"Alright," Mr. Fabiano said, strolling through the gap between desks. "I'll be picking your groups, boy-girl. No exceptions."

I fought the urge to smile. Nick sat next to me, and Mr. Fab was fairly predictable. We had been partners almost every opportunity; whether it was because he knew of our friendship and liked us, or because of the seating arrangements.

We were one of the few that seemed happy about this. In a corner, Kaitlynn seemed delighted that she was probably going to be paired with Reese. Not everyone favored it, though; many were groaning in protest, trying to convince Mr. Fab to change his mind.

"So, I've got my list. I'll read out-"

"Oops, sorry I'm late!"

Lissa positively burst through the door, panting a little as she handed Mr. Fabiano her excuse note. He took it, mumbling incoherently, and finally looked up.

"Mrs. Kidmore gave you an excuse note because you got lost?" he said, trying to keep the disbelief out of his voice. I quirked an eyebrow; Mrs. Kidmore wasn't exactly know for her leniency.

"Yes," she replied importantly, nose in the air as usual. "She said that she understood, the school being so big and all," Lissa added.

"Okay," he replied uncertainly. "Here, go sit in the empty seat between Nick and Max."

My insides churned. If Mr. Fab followed his usual pattern, then Nick would be paired with Lissa, which simply would not do. But who would I be paired with?

I looked around the room, trying to remember who usually got put into a group of three. Suddenly, I remembered, and I gave a little groan. Across the room, Sam gave me a thumbs-up, grinning.

Samuel D. Bagnal was, for lack of a better word, optimistic. I mean, I didn't really dislike him, we just weren't very coherent. He, however, seemed quite determined that we could be, I thought, as he waved to me.

DON'T MIND ME, I'M JUST A PAGE BREAK!

I stared contemptuously down the hall, my eyes boring holes into the door through which a tinny, babbling voice registered.

Lissa. In my house. Who could have ever though it would have come to this?

Mr. Fab had decided that, for some bizarre reason, we needed to get to know each other better. This was okay. Until he announced that that required us writing a detailed essay on the (PERSONAL!) life of our partner. "And I don't mean 'I play baseball and my favorite food is pizza,'" he had said. "real, in-depth details on their life. Write me a biography."

Lissa was, of course, very enthusiastic, nodding earnestly with this ridiculous grin on her face. Nick looked... well, passive. Shocker.

Now, the very first thing Lissa saw fit to do was see his 'home environment'. I don't know what's up with her, but I'm pretty sure she thinks he's quiet since he has an abusive family. I mean, his mom was sorta young and stuff, but it wasn't like she went out clubbing every night and came home and beat him. Ms. Falkin was real nice. And she made AWESOME mac and cheese. Which helped a lot.

In short, I was irritated.

Okay, so now you're all, 'What? But why are they at Max's house?'. We had decided to do it at my house since it was big and roomy, and because my mom made the most amazing chocolate chip cookies. Even Nick refused to leave the house when they're in the vicinity. And with him, that's saying something.

Back to my contemptuous glaring. Lissa's voice was wafting through the air, chattering mindlessly away. She was a total flibbertigibbet. (AN: It's my favorite word EVER, and it applied to the situation. Def at bottom.)

Just as that thought crossed my mind, Sam came up the stairs.

"Max!" he said when he reached me, relieved. "I couldn't find you, and I was afraid you weren't here. Let's go to your room."

I squirmed inwardly. Hardly any people had seen the inside of my room, and they had known me well. I mean, I wasn't all secretive about it or anything, but I just didn't go flaunting it around. And I hadn't made any effort to clean.

"Er... right, then," I said awkwardly, leading him to the black door down the hall. MAX was written in white block letters on the door, and some quiet music wafted through it from where I had left my Shuffle in the dock. Comatose by Skillet; I had to suppress the urge to hum along.

I pushed open the door, and Sam followed. He didn't seem to notice al of it at first, but he eventually noticed the severe lack of pink, makeup, and hair thingymadoodles.

