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Max is taking pills to change his appearance and smell to pass as a girl named Maxine. Taylor is helping him and they are going shopping with their friend Willa. Max is nervous about being seen as a real girl, but Taylor reassures him. They meet Taylor's mom, who mistakes Max for a girl. They leave and Max feels encouraged that he can succeed. Max is hiding something from Taylor and Willa and is unsure if he has the courage to fully transition. Hello, I shall now be reading When You Fell From Heaven, Book 1, How to Fly, Chapter 7, Fashion Comes Later. Willa had better be right about this. Three pills a week, she said, just enough to smooth out Max's skin, change the way he smells, and hold off any growth spurts. She said she heard it from Eddie, who heard it from a guy, who heard it from another guy, who said it's what some drag queens and trinks use to stop themselves bulking up, and that's like an evidence base, right? Taylor had to look up what a trink is, just to be sure, and confirm to herself that Max definitely fits the body type. And it's true that Max needs to do something about the way he smells if he's going to go to school as Maxine. He rips something chronic after he practiced that morning at one time. It's not like it was a bad smell, necessarily. She was exaggerating a little, she told him he smelled like a wet sock, but it sure was penetrating. Yeah, it's gonna work out, and that's why when Max looks up after swallowing the pill, she gives him her widest, most confident smile. Well done, she says as he smiles for a second. She plays almost immediately by the expression of mild concern he's been carrying around half the morning. She'd give anything to know what he's thinking right now. Taylor holds out her hand, waits for him to hesitantly take it, and hurls into his feet. He bounces a little at the apex, wobbles closer to her, and for a second their faces are so close, their noses almost touch. And then he does the most remarkable thing. He smiles properly, his bold red lips stretching in just the way Taylor wanted, and practically dances away from her, coming to rest in the middle of her room with his hands on his hips, in what Taylor's already come to think of as the prototypical Maxine pose. So, he says, are we going to torture me? Are we going to torture me? He looks like a rebel girl out of a movie, all attitude and spunk, his face artfully made up, the clothes just unfashionable enough to be super fashionable, the style built to emphasize a Hollywood unattainable figure. And though Taylor knows what Max went through to be that shape, that's what curves he does have are artificial, loaned to him like a loose fit in the cargo pants, the oatmeal balls stuffed in his sports bra. She can't deny that he makes it work. Excuse me, she says, because the part of her brain that merely comprehends what other people say to her is busy. She means, Willis says, slinging her bag over her shoulder, it's time to go shopping. Well, Max, Willis says, look at you with the enthusiasm. Call it an advanced case of fatalism, Max says, twisting his keychain around his finger. He's putting up a front, and his smile fading from his face really is genuine, but he's nervous. Of course he is, duh, he was drunk the last time he was Maxine. Could she get him drunk now? No, stupid, he can't be drunk the whole semester. Sooner or later, he's got to learn how to perform unassisted, and today's the best day for it. Come on, she says, reaching for his hand again, and locking fingers with him this time, leaving him out of her room. At the door, he hesitates, and she doesn't tug on him, just turns to see what's up. He's biting his lip again. She reaches up with her joined hands, with her little finger, she flicks his little lip free. Do I really look... yes? Hot? Taylor guesses, yes. No, not that. He shakes his head, pinches his eyebrows as he thinks. Do I look safe? Like, are people going to think I'm... a real girl? He nods. Max? Taylor says, taking his other hand, I'm sorry to say this, but you look great. But, he prompts, safe? Safe. He says, nobody will know, you'll walk into anywhere, and everyone will think you're a girl, like any other. You could even... She's interrupted by the click of the lock on the front door, and she closes her eyes, and wishes they'd been just a little faster getting ready. Her mom calls upstairs. Hi, sweetheart, are you home? My viewing was cancelled, I'm thinking of making crockpot lasagna. Meet my mom, she finishes. Be fine. He whispers to Max, turns around and yells down the stairs, I'm coming down! Letting his hands go, she guesses wildly at him and Willa to come with her, and they do. Hesitantly, in Max's case, she tries to crimp down on her own fear, lest any of it spill over, because this is going to be his first real test, can he, in broad daylight, without the inhibition-blowing assistance of a hell lot of whiskey, be Maxine, in front of Taylor's mom? The three of them walk downstairs together, on one line, and when mom pokes her head out of the kitchen arch, she grins at them, well, she says, aren't you a threesome? Taylor's got to giggle, because yeah, they are. She's dressed for too darn hot, in a baby blue spaghetti strap top, in a pair of loose billy pants in pink, which don't count as PJs, only because she's never worn them to bed, Willa's in a long flower patterned skirt, and tops a decal of a prime potted plant on the front, the significance of which has long mystified Taylor, and she's wearing her usual array of bracelets and necklaces, enough that she rattles a bit when she walks, and Max? Taylor glances at this side, unable to stop herself, Max is a raven-haired hottie. Hi Mrs. S, Willa says, waving, hello Willa, mom says, and who's this? This is Max, Taylor says, coming off the last stair, why hello, her mom disappears briefly into the kitchen, deposits her last paper bag on the table, comes rushing out, hand extended, Max takes it and smiles, hello Mrs. S, he says, and he asks, he kept up the voice, oh Max, you've been practicing yod as Taylor, haven't you? mom says, internally Taylor winces, mom saw him one time, but she has been talking about Max this, and Max that, or so her dad says, she shouldn't be surprised that her mom, like, listens, she's a gymnast mom, Taylor says, I'm trying to get her to join the squad, watch out for this one, her mom says, releasing Max, she's a terror, I noticed, Max says dryly, mom starts laughing, leaning back, and really getting into it, she switches off, almost as quickly, Taylor's always wondered, if she was born able to do that, or if it's a skill she developed, specifically