Summary: Max is an Eraser-in-training at the School. But something happens before her batch can be transformed: they escape, and somehow, Max is whisked away with them into the human world. When an Eraser is injected with the serum, they are given a superhuman sense of direction. But since none of them have that yet, how will she cope when she can't find her way home and is instead packed off to high school? And what happens when she's noticed, just a little more than she'd have liked? Eventual Fax, we'll see how it goes. ;)

A/N: Hey everybuddy. So I did decide to start a new story, but not the one I mentioned in Chapter 5 of 60 Days. I still might do that, but I wanted to act on this one first. Also, Mindgames will be on hold because I'm just not getting reviews, so I don't know if people wanted to read more of that. But I will get around sometime to writing a second chapter. AND I was planning on a one-three shot Fax songfic, because I have the perfect song.
watch?feature=endscreen&v=_cW1U-i6L8Y&NR=1
I LOVE YOU WTK 3 :P

So I hope you like the idea for this story, R&R if you do, blah blah. I don't want a megalong A/N that will bore your pants off so on with the story! Oh, and the disclaimer. Yeah. _

Disclaimer: I'm a 65 year old balding American author who has written several internationally successful stories. Oh, I'm not? I guess that means I don't have Max rights. Bum. :(

Oh, The Irony

I waited in the yard with the others, for our instructor. Personally, I'd rather not have an instructor who's not such a wimp. And maybe, if it's not too much to ask, one who doesn't turn up in a riot suit and ask us all politely please not to please eat him please. I mean, it's not like we're even Erasers yet. Maybe we would be, if we swapped instructors with Batch 104. I heard he gives them things to bite. Like my mum.
Don't get your boxers in a bunch, I'm only joking. It's that kind of sick humour that gets you popular around here. Thankfully, I'm a natural.

Allow me to introduce myself. I'm Maximum Ride, currently human, but I'm in training for something more than that. Your average kid might say, 'mam, I want to be a spaceman when I grow up'. Well I'm not your average kid, and I never said that. I didn't even get the chance to be what I wanted, because before I could walk, I was destined to be an Eraser. And when I could finally understand the English language, my father told me about my future. He said, 'honey, when you grow up I'm going to EAT YOUR FACE!'
Jokes. Again. Ha-ha.
Ha.

He told me I was going to be wolf girl, and it would be the bestest thing ever. I already loved animals, so hearing that was like a Christmas present (you probably thought Erasers didn't celebrate Christmas. Well they don't, so you were right. But nobody said Erasers-in-training couldn't). And it turns out, I still love it, so joke's on anyone who thought I wouldn't.

When you hear about human-wolf hybrids, you probably think savage, solitary werewolves lurking at night waiting to run away with your arm and your leg and your dinner plate. We're anything but. We're a tight-knit family; we take our ups and downs on each other's shoulders and we have a lot of fun doing it.

But, back to the present, because I've been waiting to open it.
Well, it's not a sick joke, but it's not bad, right?

"Hey Ari, that one looks like a fork." I pointed with my free hand at a cloud above us, because I was shielding my eyes with the other. "The uses of a fork: stabbing beef, stabbing potatoes, and stabbing eyes." That earned me a chuckle. I have to say, he's cute when he laughs. He's a year younger than I am, and I'm fifteen, so you can do the maths yourself. And if you can't, buy some new pants instead.

"And that one looks like a… plant pot." He leaned over me to point at a cloud to my left. Tee hee. Hee. "Plant pots are used for growing flowers, fruit, and hiding the evidence in." That made me laugh, and he looked down at me, still leaning; I'm not sure why. His praline chocolate-coloured hair fell over his tanned face, and suddenly I was thinking about how he looks kind of Hispanic. He certainly does look like he's kissed the sun. Or at least given it a passionate bear hug.

And before anything else could happen, our instructor walked cautiously across the grass, like he still believed we were going to serve up his bum cheeks for dinner. Oh come on man, grow a backbone!

"Um, class, um. Before we get started," he began, approaching carefully. "I'd like to please um, ask if you um, wouldn't mind not attacking me today because my washing machine just gave birth!" he said the first part slowly, like he really didn't want to offend us, then the last part in a quick and squeaky voice and shielded his body with an arm and a leg. Jeez Louise, his excuses get more ridiculous every time. I tell you, it was 'my balloon died' last time, and it'll be 'my pregnancy test ate a meatball' next time. But if he thinks his arm and his leg are going to protect him, he's kidding himself. We'd have them off first.

"If you put clothes in it and then they came out again, I'm pretty sure that's what's supposed to happen." I told him loudly, and everyone cheered. Aw, I feel all fuzzy inside. Like a bunny. Or a velociraptor.

