High

Chapter One-Maxwell Montgomery

Love.

If anything, the only thing that I would find it appropriate to compare it to would be Fire.

And I wasn't talking about the gooey, goosebump, flaw concealing type of love. No, I mean the passionate-death defying-heart pounding-nerve inducing, dangerous kind of love.

The love that everyone warned you about, but if given a chance, they wouldn't give it a second thought.

Love that was the exact embodiment of fire. Dangerous, alluring, captivating, and the most dangerous component of all - it was d*mn right additing.

The thing about fire was that once you got a small taste, despite your better judgment, you couldn't help but want more. Yearn for it even. The feeling, the taste, the moments would plague minds of many often. After all, wasn't the High everything that we lived for?

The only problem with that type of love? If you're not smart enough, you're gonna get burned. Hard.

And worst of all, you would no one to blame but yourself.

"Am I just talking to myself here?" Zoe asked annoyingly as she snapped her small yet long fingers in front of me.

"I'm sorry." I apologized as I stabbed the salad in front of me. Zoe sighed, giving me her all too familiar, concerned expression.

"I'm fine," I stressed to her in order to stop her from her lengthy interrogations, "I just have a lot on my mind."

Zoe sighed as she glanced over to me, "These days, it seems like you have a lot on your mind."

I opened my mouth to snap back at her, but I was interrupted when the door to the cafe was opened quite obnoxiously. As if that person wanted to make sure that they would cause a scene.

Oh, and he definitely did.

Maxwell Montgomery was the hot shot of the entire city. Wherever he went, he would get wistful gazes from girls who just wanted the opportunity to speak to him. Then he would get the lustful-I-want-to-do-some-bad-things-to-you kind of gazes.

And guess which one he would go for. No, I'm dead serious. Guess.

If you guessed the latter, then I now pronounce you a modern-day genius.

Maxwell had a highly acclaimed and highly praised reputation. Not only was he delicious to look at, but he was also self-made. An upcoming doctor that was on the cover of all the magazines.

With Maxwell, you either wanted to get into bed with him or you wanted to kill him. There was so in between. Well, except for me.

Unlike the numerous women who thought that they knew Maxwell. I actually knew him. And we go way back. Since grade school.

I knew that he had a secret phobia of cows since he was six, and I bet that he still hasn't gotten over it. I knew that he hated comedy movies and enjoyed watching horror, psycho analyzing every single character until he would ruin the entire movie.

I knew that he was terrible at basketball and, better yet, even worse at admiting that he was wrong.

We were the best of friends. We were there for each other's highs and the painstakingly gut-wrenching lows.

I was there when his parents divorced after his father found out that his wife-Maxwell's mother threw away 14 years of marriage by cheating on him with the mailman.

He was there when my father passed on due to cancer. Needless to say, I was wreck, and he was the only one who was there when I needed an outlet, a shoulder to cry on, a punching bag, and so much more.