A/N- Who doesn't want to get inside of Fang's head?
I have no idea what this story is about. I do know that there will be ridiculous scenarios, a ludicrous plotline and preposterous characters.
Thanks to axisfiraga. If someone were to say that I was Kirk, then I would say she's my Spock.
I'll only say it once: reviews are loved.
Disclaimer- No one reads these things. I can ramble on about pink elephants and no one could tell the difference between this and a real disclaimer. Pink elephants are awesome, by the way. And for the lawyers, the characters aren't mine.
Let's see where this goes…
June 2nd, 2009
Telling someone you love them is the equivalent to shooting them with a rifle in the middle of the Sahara Desert while force-feeding them monkey brains during the Apocalypse.
It's anyone's definition of Hell.
Then again, love is Hell. It's all hot and sticky and you're under the control of someone else. Who invented love, anyway? Romeo? I don't know why girls are all, "I want to be like Romeo and Juliet!" I mean, I hate to spoil the ending, but they die.
I mean, seriously. Girls need lives. Badly. I'm sure they're somewhere on Ebay.
Anyway, I have a bit of an… enigma. A mystery. A puzzle. A conundrum. Whatever you want to call it, I've got it. At any rate, I'll say it now, and I'll say it proud:
I, Fang, am madly in love with Maximum Ride.
There's just one problem:
She doesn't know it yet.
So I guess that's my goal for the year. Tell Max that I love her. And to make sure that I actually make a good, solid attempt at it, I went out and bought this diary. And once again, there's another problem:
Men don't own diaries.
They don't even have journals. Men aren't supposed to show any emotion or feelings, which is exactly what a diary is for. So I guess I'm turning my back on the Man Universe.
But, oh, God, I'll screw it up my confession somehow. I'll accidentally tell her that for the past fifteen years of my life she has been my life. Which doesn't make sense, really, since we're both fifteen. But whatever. I'm sure that, even before I met Max, I loved her. She is my sun, my sky, my heart-
I sound like Romeo.
I'm as good as dead.
There are 365 days in a year. Well, excluding leap years, but that doesn't matter. 365 days to tell Max that I love her. Oh, geez….
What've I gotten myself into?
At the point I realized I was already dead (did that mean I was a zombie?) I surreptitiously stuck my head out into the hallway. No one was home, just as I thought.
The Flock had all temporarily ditched ourselves at Max's Mom's – Dr. Martinez- house. We weren't sure she'd take in six soaking kids standing on the doorstep in the middle of the night, but she made us feel right at home. The one-storey house in Mesa, Arizona was pretty cramped –me, Iggy and Gazzy shared a room- but was a palace compared to the caves and forests we've slept in before. Hell, just a bed is a luxury.
Everyone but me had decided to grocery shopping – you can imagine how much seven kids (including Ella) and one dog ate in a day. We loved food shopping, mainly because it was such a foreign concept (we get to choose what we want to eat!) but today I opted to stay home. Dr. M had given me the whole don't-blow-the-house-up-or-you'll-pay-for-it speech but left with surprisingly few threats.
Then again, she would never have let Iggy and Gazzy stay home alone. The smoke as a result of the house exploding would have lingered over the area for days.
So, back to my problem: confessing my passionate love. To make this easier, I'll plan out a timeline. There are twelve months in a year. It's June, now, so…
Fang's Timeline of Death
June- Think about confessing love. Do nothing about it but sulk in corner, looking emo
July- Think more. When all else fails, go play Xbox
August- Read Twilight. If Edward can score a chick, so can I. Find out what makes him so attractive. Apparently mythological creatures are a pretty hot specimen now
September- Bleach eyes from reading Twilight
October- Bake pies with Max. Tell her that they're "baked with love". Awww
November- Save Max's life so she owes you a life debt. If that means shoving her in front of a moving truck only to chivalrously tackle her out of the way, so be it
December- Corner Max at Christmas, telling her I know what she wants. Cue heavy, hormonal lusting and telling her that if she's a good girl this year, Santa will be very, very nice
January- Consider asking Flock for help
February- Repair damage that Flock caused from help
March- Lock self in room. Starve self until good idea
April- Make up final plans for confession
May- CONFESS LOVE
As I looked over my bullet-proof plan, I noticed something: it all counted on us staying with Dr. M for the next year. Hmmm. We haven't settled down in a while. How hard would it be for Dr. M to keep us all? A veterinarian's salary couldn't cover seven kids.
