." She replied, icily. Max could see the school's parking lot from where she stood, and noticed a male figure watching their little banter at a distance.

"Come with me, then." He said.

"No." She answered stubbornly. Max never took orders, unless there was something in it for her.

"Come with me." He told her.

"No way." She answered, acidly.

"You will. Oh, trust me, you will." He said, looking like he already won.

Max wasn't paying much attention to her surroundings – as she'd been starring at the dead grass – until she finally felt something cold and sharp graze her neck. She froze, as he continued to slightly move the dagger downward; miraculously, it hadn't cut the skin yet.

But it sure as hell would soon.

Then the knife was gone in a flash.

It had disappeared from her neck, and was now making it's way deep into the back of Max's right wrist, all the way below to the middle of her index finger and thumb. The blood gushed – but Max was thankful for the new center point of the pain.

He was on the floor; a boy, about her age, had shockingly knocked him down to the rubble. She noticed that it was the boy that had been watching them before.

Surprisingly, Max laughed, as blood dripped from her gashed hand. The boy looked up at her questioningly, still holding him down effortlessly.

Who knew a fourteen-year-old on steroids could save a life?

"I'm Maximum Ride." She said, nearly holding out her right had for a polite shake, but then thinking better of it.

"Fang Collins." Said the boy, still using his super strength as He struggled under his grasp. "Who's the douche?" He asked, nodding at his captive, who was clearly straining for oxygen.

"Dylan." Max spat, uncaring. "Well, thanks Collins. See you around." She finished, picking up her bag, that had fallen to the dirt as she walked away.

And they never did.

Until now.

Max POV

"Yeah. . ." Fang answered to my exploding of 'holly fucking shit'. For some reason, I noticed a pang of anger surface in his eyes. I wonder why? It's not like I did anything bad to him. . . yet.

Except for, you know, breaking into his house and hiding in his closet.

I could almost hear Dylan's voice whispering "KILL HIM" in my head.

"Um, sorry; this. . . never happened. Okay- got it? Good. I'm not here. Your dreaming. Okay, um – bye. . . !"

Don't ask why I just did that. I seriously have absolutely no clue.

I'm going to be murdered. Dylan will skin me. He'll freaking cut my head open and suck my brain juice. Then he'll hang me on a display.

Well, not if I get him first.

I quickly slid through Collin's window and jumped off the roof, clinging on tightly to the rope that I'd recently set there.

And, as I slowly distanced myself closer to the ground, I oddly heard the familiar, yet patronizingly catchy tune to a song called "Baby" by a certain teen-pop sensation named Justin Bieber.

Well, let me just say, I would've never seen that coming.

Fang POV

"What the hell?" Bieber? Really? "Iggy." That son of a bitch. I really need to change the lock to my phone. . .

The song died out, and I lied back down on my comfy bed, my brain about to explode. And then the retarded song started up again.

"Like, baby, Baby, baby, ooooh. . ." Oh, fuck you Iggy.

Finally, I stood up, grabbed my phone from somewhere on my desk, and answered the damn call.

"Hello?" I said in a blasé tone.

"Why, hello there Fang. Remember me?" Asked the man on the other line, sounding sneaky and repulsive.

"Joey?" I asked, fake confusion in my voice.

"No." Said the dude with a bad reception.

"Dan?" I asked, again.

"Uh, no."

"Ron? Bob? Jim? I'd really like to know." I said sarcastically.

More like, I'd really like to hang up on you and let my brain explode.

"Well, it's Dylan. Dylan Hagen. I'm pretty sure you'd remember our. . . say, conversation, about three years ago."

Dylan. . .

Dylan. . .

Dylan. . . ?

Fuck.

Dylan the douche.

Yup, another cliffy. . . Sweet, sweet revenge. Now you'll just have to review for a quicker update!

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A.O.L & Hannah