This chapter's song is Sick Little Games by All Time Low.

Nudge fished in my jewelry box, and pulled out a blue and sliver necklace. She lifted it over my head and let it settle on my shoulders. She'd redressed me for dinner with mom and Ella—I was wearing the same shirt and belt, but I'd traded my jeans and Chucks for black tights, gray boots, and a denim skirt (one of the three skirts I owned). She passed me a leather jacket, and dark blue hat, scarf, and gloves.

I swear, Nudge has, like, magic fingers of or something. She'd washed my hair, then put some spray stuff in it, then blow-dried it. When she was done, I had curly hair—not as curly as hers, the curls were a little softer and not quite so cork-screw. I don't know how she did it, to be honest. Those magic fingers. The no-makeup-on-Max- rule was only ever broken when it came to my mom. At Total's wedding, she'd made a comment about how I looked with makeup on, and her words had stuck ever since. And even then, it wasn't a lot. Some eyeliner and mascara, sometimes lip gloss.

"You look really good, Max," Nudge said, pinning a few faces off my face, then pulling them back and doing it a different way, before finally leaving my head alone. "You should wear skirts more often." I glanced at her skeptically. "I mean it!" she cried, crossing her arms over the front of her green shirt. "Would I lie to you?" she squeaked, frustrated. "No, I guess not." I sighed.

Nudge opened her mouth, but whatever she was going to say was cut off by the buzzing of my cell phone. I glanced at her and fumbled with the zipper on my jacket. "Can you answer that?" I asked, then swore and pulled my gloves off, then zipped the jacket up and pulled my gloves back on.

Nudge retrieved the buzzing mobile, and her pert nose wrinkled in distaste as she scanned the caller ID. "Ass…" I heard her murmur, before pressing the call button and holding the phone hesitantly to her ear. "Tiffany, give me the phone." I said, whipping around, knowing from her expression and her words that it was Jason. Their banters were never pleasant, and an dispute always ensued.

"Hello?" Nudge said in a toxic, yet heavily saccharine tone. A precarious tone—one I knew very well. There was a hiatus and Nudge rolled her brown eyes. I sighed and crossed my arms over my chest. Nudge flicked her eyes at me then back at the fingernail she was examining, and it became evident she was not giving up the phone. I sighed and turned back to the mirror. "Obviously not, considering I answered the phone. Can you say 'Duh'?" Nudge's errant voice pealed into the phone.

"Tiffany!" I said stridently, glaring at her. She didn't respond. "No, you certainly can't. She's getting ready to go out." Pause. "To dinner. With her family. And before you ask, no you can't come with us." A rueful, contemptuous laugh escaped her full, glossy lips. She pushed her hand through her curly hair and then went back to her nails. "Because A) it's kind of rude to invite yourself, and you do it all the time and B) none of us like you but her."

"Tiffany, give me the phone, please." I pleaded, turning back around and holding my hand out expectantly. She scooted back on the bed, out of my reach. "Yes, it's perfectly true. Your ego is just too big for you to apprehend—perhaps someone should pop it—I'd be glad to do the honors."

"What do I me—God, you are so stupid." She screeched, infuriated. "Your ego, you freakin' idiot, I'm gonna pop—oh, forget it." She was beginning to look really overwrought. "You have a lot of nerve, saying that to your girlfriend's little sister, you know that? I've got Dylan, Jeff, Nick and Justin on my side. So you need to keep your big mouth shut."

"Tiffany!" I finally bellowed, leaping toward her and pinning her down on the bed. Chuckling, she spoke in the phone, besieged to keep out of my reach. "Nope, Mackenzie still isn't here. And you still aren't invited. BYE!" She slammed her thumb down on the end button, then looked up at me, doe-brown eyes wide and innocent-looking. "You are so dead," I growled, wrenching the phone from her hands, and walking away from her, tightening my fists in order not to turn around and strangle her. "Max—I…" she trailed off and I didn't turn around.

I swung my purse over my shoulder and swung my door open. I paused for a moment, hearing Nudge speak up. "I'm doing you a favor, Max." she said. Her voice sounded diminutive and hushed—vulnerable. But I still didn't turn around. I kept walking, head held high. That was me. Headstrong and confident.

"Um. What was that about?" Iggy asked as I emerged into the living room. "It was Nudge and Jason." I said huffily, grabbing my car keys. "Oh." was all Iggy said, in understanding. "Guys! Let's go!" I yelled, tapping my fingers against the island surface impatiently. A moment later, my flock was assembled in front of me, each one dressed up for dinner.

Angel was in a pink dress, all lace and bows and polka-dots—it was as if she was still that naïve seven-year-old girl clutching the ragged teddy-bear in her skinny, bruised arms. Except, now she was holding a purse and a cell phone. I had brow-beaten Gasman into a button-down shirt, but none of his ties fit anymore. I'd let him wear jeans, but he wasn't fond of the dress shoes I'd made him wear.

Nudge was wearing a dress also, but hers was blue, adorned with a black sash, and paired with black sandals and a black sweater. Dylan and Iggy were wearing practically the same outfit in different colors—they almost always were. Polo shirts, cardigans, and jeans. Iggy in a blue shirt and a black cardigan, Dylan in a striped green and blue shirt with a white sweater. Fang was in—all black, of course. Dark skinny jeans, dark grey t-shirt and a black blazer.

His obsidian eyes were level on mine, watching me carefully, as if I was a bomb about to blow. Which, after the incident between Nudge and I, I kinda was.

I cleared my throat and reached out to smooth Gazzy's hair down, out of habit. For once, he didn't jerk away. I clasped my hands behind my back. "Ready?" I finally asked, and after a round of nods and murmured yeses, we headed outside, where Mom was already waiting in her car at the end of our driveway, Ella climbing out of the passenger seat and came to hug me. I sped up and greeted my mom, hugged her quickly, but her eyes were intent on the house.

Fang was standing on the front porch, his back to us as he closed the door. "You didn't tell us Jason was coming." Ella said tersely, crossing her arms over her chest. "What? It's not Jason…" I said, biting my lip. Fang turned around and my mother's hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God, " she murmured, eyes wide. "Fang!" Ella yelled, stumbling across the grass to him, and wrapping him in a huge hug. I smirked as he stood there awkwardly for a moment, unsure what to do. Finally he wrapped one tentative arm around her shoulder, looking at me, and awkward look on his face.

I struggled not to laugh as Ella jerked back, realizing just who she was hugging—Mr. Emotionless. Mr. Rock. Mr. Too-Cool-For-Hugs.

I giggled at her painful smile. "Sorry," she said, "I forgot." Fang cracked a smile and Ella looked taken aback. "It's alright, El," he said, "Good to see you too."