I'll get a job.
A real job. You know, contributing to society, helping our crummy economy get back into shape, give back to the United States of America-
What's a job you can do with wings?
I mean, the health and sanitation people at McDonalds would have a nightmare. Or maybe not. That place is sketchy. I'll definitely have to keep a look around, though. It's not every day you see a poster saying "ARE YOU A LOST FREAK LOOKING FOR A JOB? CONTACT US AT 1-800-IAM-FREAK".
If only, if only.
At this point I heard the car door slam outside, followed by several shouts and a general clamour. I shoved the loose piece of paper I had written Fang's Timeline of Death on into the diary, not wanting to be caught with anything incriminating. I shoved the diary under the mattress of the top bunk of the bunk bed, smoothly sliding it to the centre of the bed. If someone found it, it would be the equivalent of standing naked in front of a firing squad while someone sings the Greek national anthem nearby.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Nudge, who had evidentially had a run-in with sugar, bounded into the kitchen with arms laden with groceries. "HEY FANG."
"Hey, Nudge." I kept my groan back as I stood from the cramped desk and made my way over to the kitchen. By now, the majority of the Flock was in there, sorting through the tons of food.
"Hey, Fang," Max called. She was standing on a chair, looking over her shoulder as she placed a can of beans into a cupboard. (Was it sheer coincidence that my favourite food immediately switched to beans?)
I just nodded back. Here's the thing – everything thinks I'm so dark and full of angst, but the thing is I'm just too shy to say anything half the time. The other half of the time I had so much to say I didn't know what order to put it in and just shut up to save myself any embarrassment.
Which basically means Max thinks I'm an emotionless brick wall.
Would you want to enter a relationship with an emotionless brick wall?
I think not.
Anyways, I helped put back the rest of the food. As I went through the Pop Tarts, Lucky Charms, Gushers and Pop Rocks, I asked, "Did you get anything other than chemicals?"
"Nope," Iggy said, placing the cereal in the precisely correct spot. "But they're delicious chemicals."
"Ah." I continued on with the food absently, always aware of Max's presence. Did you know she has a habit of twirling her hair when she's thinking? It's always with the left hand, too, and always on the same strand.
Oh, God, I'm such a stalker.
The rest of the night continued on amiably enough, with me saying a grand total of thirty words, which was at least better than last night (twenty-three). Ugh, if only I could sweep Max off her feet majestically and acknowledge my undying love for her which will last beyond eternity into the forever known as infinity…Ok, that was weird. My poetic skills are lacking.
And so, after dinner and cleaning up, I bumped into Max on the way to the washroom.
"Sorry," I mumbled, but inside, I said, MAX, PLEASE LOVE ME FOREVER.
"It's all cool," she said, rubbing the tip of her wing. Dr. M had been really nice and cut all our shirts for us to allow us some breathing room for our wings.
"So what's up?" I asked. CAN I WORSHIP YOU EVERY DAY?
"Ugh, just on my way back from the bathroom…" She looked down, semi-awkwardly.
"Oh, right." I WANT TO MAKE OUT WITH YOU THIS VERY SECOND.
"I'll…see you in the morning," she said, her eyebrows coming together in an arch. She was confused at my behavior. Then again, so was I. Stupid hormones. "'Night."
"'Night." YOU'LL BE IN MY DREAMS TONIGHT.
After I finished with the bathroom, I blearily made my way back to my room. Gazzy and Iggy were, surprisingly, asleep. Grabbing a flashlight off the floor, I climbed into the top bunk of the bed. Ducking under the covers, I wriggled the diary out from the mattress. You know, I'm going to promise to myself right now that under no circumstances am I going to re-read this diary. I don't want to read about how much of a freak I am.
And so that's where I am right now, writing away, under the covers, wondering how in the world I can confess my love in just one year.
So I guess this is the diary of a lovesick mutant.
It's going to be a long year…