for real estate, you're going out, mom asks, and Willa and Taylor nod, well you girls, have fun, Taylor, the words, Taylor follows her mom, back in the kitchen, she's behind Max, Willa takes Max out the front door, and leans innocently against the arch, mom waits for the door to close, for saying, so do you, Max, is she from next door, nodding emphatically, Taylor says, yes, I saw her doing cartwheels, and somersaults, in the backyard today, they all moved in, so obviously, I swooped, she's like, such perfect cheerleader material, right, over, leaning into it, Taylor, she nods, yes, mom points, on that side, yes, only, when I went over to welcome them, to the neighborhood, I was sure they had two boys, no girls, with her heart in her mouth, Taylor says, she's, a tomboy mom, you know what Italians are like, her mom nods, drawing deeply in the well, of ancestral lost knowledge, about the Italian Catholics, and other such citizens, of the east coast, Taylor plows ahead, I had to make her shave her armpits, she whispers, leaning closer, seriously, and she only owns sports bras, can you imagine, anyway, she continues back to normal voice, straight impression, she's done with this conversation, for normal, non anxious reasons, I want her for the squad, but keep that hush hush for now, she hasn't told her parents, and I don't think they approve, don't even know I'm a cheerleader, so, mom articulates a single syllable, with incredible weight and curiosity, yeah, yeah, I don't think her mom likes cheerleaders, Taylor shrugs, she was probably jealous of them at school, I see, mom says, nodding, she was a cheerleader, back in the stone age, and she's never trusted girls, look down on them, with any luck, it'll keep away from the Giordano's place, anyway, it's where we're going shopping, we're rehabilitating her, here is sweet girl Taylor, her mom says, I'm proud of you, continues stomach muscles, so she doesn't show relief, Taylor disengages from the conversation, as quickly as she can, and rushes out of the front door, giving the briefest acknowledgement to her mom, drive safe, Willow's got the car, out of the garage, and rests with the top down, she's sitting in the passenger seat with Max, in the back, he looks like he's going to throw up, his anxious face tracks Taylor as she runs up, it's all good, she says, main driver's seat, and start the engine, mom was just having a middle age moment, couldn't find a lasagna sheet, I told her, Taylor flips the pedal into drive, it pulls up onto the street, spinning the tires, she always puts them behind the tomatoes, and she always forgets them, that's all it was, Max asks, leaning forward, Taylor reaches behind, to pat him on the head, that's all it was, she says, it's a long enough drive into the city, the Max's nerves, can't spend a whole journey, ripping his guts apart, and eventually, encouraged by Taylor's chatter, Willow pointing out school landmarks, and looks to see these cycling, every major up and pop hits, the last couple of years, his residual fear, is replaced, by almost irrepressible exuberance, he fucking did it, he faced down Taylor's mom, and she didn't think anything was out of the ordinary, this might be achievable after all, he hasn't been honest with Taylor, and Willow, not really, now he's been convinced, that he's in this to fail, to be seen for who he really is, whether it's today at the mall, or Thursday by Coach Dale, or Friday at the party, distracting guys throwing, or whatever, since they first discussed the plan with him, appalled at him, and waiting for it to all fall apart, but he can move onto the next bit, which is the bit he really understands, the bit where his life is over, where he finds out if he has the courage, to make it official, he didn't last time, but this is different, he's riding an honest to God high, and he's speeding through the sunlit street, in the back of Taylor's green, looking visible, it's impossible for everything, to seem as doomed as it did, he's content to lean back, and watch the world go by, which is something he hasn't done, in the longest time, he definitely didn't do it, on the journey across country, when the scenery went by, mostly he sulked at it, and then Taylor pulls into the mall parking lot, and for a second Max wonders, if he picked the wrong place, and ended up at the fucking stadium, or an airport, or something, but no, there's the AMC, and there's the gym, and there's Target, it's all just so mind-meltingly massive, intellectually, Max knows a lot of malls are like this, out here, in what his dad always called, the sticks, everywhere, not New York, especially not Queens, it's the sticks, Max hasn't gotten around to asking him, what that makes Vista, or Femalvera, but it's one thing to see it in a movie, another to look at, right in the imposing concrete, especially, back home, they have malls, yeah, but the one he always went to, back when he left the house much, backed right up, onto the street, it felt like it was fighting, for every inch, it could claw from the city, here, it's as if the city plan is like, hey, we just happen to have a hundred thousand tons of spare concrete, it's just as much asphalt, who wants to build a mall with a parking lot the size of New Jersey? In a daze, he hops out of the backseat, waits for Taylor to pull his top over, and locks up, it doesn't seem like an uncomplicated operation, but he doesn't know how he could possibly help, all while Willow walks circles around the car, humming happily, she catches his eye when she gets close, and raises her eyebrows, he smiles to reassure her, he's fine, and he kind of is, actually, except for that guy, the one that's looking at him, and that guy over there, and those two coming out of the gym, even that old man, climbing slowly out of a battered station wagon, takes a good couple seconds, out of his difficult standing up routine, to stare at him, instinctively, he wraps his arms around his waist, and turns away, as if his thin forearms can't possibly protect him, watch out for that, Willow whispers, tapping him on the forearm, it makes you look even cuter, he lets go, and turns his hands about instead, trying to expel some of the fight or flight energy, he slowly feels, rushing through him, is it always like this, he asks, the guy's just, looking? sure, he didn't even look, what? no, it would've been, he doesn't know how to say it, when he looks at girls, he looks at their eyes, tries to connect with them, he doesn't just stare at their ass, or their boobs, or whatever they stuff their sports bra with, and lately, going girls, he's even bothered to turn around, to look at, there's been every tale of