Preston was struggling to keep up with Max. "Damn that five foot five boy!" he thought, trying to locate the teen in the crowd. He finally caught sight of some familiar messy black hair and ran up to him.

   "Hey, Max!" he called out, grabbing the other's attention for a moment. He came up beside him, slightly out of breath. "You're actually considering it?"

   "Keep pestering me about it and I won't," the shorter boy growled. Preston nodded, still trying to process what was happening. Max glanced up at him, curious. "Why me?"

   "What?"

   "You heard me," he took a sharp turn and the auburn haired teen followed. "Why recruit me? We've never gotten along before and we still don't now. What's the reasoning behind it?"

   The dramatic teen faltered, feeling vulnerable. He gazed at the floor, debating on what to say. "Let's just say someone recommended you," he answered carefully.

   "Who the fuck would do that?" Max snapped. Preston bit back a harsh remark and instead replied, "Ms. Sutherland did, actually."

   "The creative teacher?" The black haired teen pushed the gym door open, nearly slamming it in the other's face. Preston huffed, trying to keep his cool. "She's the creative writing teacher. I trust her judgement."

   "I'm not surprised," Max mumbled, clambering up the bleachers. He took a seat near the top and the other followed suit.

   Preston crossed his arms at the statement, glaring. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

   Max snickered. "You're into that kinda thing, of course you'd get along with her." His green eyes burned into amber ones. "Also, why are you following me?"

   The dramatic boy motioned at all the teens below them. "Hello? Only sophomore in here? You're the only person I know."

   Max rolled his eyes and focused on the P.E teacher walking in. In two minutes, he already knew a lot about the teacher. Lazy, probably dating someone, extremely awkward, and, like Gwen, let the kids do whatever they wanted.

   He sighed, letting his head touch the wall behind them. He noticed Preston had pulled out his leather notebook and was writing in it. He attempted to doze off.

   Riiip.

   He jolted awake, glancing at the boy beside him. The teen had ripped out a sheet of paper, balled it up, and let it hit the floorboards. With a relieved sigh, Max dozed off again... But only for a minute.

   Riiip.

   "God dammit," he muttered, stealing a glance at Preston. The dramatic male had ripped out another page and tossed it. Having nothing better to do, he picked up one of the pieces.

   It was a script. Dialogue between two characters. One was about to commit suicide, and the other was trying to stop them. Max read over it, impressed.

   "Damn," he breathed, "You're a great writer."

   "Thank you," Preston responded, tossing him another balled up script. He caught it and opened it, intrigued.

   Same scenario, with just a slight dialogue change. Max noticed something about both of the scrapped writing: they were somewhat cliche. "What are you going for?"

   "Unexpected suicide," Preston sighed, ripping out another page.

   "Got a pencil I could borrow?"

   "Um, sure..." The taller teen murmured, cautiously passing him one. Max nodded in thanks and started writing on the back on a trashed script. A few minutes later, he shoved the new script in Preston's face. "How's that?"

   The dramatic teen read over it. Then reread it. Then reread it again. "Holy shit," he gasped. "Max, this is-" He turned towards the shorter teen to find him asleep. He sighed. "Great. I was going to say great..." Preston's gaze returned to the new script.

   "Ms. Sutherland was right," he thought. "Max actually does have some potential..."

                              •~•

A/N: In all honesty, I had to rewrite this chapter so it would make more sense. The original was... Let's just say I was pretty tired when I wrote it on paper. ~FB667