He coughed. After he gets over himself, he usual gets to business. Which is good for us all, because otherwise we'd be getting nowhere, and we'd have ourselves scheduled for dispatch with Batch 106 instead of 104. In case you live under a rock (this is for you Patrick), we're 105, and they breed, train and release two batches at a time. We're with 104, and being dispatched late is disgrace. We could never show our faces again.

As I snapped back to the present, I realised I was staring at our tree house. The Eraser training yard is a megasaurus field with obstacle courses and crocodiles and mace balls and lava pits and all that jazz. Ha-ha, I'm joking. We don't have lava.
But in the midst of this, we do have a place to hang-out, chill, and pretend we're normal teenagers. It's pretty much an open space, with a tiny, creaky, wooden yellow tree house that sits on a tree stump. It's in the shade of a proper tree too, but a stubbed one, so it's only as tall as a grown man. Even so, it still feels very… homey.

"Since you're all scheduled in three weeks, you're a very advanced class, so I'm not going to show you anything flimsy like pressure points, or how to knock someone cold. It's time you learned how to kill. And believe me, there are a lot of ways to achieve that, and I'm sure you'll enjoy learning all about them." See, even if he is a wimp, he's got his basics. That's why he's an instructor. They don't just pick anyone, you know.

By the end of the day, Ari and I were laying in back on the grass, puffing and quietly discussing uses for cloud shapes again. It's become sort of routine, and it's helped us bond. Usually, when you're in a situation like this, you pick one person, make really good friends with them, and form a tag team. It's pretty much always one boy and one girl, like Ari and I. And that, kids, is where baby wolf-people come from.

"There's a chair; you could use that to sit on or throw it at a bear."

"And there's a fish, you can eat it or poison it and then make someone else eat it."

"There's a bunch of creaky floorboards to hide the body underneath."

"Creaky floorboards? You really need to work on your shapes, Maxie." I playfully swat him over the shoulder and shuffle sideways, towards him, because it's starting to get dark. The rest of Batch 105 is still out here, but we're the only ones around. Batch 104 is probably still out in their training field: it's kind of tradition that you always stay up till midnight when you're in training. When you're transformed into a full Eraser, it's optional.

The others have started up a fire in the ring of rocks we built a few months ago. That was one of the most fun nights we've had. We were set a task by the instructors after training, for up to four of us to sneak in and steal something, come back out and use it, then hide the evidence. I think we did that pretty well.
Ari and I were the ones who snuck in. The others stayed out here, building a rock ring and gathering wood to make a fire. The plan was for the two of us to find the kitchen, steal all the marshmallows, then come back out so we could all toast and eat them. We buried the plastic packets about a foot or two below the fire; it wasn't hard with all our honed survival skills. And the instructors never found out what we took.

"Help me, then." I'm surprised the clouds are still there this late, but we have another game for when they've cleared: we name stars, which sometimes turns into a teasing game, because we pick the weirdest patterns and name them after each other. There are about 18 mangled shapes called Max, and about 34 named Ari.

"Okay, Maxie." He slides his hand to rest on top of mine, which I think is a sweet move; one which I wasn't expecting from him. He usually doesn't try any romantic advances on me, unless I spark them, which I'll admit has happened before. You'd think with such a long-worn, strong bond, we'd feel like siblings. But we don't. And I think we're really feeling the connection lately. "So, what's that one?"

"It's a… cat?"

"No, it's an umbrella, you silly goose. What's that one?"

"Goose?"

"It's hut, gosh, girl. Hike up your knickers and have some pride. What's that one?"

"Knickers?"

"You've got to be kidding me, Maxie, you used to be great at this tosh. Now, tell me what that is."

"Tosh." I dropped my head to the side, scowling at him. He watched me intently. "I tell you, tosh. I'm still the best at this, you're just distracting me, you knickers-wearing tosh-claiming silly goose." He laughed loud, and for a long time, and I liked it. I really did.

"In what way am I distracting you, Maxie?" he wiggled his eyebrows at me and rolled onto his side, which I copied, action for action. It made him grin, and from so close, I could really see how white they were. Sometimes I can get a little lost in one of his features, whether it's his eyes, which look so deep that you could drown in them, or his cheekbones, which sometimes I want to stroke, or his smile, which could seem a little sinister to another girl, but me? I just love it.

That's when he kisses me.

And that's also when the bomb detonates.

A/N: Hola, all of my Intrapeeps out there. How did you like the first chapter of this awesome load of tosh? Exciting? Interesting? Better than watching paint dry? Or would you rather watch the grass grow? If you would DO IT like to DO IT tell me DO IT what you DO IT thought of DO IT this new DO IT story, then DO IT.

So, since I really enjoyed writing this chapter, the next one will be up soon, even if I don't get many reviews (that's not me telling you not to review! Please do, it really helps!). It's much more fun and exciting to write than 60 Days, and I even made myself laugh a few times. Did I make you laugh? I hope so. :)

Anyways, bye-bye, peoples, and see you soon!

-Faximum