Willow, I just, and, aw, Willow pats him on the shoulder, you were a good boy, were? yes, but she just grins at him, the same cheeky, dumbed out grin, he's coming to expect from her, like she's feeling shameful, and it helps, the carefree mood lightens his, by the time Taylor's finished, finding his locking mechanism, for the people's roof, he feels almost as good, as he did before, so what if guys are looking, they're looking at Taylor, and Willow too, it doesn't mean anything, except that most guys are assholes, it's been obvious for a while now, good, good, he laughs, and he and Willow both nod, good, he walks ahead of them, he turns around, he walks backwards, still talking, but it starts with the basics, she counts off on her fingers, underwear, pants, slightly deniable shirts, and at least one really good poster bag, oh, and a backpack for school, I have a book bag, Max says, is it cute? Willow asks, I've never had to evaluate my stuff that way before, so start, it's, not cute, Willow gets you a backpack, Willow says, puts him on the arm, we're also going for makeup, Willow continues, because you can't keep borrowing mine, you can keep it in my room if you want though, you'll have to I think, but that's okay, I can make space, you'll need cleanser, toner, a facial, and a body moisturizer, oh, and a really good brush, she turns around, it falls on Willow's back, and Willow, they approach the main entrance, find her voice, normally I'd say, you need peeling tongs, and everything else, you can use mine, I don't see you putting up your hair in your room anytime soon, all you need is a hair dryer, I, um, have one, oh my gosh, Max, okay, good brush, and like, cheapest hair dryer we can find, and then, if either of us have any money left, we go back to clothes, get nicer things, more bags, and, bags, plural, no more questions, more bags, some skirts, cute tops, and anything else that looks good, oh, and we need to get you some sports stuff, for working out, practicing, running routines, you can wear my spare uniform on Thursday for coach, what about Friday night, Willow says, party, you can borrow from me, Willow says, they enter the mall, and get flashed by AC, this is about survival Willow, much too painfully to say it, fashion comes later, Willow, made a prearranged excuse, so Max doesn't feel too crowded, went off to look at books, Debbie's tailored, what is fast becoming her favorite situation, alone with Max, okay, not exactly, alone, in the lingerie section at Target, there are people everywhere, Max is blushing like a traffic signal, it probably has something to do with the big mesh bag, full panties, and sports bras, he's treating himself like a baby, do I really need this many, he hisses, ick, Willow says, an instinct, s, one bra, every day of the week, a choice of many panties, at minimum, she taps the top package, a three pack of underwear, in varying pastel colors, it gets hot here, in case you haven't noticed, and you're gonna have to be creative, how you wash them, if you buy extra, hmm, when we buy extra, extra, you're not talking about the cost, are you, no, Max says, definitely, not the cost, a top-up budget on the way, Taylor doesn't shop anything, like as much as she used to, because she promised her mom, that if they got her a car, she'd be financially responsible enough, to pay for the upkeep, and cover all her other needs, without needing to ask for more allowance, as a result though, she has funds to spare, she's not loaded, like, not like Garrett, but if Max runs out, she can supplement him, except it turns out, Max had an elderly relative die, a couple years ago, and everyone in his twin family, got a piece, with how he hasn't done much, with his life, for like, well over a year, he still has almost all of it, he bought a new amp, he said, and that's about it, she's got to get him, to play his guitar for her, does I really need the bras? he asked, still whispering, can't I just get a sports bras? are you midi max? Alice says, flipping briefly to two taps mode, are you quitting? um, you can't wear sports bras to a party, you can't wear sports bras to school, do you know what the other girls, will say about the girl, who wears a sports bra everywhere? they'll say she's competing, for rug munch of the year, and I know that's horrible, and I can almost feel Willow, coming at me, with a flying kick, but there's a reason, she's staying in the closet, until college, Eddie too, even though he cuts it close sometimes, and that reason is collectively, the evil fly monkeys, who compromise the student body, at our wonderful school, so max, submitting, or quitting? he sags, submitting, she props him in the shoulder, stand up straight, she says, be proud, I know this is weird, but I promise you max, you'll be good at this, you'll be great at this, when you give yourself permission, to stop worrying about stupid things, and buying bras, okay? okay, good, she leans forward, and butts heads with him, sorry, biatch mode, cancelled, he finds a shy smile for her, I kinda like biatch mode, well that's fortunate, she mothers to herself, as she turns away, told her on the store, wondering if they'd get away, with some basic toga jeans, for to go hunting, for hair dryers, how do you know what size to get anyway? yes, as they leave the underwear section, hmm, you mean what size of bra? yes, I thought whatever will is getting, was even here yet, we have our ways, hey hello, max says, send yourself with arms folded, back full of underwear, big on his elbow, right next to a headless mannequin, clad in a bright pink swimsuit, taylor covers her mouth, so she doesn't laugh, he looks about ready, to stamp his foot, yes, he says innocently, oh fine, I'll tell you, I want it to be a surprise, I hate surprises, hey, can't talk about it, in the middle of Target, too technical, so she negotiates max rounds, buying a few pairs of jeans, and a handful of tees, that aren't really all that unisex, which will look cute on him anyhow, quickly picks up everything else on the list, she leads him out, back to the main body of the mall, looking for somewhere quiet, they can talk, it doesn't take long, to find a dusty corner, better on the lip of a concrete block, there's probably at some point, going to be a fountain, so taylor can own up to some things, will and I, she says, we've been talking, I am scared already, max says, running down next to her, on the concrete, to cross his legs, you know that oatmeal, isn't going to cut it, and neither are bra boosters, or anything else, and willa, had an idea, long story short, her sister works in medical insurance, and gave her a number to call, to get for women, who've