My black-and-white covers were wrinkled from this morning, when I'd had to wrestle my way out. The steely blue walls were covered in band posters and pictures, and a light breeze blew in from the open window, sending the black curtains fluttering.

"It's not what I would have expected," said Sam, sitting down in the black-and-whote desk chair. '"I guess I pictured a normal girl room. But, that doesn't matter. I made up twenty questions."

I sat awkwardly on the edge of my bed, trying to smooth the quilt. "Shoot," I said jauntily, trying to portray my disinterest.

"Okay," he said, taking a breath, "what do you regret most in your life, so far?" he asked, looking up at me from over the top of his notebook. I considered.

"It's either giving Iggy the fireworks-making kit or when I blew up at my dad last year."

Oh, crap. It had just slipped out. I was going to stay cool, answer everything sarcastically. But that plan was gone to the wind.

"Your dad?" he said, interested. He poised his pen above the paper, looking up at me expectantly. I was reminded of Rita Skeeter from the Harry Potter movies.

Ah, well. In for a penny, in for a pound. "He left two years ago. He and Mom had a disagreement. They won't tell us what about. Anyway, he came back, and I got ticked off at him for leaving Mom. He left. That's pretty much it," I said off-handedly. He looked mildly disappointed.

"Um, yes," he said nervously. "Next question. What do you feel is your greatest strength?" I blinked.

"Like, physically or emotionally?"

"Emotionally."

"Umm.. I guess I keep my cool in scary situations. I don't really know." He nodded firmly, and scribbled something down. He stopped.

"This is stupid. It's too formal. We shouldn't be forced to get to know someone." He said suddenly. "Let's leave. We can go to the Shake Shack or something, talk over a milkshake. Okay?"

I looked at him, surprised. "Yeah," I said slowly. "It's not far; we can walk."

He grinned. I smiled tentatively back.

WHAT THE HECK IS WITH THIS CHICK AND PAGE BREAKS?

"No, seriously." Sam said, smothering his sniggers. "What did Gazzy do?"

"I'm totally serious. He used them as fuses, attached them to my alarm clock that he used as a detonator. Man, was I ticked with him!" I said, smiling and giggling a little.

Sam and I had really hit it off when we weren't in such a stuffy environment. He had commented on how I had good taste in ice cream (You can never go wrong with Peanut Butter Chocolate Swirl!), and we had instantly clicked. Now we were swapping stories like old chaps.

Don't get me wrong, I was still pretty secluded, but he was so open it was sort of... easy to be with him. He wasn't as cool as Fang, or Tess, or Iggy, or even Nudge, but he wasn't bad. I could live through this project.

"Those are your friends? Gazzy, who blew your pants up, Iggy, who helped, and Nudge, who retrieved the pants in the first place?" I nodded.

"She was mad because I wouldn't go to the mall with her. And because, you know, I had sort of put flour in her shampoo to make it stiffen her hair up. It was the dawn of a prank war that's still going on today," I replied.

Suddenly, he glanced at his watch. I have to go," he said regretfully. "But we'll do this again, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "We still need more stuff for the report, right?"

This didn't seem to be the desired response, but Sam nodded. Geez, don't expect me to be all buddy-buddy with you when I've known you for a grand total of three hours.

I turned around and walked home, taking my time and watching the fall foliage. Halloween was soon; I ought to think of a costume soon. Where had those month's gone? I sighed. Probably the same place as my detonated jeans.

When I got home, Nick was sitting at the table, eating a cookie and watching the football game.

"You took your time," he said, eyes still on the TV. I stiffened.

"Sorry. I had a more favorable partner than your bee-with-an-itch."

His jaw twitched. "Lissa's nice," he said after a moment, in which his team scored a goal. "I don't see why you hate her so much."

I huffed and turned away. "Keep going the way you're going, and you'll find out," I mumbled.

Stupid Lissa. Stupid Mr. Fab. And, I never thought I'd say this, but stupid Nick.

Wooh! Seven chapters up!

For Max's room, see the link on my profile.

Flibbertigibbet: Someone who is regarded as flighty, scatterbrained, and talkative. Is that not epic?