A/N- So my friends were walking down the hallway at school and I was walking towards them. I wanted to make them laugh, so I latched onto my classroom door and started doing all the "sexy-Abercrombie-poses" that are so ridiculous. They laughed and kept walking, where upon I went into the room-

It wasn't my class. I certainly gave those freshman one heck of a show.

Reviewer of the Week:

Bananaflakes: Fang's never heard of a flying pimp? Gosh, where's he been his whole life?

Comment of the Week:

Josh Ramsay: Nothing says "I came here to win" like jazz hands.

When you're running (er, flying) away from an airborne pimp, there's a few things to keep in mind:

A. At least this is a cool death, like being impaled by a robot Hufflepuff.

B. We were totally missing the latest episode of Glee.

C. Since he wasn't holding back, neither would we.

Luckily, the strippers weren't with him. Otherwise, Iggy probably would have been suspiciously absent from the whole battle. Instead, three-on-one should have been a snap. Key word: should. Also key word: Iggy's idiotic shoes that he never ties up falling off his feet.

Mmhmm.

I'll tell you this: we steal all our shoes. Always have, always will. Hint: Put all the shoes in different backpacks, and run out of the emergency exit. Everyone will be worried about the impending fire, not the missing shoes.

A problem with that is how our shoes rarely fit; security in those stores doesn't usually like it when six kids come into a store with empty backpacks. We usually grab the shoes nearest our sizes and run. (Nudge once stole four-inch heels. Guess who broke her ankle three hours later?)

And thus, Iggy's shoes are constantly loose. He rarely bothers to tie them up. Unfortunately, this has a habit of turning against him at rather inconvenient times.

Say, suspended in the air about to die.

So, his left shoe fell off.

"Oh, look at that," he mumbled. This wouldn't be a problem if we were flying over Candyland, if it was day, and if Iggy wasn't blind. He immediately dived downwards for his shoe, obviously hoping to catch it from the sound of it against the air.

…The only thing that could make this worse was if the pimp decided to attack Iggy at that exact time.

Oh wait! He did.

Jolly good time.

It's hard to describe what I saw, considering it was hard to see, even with the so-called "raptor vision" we have. (That's what Max calls it. Personally, I call it "Aegrotocatelus Jaggeri vision", because that's a cooler dinosaur, and it's named for Mick Jagger.)

Basically, it looked like a fangirl spear-tackling a hater.

It was as if Iggy was plummeting… and then he disappeared. The guy hit him so hard that they both went spinning downwards at a crazy mad speed that was nearly impossible to track. It was a downright shame we didn't have a man-to-man smackdown conversation, since those are always fun.

I mean, there was a lot to consider. First off, some random guy was attacking us for a random reason. Second off, (is that a legit term?) this random guy had wings that any bird would be mad jealous of. Third off, Max's hair was so gorgeous that I actually had to blink a few times.

"Bloody freaking hell!" she yelled, since only a few nights ago we had a Harry Potter movie marathon. She pivoted towards them, and the next thing I knew, she was a blur racing towards the ground.

I was alone.

…Obviously.

Man, I need to stop pointing this stuff out.

It all sucked, considering all I wanted to do was have a few moments - just a second - with Max. I had to tell her about my vision, about how I saw the guy die, about how I absolutely needed to know what gum she chewed, since it smelled delicious.

This whole thing wouldn't work; Max would never be able to catch up to them. She couldn't do that whacked super-saiyan-speed thing, either, since she'd speed right past them.

I hate to say it, but I actually took a moment to think. Just shhh, don't tell.

All I'd have to do is give Max some extra time. And maybe, if shoes got us into this mess, then shoes could get us out. According to Angel, shoes can do anything, including finding the cure for cancer and discovering if Pepsi purposely designed their logo to look like a Pokéball.

I did a half front-flip, so I was directly facing downwards. It was an uncomfortable position – doesn't it suck when your shirt rides up? – but it was the fastest. I dropped like a stone after eating pounds of cake. (Wait…)

It only took a few seconds before I could see the mass of fuzzy shadows fighting in a giant blob before me. It helped that we were above downtown Lansing, so the lights were able to illuminate them. The pimp, with his red jacket, was easiest to see. Max was close to them, but too far away to help.

So I took off my shoes.

And, with my Aegrotocatelus Jaggeri vision, I whipped the shoes, one after the other, at the head of the pimp.

They barely missed Max as they whizzed by her legs. I was downright surprised (and impressed) I could throw faster than she could fly, which I would definitely brag about later. Sure, they were light objects with no air resistance, but she'd never know that. Points for not skipping that one science class I went to!

I heard the satisfying clunk of the shoes colliding with a rather thick head. "Ten points for Gryffindor!" I shouted, 'cause I'm cool like that.

The plan worked wonderfully, which is incredible. Most of the time, our plans end up in arrests, flames, or death (or, in one rather peculiar incident, a tiger with its tail stuck up a rather unfortunate location).