had breast cancer, so on her way, with glue and everything, I already knew, you're basically my size, I gave willa my measurements, to make the order, max nods, totally, he can't dance, he dies, so I even wrap the tape, around me and target, he asks, taylor's a teen tan, before they started, she can pull the cloth tape, from the customer service desk, she shrugs, to check, he was in that injury, around the underboob, max, I don't think, that didn't give me, a bit of a scare, because a boy, shouldn't be as thin as you, yes, and I worry about you, the country centers, with a light punch, to his upper arm, he's too thin, we knew that already, no, like, too thin, willa thinks, maybe she'll have, a gross foot already, but, oh, so suddenly, it pulls away from her, she stands up, walks away, looking at me, to see if it's any fun, in front of them, yeah, I try not to think, about that, at least you're, eating again now, am I, he turns to face her again, mom thinks I eat breakfast, she thinks I get the snack for lunch, she thinks the small portions, I eat at dinner, because I eat other meals, but I don't, it's not because, I'm trying to sell myself, or anything, it's never been about that, he leans against the concrete wall, I just, don't care Taylor, how quickly the fear, can come from her, how swiftly, he can bite his throat, and squeeze, he's got to care, he's just got to, is, is that why, you're, um, don't ask that Taylor, she stands, walks over to him, and shakes his hand, she knows, but she has to know, is, that's why, you're going along with all this, she asks quietly, because he don't care, he doesn't answer, she can see his eyes start to glisten, that's it, she wraps herself around him, squeezes as hard as she does, as if with her affection, she can make it all go away, make it so Max, was never hurt the way he has, make it so Max, was never someone who could be hurt, the way he was, we're stopping this, she says, right now, he can return all this stuff, and go home, and, and, here, he says, still not returning her embrace, that's the problem, there's nothing after that, and don't think I haven't thought about it, like, maybe I should just go to mom and dad, confess it all, and then maybe I can transfer schools, if the X-Men even left me, and I can hope this thing doesn't follow me, or maybe mom can stop looking for work down here, and homeschool me, but I'm your neighbor Taylor, and the guy who's gonna hate me the most, the one guy, is not going to be hard to find me, Max, walks out of her arms, sits down on the concrete, wiping his eyes, the back of his hands, instantly Taylor realizes, she's gonna have to fix his eye makeup, and almost kicks herself for the start, so, maybe I ask my parents to send me to military school, or something, if I can get abused in a whole different way there, by boys twice my size, because like you said, I killed my own growth spurt, because I stopped giving a shit, or maybe my mom can click me upside the head, when it goes right in the bed I've made, if I get killed on school grounds, and sue, last option, the most realistic one, is that we move again, this move cost us a lot Taylor, dad got a transfer, but mom just had to quit, and I've heard him talking, we're not in trouble, our savings are basically wiped out, there's no way dad can get another transfer, so what do I do? Make both my parents unemployed, just because I keep fucking up? I'm not worth it, I'm not. Tears aren't controllable anymore, and he buries his face in his hands, inespicably trying to hide them from her, except it's not inespicable, is it? Taylor keeps forgetting that Max isn't just a boy, he's a boy, he spends a lifetime of training to hide emotions, the man, who never shows weakness, these are all weaknesses, if he was burned, he'd have no strength left, not even to care for himself, the confidence she sees when he plays Maxine is a lie, same as the sardonic, snarky persona, he wears a persona as boy Max, you can almost see how he used to be, he wears the last dregs of his old self like a raincoat, and there's not enough left to shelter him, what remains is someone else, someone new maybe, or someone old, someone before he had to learn to be like the rest of the guys, she's flattered he trusts her enough to show her this side of him, all the buried parts of him, burned and raw, maybe it's not trust though, maybe he just can't hide it anymore, well if he needs strength, he's come to the right place, Taylor's overflowing with it, she sits down next to him, pulls on his shoulder to bring him close, and holds him, content to wage with him until the tears are gone, there's nothing else to do, because the nest of fatalism and torture logic has collapsed, there's nothing left but someone who needs our help, Taylor tries to show off those battered rags, just a little, you don't fuck up, he says, for his ingrained habit, and wouldn't have to swear, but knowing he's worth it, you have bad luck, and you've been hurt, but you don't fuck up, and you are worth it, we're gonna make it work, I promise, he doesn't say anything, he just shakes in her arms, he should be embarrassed, he's spilled everything to Taylor, including all the shit he's been barely admitting to himself, but she didn't reject him, just like all the other times, that's a show on her, weird goes on, inside his fucked up head, she's beginning to feel like someone he can rely on, she came into his life like a force of nature, picked up every piece of him, and helped put him back together, and so what if she's putting him back together as a girl called Maxine, what the fuck else would he be doing smoking in his room, he wouldn't be in the women's bathroom, biggest mall he's ever seen, that's for sure, oh yeah, women's bathroom, something else he should be embarrassed about, he was sure that one time when Avery sent him into his theater, to the bathroom, didn't check the sign on the door, he got him stuck in a room with two dozen women there to see Bridget Jones' Diaries, but he's not embarrassed about it, not even a little bit, maybe after so long not caring, when someone comes along and cares enough for both of you, it's only natural to let them step to each other for a while, it's rather like how it goes with Avery towards the end, it's not like his other options are worse anyway, at least this is happening to him and not say Clay, Clay's eyeliner looks are a fuck of a lot less conventional, and he definitely wouldn't be able to hang in the women's bathroom, one more cleansing pad does it, a black makeup look, which he has primed mostly all of his cheeks, wipes away, leaving him bare faced again, which is nerve wracking, given where he is, but Taylor doesn't seem to think it's a problem, we needed to go to MAC anyway, she's saying, stuffing the rest of the pads back in her bag, and now you have clear skin, easy to match colors, for sure they won't be able to tell, he asks, what do you see at the end? Taylor says, pronouncing it as a word, which is a new word on MAC, look at yourself, what do you see? He makes an honest effort, I have no idea, looking back at him, when he leans real close, it's the same old MAC, it's only when he leans away, takes in the hair, and the clothes again, not much different to what he would normally wear, he starts to question things, is he someone who, to know him, really would see a girl? Maybe he should talk more, his voice is getting easier, and more natural, he's gained more range, and expressiveness, he's kind of androgynous without makeup, but his voice seals it surely, enough to force a needle of perception from undecided to, I believe a nausea suddenly washes over him, he's got both hands to the counter to keep himself steady, since home, whoa there, Taylor says with a sweating hand on his back, why this again, why now, it's the one shitty thing in his shitty life he thought he left on the other side of the fucking country, and now, oh, oh he's so stupid, he starts laughing, the distracted expression on Taylor's face turns to outrage, can't help it, because it's so stupid, he can't calm himself down, he meets her eye for a moment, which seems to mollify her enough for her to wait for him, when the woman from the cubicle on the end finishes washing up, he gives him both an extremely dubious look as she passes, it almost sets him off again, but he holds it off, and finally falls silent, Christ, his stomach muscles hurt after all that, sorry, he says, oh, not a moron, Taylor says automatically, but tell me anyway, yet, popping up to sit on the other side of the sink, I got faint just now, real faint, like am I about to pass out faint, back in New York, I did that a lot, I get lightheaded, I get these dark spots in my eyes, I'm seeing spots, and sometimes I just fall on my ass, usually happened when I was remembering shit, flashbacks I guess, that's what the therapist says, but sometimes I just felt faint out of nowhere, it hasn't happened since I got here, I was like oh, maybe it was the shitty New York air all along, but then it happened again just now, I was getting all emotional and confused, and even though it felt so different this time, it's just the same, and then I realized why it hasn't happened since I got here, walk me through it, you, Max says, unfortunately, extremely pretty features, are suddenly ten times as beautiful as usual, smoothie every morning, remember, not every morning, he says, most of them, and on the days we haven't been practicing together, it's been hard to escape my folks, because they're all still pretty health bound, so I've been eating more, I haven't been getting faint, because I've been eating actual food, or like a bunch of fruit and kale, and this morning we skipped it, Ella says nodding, and you barely ate anything at dinner last night Max, she reaches over and hits him on the side, you've got to take care of yourself, does it, she jumps down off the counter, and pulls on his arm until he half steps, half falls off, we can go to the MAC after, we've been to the food court, we're getting your burger young lady, she got him to the food court without much trouble, and persuaded him to get the cheeseburger, without too much push back, the shake was another story though, she only got three lends, but agreed to have one too, even though she doesn't need to put on any weight, thank you very much, it does feel good to see him eating, almost as much as it does to see him smiling, she's kept the conversation light, incredibly the tone continues that way, even after Willa comes to join them, Max greets her with, hey Willa, I just had a breakdown in front of a future site of a spirit Halloween, well, Willa says sitting down, it was good on ya, where we go next, and why didn't you get me a shake, MAC, Taylor says, and I didn't get you a shake, because the last time I got you vanilla, and you said you wanted strawberry, and the time before I got you strawberry, and you said you wanted vanilla, I can't help it if I'm flighty, and ooh yay MAC, it should be fun, is fun the word, what flavor did you get, chocolate, my favorite, yes, Willa says, fun is the word, I will make you have fun today if it kills me MAC, trying on makeup's neat, Willa says and starts slurping, first time anyway, then you find your colors, after that it's mostly refills, she nods slowly, and once again it blows Taylor away, just how darn good you look, even without makeup, Willa nods because he's basically swapping one persona for another, she prefers the way Maxine walks, MAC, despite his outside prowess, has a tendency to shuffle, I'm going to have to learn how to make up myself, aren't I, he says, well, it's okay, I'm still getting an idea of the trajectory of things, Taylor sits awkwardly in her seat, as much as all this is necessary, and they've agreed it is necessary, it's more difficult than it's clear, that Max is going along with it, reluctantly, he has no other choice, she should do better at remembering that, it's not her fault, Max is such a good actor, a self-satisfied, positively correct actress, ooh, Willa explains practically jumping her seat, and startling Taylor, Max, I have an idea, she leans towards the end of the table, to the other two end, Max can't be a guy at the old place anymore, or anyone at the party, but, you know, where he can be a guy, my place, Max says wrinkly, exactly, we should make it a thing after party, we hang out at Max's more, that way he has a chance to be himself, it's like a pressure valve, he has to blow off steam, drop the voice and we, well, you know, we get to see Max, Taylor's pretty sure what Willa was going to say, we forget who he really is, but Willa has a good sense of it, so neatly and frantically agrees, yeah, Max says after a long moment, yeah, that's, that's good, shouldn't give my mom ideas though, two girls in my room, we'll be shopping for engagement rings, he sits back in his chair, he switches to the uncannily accurate pressure of his mom's broader New York accent, what, two girls in your room, and you're not staying out of them, what's next, Max? returning to normal, normal for now, normal for Maxine, he adds, I need clay to get a girlfriend, like, now, take the attention off me, but he's even worse with girls than I am, Taylor grabs his hand and squeezes it, not bad with girls, Max, yeah, Willa says, take his other hand, you've