The pimp broke away from Iggy, giving Max those precious seconds to catch up. Before he could gather his wits, he was hit by what I like to call the Pain Train – i.e., Max.

She came in with a flashy flying kick that you see in old school ninja movies. The guy went flying - well, he already was, but you know what I mean - to the side. Max followed relentlessly.

I couldn't see what happened next. I was too busy helping Iggy recover, since he'd have one killer black eye for a while, and cuts were lining his face and arms – the guy must've had a ring on. All I could hear were the pimp's groans and grunts. (…That sounded wrong.)

"My shoes!" Iggy moaned. "They were Converse!"

Of course, after nearly getting himself killed by a flying pimp, he thinks of his shoes. Even though they were rather stylish and comfortable, I'd much rather worry about, oh, say, helping Max.

Naturally, "helping Max" means standing nearby and watching her kick the crap out of someone and occasionally shouting things like, "Nice one!" or "Go for the groin!" It's a good job.

She was really laying it into him. Maybe she was PMSing or was pissed that the Yankees got kicked out of the Series, since she showed no mercy. There were a few shots that even I winced at.

After just one minute, the poor guy looked like he'd walked into Hell and back. Max was holding onto his collar and just going at it. Not obnoxiously, just enough to knock him unconscious. Finally, she let go and turned to me.

"Don't you hate it when your night is interrupted by a flying pimps? So annoying." Max crossed her arms dramatically. She stuck out her tongue for extra effect.

"It happens, like, every night." I rolled my eyes. Max smiled at me, I smiled at Max. For a brief second, we were alone – and that was when I realized Max's mistake.

Remember, she knocked him out.

Then she'd let him go.

There's nothing quite like chasing a falling pimp falling through the air.

Our eyes widened at the same time. We looked down; he was plummeting towards the bright lights. "I don't think Lansing will like it very much if some guy suddenly drops into the middle of the city," I said with a flat voice.

"This is Lansing; what do you expect? They wouldn't be surprised if an acapella group consisting of Greek-speaking sheep fell into the market." Something tells me she was referencing the event where she and the girls disappeared for a week a few years ago, but I had no idea.

And after that brief interlude, we dived.

You would be surprised how fast a body can fall in the sky. Sure, we were going way faster than him, but he'd had a head start. Besides, the previous fall had already taken away a lot of our height. Our distance from the buildings could be judged in hundreds of feet, not thousands. Max, beside me, was sweating bullets. (Metaphorically. If literally, she'd totally be like a jacked Terminator.)

"He's too far ahead!" I shouted, but my voice was lost in the wind rushing past us. "Pull up!"

She could still hear me. "No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

We pick some great times for lover's quarrels.

The buildings were way too close; it was possible to see people walking past the windows in their offices, and the cars driving on the busy streets. We couldn't risk being seen, and even if we caught up to the guy, it would take too long to get him back up.

With a wing-wrenching stop, I pulled up. Max stopped seconds later, only a hundred feet from the top of the buildings. "Some people are about to be scarred for life when some body comes crashing down. Knowing our luck it'll smash right into a group of preschool kids."

I highly doubted preschool kids would be out at this time of night, but I didn't say anything. "Well, at least there's one less pimp in the world." See, you've gotta look at the bright side of things. I might have the emo kid reputation – it's the hair that does it – but really, life isn't all too bad. It's what you make it.

"We should land at the shore, then run back and try and find the body." (I told you that the night would end up with someone naked or dead.) "Of course, it would impossible to get the body out of the city. Should we just leave it?" Max ran her hands through her hair. Above us, Iggy started to float down to our level.

"Guys," he said, exasperated. "Do you realize how much experience I have getting dead bodies out of big cities?"

…

…

…No questions, no answers.

I looked at Max. Max looked at Iggy. Iggy looked at nothing.

"Well," Max said. "What do we have to lose, except our freedom, dignity, and human rights?" She pointed at my feet. "Nice move, but your feet are going to freeze."

"No kidding." They already felt like someone had Superglued popsicles onto my feet. "We can steal some down there." I gestured to the separate world below us.

"So the plan is to go down there, find a body in a huge city, sneak said body away, and get back to the rest of the Flock by dawn?" Max asked. Her eyebrows were cocked. "I say we do it, write a story about it, sell it for millions, and spend the rest of our days wasting away at slot machines in Atlanta."

"Excellent life plan," I agreed. "But we might as well get started." I glanced towards the horizon that would light up in only a few hours. This was like every video game I'd ever played, just with legit consequences. "We don't have that long."

Max closed her eyes for a brief moment, as if considering spending a few years in jail was worth it. "But how are we going to do this? Sure, we've done so crazy stuff," – understatement of the year- "but this is a challenge. How are we going to pull it off?"

Iggy threw his head back and laughed. "Do you guys know anything? First off, we need a chainsaw, gasoline, and a match."

…Why yes, that's perfectly safe. Because of course, a blind kid with a flaming chainsaw is perfectly normal.

Man, I can't wait.