got us, we're ever so sexy, I'm not going to go slow, because we're in kind of a hurry, but try to pay attention anyway, there will be an exam, there won't be an exam, Willa says from the back seat, life is the exam, Willa, Taylor's eyes flip back to Max's, again, that slightly crinkly aspect they always do, when she smiles at him, so pay attention, rather than not her speak, rather I mess up Taylor's line work, Max gives her a thumbs up, he tries his hardest to watch what she's doing buying makeup wasn't fun or neat as Taylor promised, but neither was it particularly arduous, Max had pictured an intensely embarrassing session with his employee, had imagined a sitcom-esque gag of onlookers discussing the fine details of their face as he was made over by a professional, but Taylor, Willa, disdained the staff entirely and made straight for the aisles, turns out you can just squeeze a tester foundation right onto the back of your hand in less than five minutes and it was just a matter of picking up everything else, eye makeup, blush, and lipstick, various colors, mascara, contour, primer powder, finishing spray, and a whole stardust set of brushes and sponges, and retreating to Taylor's beetle, a few minutes later and she's done, they're practically running with him back to the mall, and he follows along in her wake, now he has the basics, sheets declared, it's time to give him a bit of a personal flair, oh, Max, look, she stops him suddenly, he almost collides with her, takes a second, reorientates himself, when he does and follows her finger, he still doesn't understand what he's looking at, a dentist, Taylor takes him by both shoulders and looks very seriously into his eyes, Max, she says solemnly, as if announcing the death of the Pope, your teeth are kind of faded and a little yellow, he covers his mouth two times, three times a day, he protests, it's about the only things he hasn't neglected, Cleve, it's not pretty, Max, she says California, the only people you see here with yellow teeth are pushing little carts around, he's like, a dentist? No, well, maybe, I don't know, she puts a scar on his shoulder so she can hit him, she says, important, Max, I'm sorry, but you needed to hear this, you need to hear this from me, now we have the opportunity to do something about it who are unholy terrors, Willow suggests, I don't want to say they're critical, but yes, you could do it with a kitchen wall greens, but this is better and faster, it's really not that bad, Willow says, it doesn't take long, you get a mold and wear it every night for like an hour, and soon you'll have teeth like mine, Willow says, and finishes by treating Max with a green-linked smile, they present it down to prison guard to have him cuffed, bleach me, Willow's promised that it will be quick to prove entirely accurate, it's after three and Max gets done, his mouth's tingling from the first session, she's waiting for him when he gets out, Taylor went to the strip mall to get plausibly unisex sneakers from the outlet store, they rush over to meet her, this provides Max his first experience crossing a major Californian street, they quickly to the other side, they should never be announced New York taxi drivers again, Taylor spots him first, running over with plastic bags stringing from both arms, and she drags them both off to sit on the strange brick extrusion that seems like it once contained a single lonely tree, and which now mostly contains empty booger cartons, and starts depositing purchases in Max's lap, saying it's a pair in grey, look at this, it's actual cheer shoes, I thought you were going to have to borrow some, I also got these sandals, but these are mostly for me, but you can wear them if you want though, and when I texted Willow and she said you were still in there, I had to re-look around, and look what I found, she opens one of the larger bags and helps Max look inside, skirts, tops, a couple things for me she pulls out something initially identifiable, fabric is decorated tightly with a print of something with the colours of a faded Polaroid, which turns out to be a photo taken from some distance, a 50's style skating rink, complete with neon signs and chunky older cars in the parking lot, holding it out in front of him and unfolding the dress with a skirt, stand up, Taylor says I want to hold it against you, it's really longer than a skirt on Taylor's cheer uniform, hey, he says this is, I know, you're killing this dress Max, and I know it's kind of low cut, he trains a drawstring that says roughly where Max's breasts would be, it's possessed any that would think of oatmeal, and you don't want to be too exposed, but I figure you wear a black tank under and like a black cardigan over top and you will look so hot, he turns it around in his hands, it's so short, it's just a dress, and how is that any different from a cheer uniform, he doesn't know, it just is, maybe because a cheer uniform is just that, a uniform, it has a purpose, this is, this is something there's no coming back from, wearing this in front of other people, it's stating that this is who he is, he isn't just someone who puts on a uniform, no matter what it looks like, for a particular purpose, he says, for a little help, sorry, she replies grinning up at him, I think it's awesome, he looks back at Taylor, and I think of something, anything to say, she went out of the dress, which sounds like crushing her spears or something, but her smile's already starting to fade, and what the hell, it's just clothes right, what does it matter, why does he care, I like it, he jumps at him, hugs him very hard for a second, then leaps away again, yay Max, seriously, you could knock them all dead, Willow tactfully reminds Taylor of the time, which induces minor panic, they need to leave, like right now, if they want to get back before traffic gets bad, so he hurriedly stuffs everything back into the plastic bags, to the officer's strip mall, they pass outlet stores, and stores that sell mismatched wooden furniture, and other stores Max has no interest in, but just as they come to the exit, they pass a retro store, and he can't resist stopping for a quick look in the window, look at all these records, he mutters, a line of windows, and one of the walls inside, mostly bent, Max hasn't heard of, he likes records, Willow asks, not really, but Clay, he's probably saying he wants to collect them, and have the space for them back home, he'd love this place, he takes a look in here earlier, she said wistfully, they've got a Nintendo like the original one, from the 80's, there's 750 games or something, and I was this close to buying it, why didn't you Willow ask, so they head out again, I'm wiped out, she says, crying out that she probably thinks Max, trailing behind can't hear her, I have enough for car stuff, until my next allowance, that's it, sucks though, is this about that boy your mom made you stop seeing, hate Willow, no it's about his Nintendo, I got to play on it one time, Max finishes copying the store's name, and number into his phone, and runs to catch up, he doesn't get a chance to ask about the boy, or the Nintendo, or to offer to pay Taylor back for what she spent at the outlet store, because the girls changed the subject, Taylor starts enthusing about the dress again, at the time Max is happy to talk about it, because for a moment, she looked so sad, and Max takes Willow back into the seat of Willow's car, the process which is interrupted twice by Taylor yawning, so Taylor chucks her in the backseat as well, taking the keys from her, and cleaning the wheel, less than ten minutes out from the mall, Willow is fast asleep, the passenger mirror is still down from earlier, Max thinks the odd look at her will keep Willow drive, though she's obviously not subtle enough, so as soon as she's got them onto the interstate, Max checks Taylor in rear view again, making sure she's asleep, and says, yeah, doesn't seem any point in denying it, would you be doing this if you didn't? I don't think I would've been in her room in the first place if I didn't, but here? Now? I don't know, Willow, I don't like second guessing things, because you know where I go and I do, right back to when a guy used to be my friend, the oatmeal boob, right, sorry, that came out a little harsher than I remembered, now Max, Willow says, grinning, doesn't hush, Rufy tells him, just bitchy, kinda anyway, and you should lean into it, what, why? Because you need something to survive high school, the girl can be a bookworm, a sweetheart, a weirdo, she can be a badass bitch, just like a bitch bitch, you gotta pick one of the main four, it's too late to be a bookworm, bookworms aren't cheerleaders, Willow says, sorry, oh, you cheerleaders who read like Taylor and me, and most of us actually, but the cheerleader can't without the bookworm, and we have to pick one of the others, you can't be a weirdo because that's me, you're weird, you didn't notice, she sticks her tongue out to him, Maxine, Maxine, Maxine, you're not Taylor, she's blonde, and bubbly, and blonde, and peppy, and blonde, you, Willow, you're Italian, Willow keeps bringing that up, but graphically it's not that unusual, my point is, people will expect it from you, you've got dark hair, and bold lipstick, and you've got a bit of an accent, and you're kinda moody, she's a hard-talking New York girl, you should, it's fun, he drives a little longer, nothing but road noise, quiet music, and Taylor's gentle snores, and then Willow says, but you do like her though, right? For real? Day one, she showed up at my bedroom door with a smoothie, she made just for me, he says, smiling at the memory, just because she wanted me to come practice with her, and she wanted to be my friend, he looks at her again in the pull-down mirror, how can you not like someone like that? They peel her off the back seat, giving her a whole minute to complain about being allowed to sleep the whole way back, let her take over long enough to park the Beetle in the second garage where it's supposed to go, next to the sit-down lawnmower, and a box of unused branded garbage from before Yahoo bought Gareth's stupid website, Taylor still resents having to park in here, because it doesn't even have a door into the house, and on the handful of days each year that it rains, she has to take an umbrella just to get to her car, but mom and dad get to the driveway, Gareth gets the first garage, and that's the way it's going to be until Gareth moves out, bad chance, or she does, to keep her brother's Dorito dust off her seats, Willow hugs her, and Max in turn, it runs off, she needs to get to her mom's SUV back to chair the bowels before mom gets home, so it's left to Taylor and Max to face Taylor's mom alone in an emergency to force a little brevity into the encounter, Taylor, her mom calls as soon as the front door closes behind them, did you have a nice, oh, well, I guess you did, hey mom, Willow says, struggling under the awkward bulk of coming flat to bags, hi Mrs. Scott, Max says, shifting the weight of his bag to his shoulder, he stands up straight without scattering shoes and skirts all over, he says to Taylor, of some of his bags, call me Lynn, are these all yours, Taylor tries to make over, I can't run fast enough, shush, Taylor says, you had fun, did you know she didn't even have foundation, I'm a gymnast, Max protests playing the game, why would I need foundation, because you're going to be a cheerleader, we cheer for real, we wear makeup, he says, for real, her mom giggles and Taylor says, for real, don't worry, it won't kill you, it might, it's surprisingly easy to get rid of her mom once they have all the bags in her room, mom's still working the lasagna, she persists in the belief that the craft box needs to be supervised and kept on fire, she always says, she saw it on TV, it can't be true, despite being said on TV, B, it keeps mom out of her hair several hours at a time, and C, it gives mom time to catch up on her romance novels, Max, gets what I asked on the way out, toys in the doorway, visibly torn between the urge to be hospitable, the need to watch a pot in case it boils, are you staying for dinner, I'm using low-fat beef, Max looks briefly over to Taylor, but he doesn't know which way to go, on the one hand, Max says he needs more time to talk, strategize, and try on clothes, on the other, me and Max have based on both Taylor's parents at the dinner table, that's a greater challenge for Maxine's persona, and shops for clothes, even herself against Cordo, sure, Max says, smiling, thanks, that'd be wonderful, well, aren't you polite, Taylor's mom says, sitting in the chairs, they both sit and breathe out, Taylor feels like she is spelling Max's stress as much as her own, you don't have to stay for dinner, you know, she says, we can make something up, falling all the way back under the bed, so he's facing the ceiling, Max says, and what if I want to meet your dad, what if I want to try your mom's lasagna, what if I want to have in-depth conversations about, his straight face breaks and he laughs, cheerleading, and over there, Pokim settles for throwing a pencil, and bounces off his fake boob, I should call home though, let him know I'll be back late, so mom won't be mad, hopefully it won't be her who answers, Taylor hops off her chair, that's Max's house home, she starts sorting through the bags, pulling out the purchases, and arranging them according to which are staying with her, and which are going home with Max, they lucked out, and have mom Giordano do laundry only for herself, no husband, Clay and Max have been washing, ironing their own stuff, Max was 12, so that doesn't mean they can just fill his closet with skirts, so he's taking the panties, and the sports bras, Taylor was careful to get bras longer bodies, to hide his scars, and everything flawlessly intersects, she's keeping hold of the rest, hey Clay, Max says into his phone, Taylor eventually smooths out the dress she found for him, and throws the faded print, to remind her of something she saw in a magazine recently, gives it the pride of place in her closet, here it is, no don't, really don't put her, I mean it, Clay, hi mom, it's Max, he opens the mic and says to Taylor, never have a brother, working on it, she says, makes a strangling motion with her hands, pockets aside, could pass for something Max bought for himself, obviously not the cute top she pulled out first, because it's just barely on the pink side of pink, she holds it up, and closes one eye, imagining Max in it, he walks past, still talking to his mom, he walks right into the line with it, it looks divine, yeah, she's way too good at shopping, the first thing Taylor wants him to try on is the dress, but not before that, she has something prepared to do, with Taylor in the room, so Max takes his little bundle of underwear into the bathroom, locks the door, gets on with it, yesterday Max should have asked himself if he's really doing this, this morning's Max would have too, but it's a pointless question, because he is, and angsting over it just wastes precious time, time he could be using to change his underwear, he pulls down his black shorts, he's about to do the same as his borrowed panties, when a tinge of pain from his foreskin stops him, bowing out his legs releases a bit more pressure though, about to be a mistake, the pain intensifies to a point where he can almost imagine someone was cutting into him, and for a moment, he, he worries that he's done himself irreparable harm, then his whole package unridges itself, falling back into its usual place, the pain recedes with a quickly fading ache, ow, he mutters, there's got to be a better way of doing this, maybe he should look online later, someone will have written on Dracula 101 surely, he pleads, he spins holding in since his strip mall, and brings himself off, pats himself dry with a towel, before redoing his touch with the fresh panties, trying to be a bit more careful about where his foreskin ends up, he adds the fresh black shorts and turns attention to the rest of himself, stopping at the sports bra for one of his new regular bras is a tremendous relief, especially for the trickiest part, he almost calls Taylor for help, when it hits him, they can just put on backwards and rotate it when he's done enough claps, easy, Romeo boobs sit, swiftly and steadily in the cups to begin with, he shifts them around, they feel more stable, fortunately most of the bras Taylor picked were what she called t-shirt bras, designed to hide bra lines under clothes, he must have eventually sized cups, Romeo over the sink is tall enough to face the size of himself in a sports bra, this is pretty fucking different, the fake boobs are almost invisible, there's the makeup Taylor applied in the car, his hair falling down his face, he's shocked at how normal he looks, if it were everyday for girls, his self breakfast cereal down their tops, he probably wouldn't question what he sees for a second, if it were someone else anyway, his eyes wander to the place he always ends up, but the bend of his bra cuts his scars almost precisely in half, and when he looks down, he can't see his face, when he looks down away from the mirror, he can't see them at all, Max emerges from the bathroom looking like a skittish, sweet teen's girl, shyly holding onto one elbow and letting her other hand lie limply at her side, looking near Taylor but not at her, and generally giving the impression that she'd prefer her first bra experience to be her last bra experience, she looks so perfect, so completely Max, so much the girl Taylor's been wishing for, and the confusion, the prominent veins on their sticks and forearms, for example, seem to disappear, Taylor leaps up from the bed that she'd been sorting through the last of her panties and hugs her, hi, I guess, Max says, and Taylor giggles to sheer unbridled joy, hi, he says, pressing her cheeks to Max's, when she steps away though she remembers, or forces herself to remember, that Max is a she only by circumstance, and that he, would not appreciate Taylor forgetting that, darn it, but it's so hard, and it keeps happening, Max, fortunately, is obsessed to a traitorous internal monologue, as he's just standing there, arms out, looking critically at her, and she's staring at him like an idiot, oh right, the dress, things first, he's got a blank stick that ought to fit perfectly under the dress strap, throwing off just enough dark color to give it some shape, Willow said that even if the mastectomy falls, and his astral chest begins, they need to dress him without their mind, fortunately the tank Taylor's thinking of ought to be just right, so she throws out to him, starts digging through the drawer, looking for this old cardigan she has, it's ratty as hell, it has thumb holes in the sleeves, but she figures, Max is wearing more like a bolero jacket, it can be pulled down loose to expose his upper arms, so she chucks it out of the bed, Max already has the tank on, and it looks good, he takes it to attempt to drown in his hands for a moment, he's ready to tell him he needs to step into it, when he gets the idea all by himself, shuffling into it, he presses it back to her, he zips him up, holds him close with a finger, and reaches for the cardigan, which she slips him into, one arm at a time, she jolts it up his body just as far as she imagined, makes sure his thumbs are poking through the ragged holes in the sleeves, and then allows him to turn around, wow, we have to show someone, she hears herself say, he looks so good, we have to, Max, aren't we showing everyone on Friday? I guess, but Max, come on, we could go to Willow's, or do we want to risk getting it dirty? Finally, Taylor gives us control of herself first, to radiate an initial reaction, she throws a powder at Max, no, she says, you're right, I'm not sensible, but you're right, he giggles, yeah, like this is sensible, I feel silly, Taylor, silly, she says, he's almost offended, he puts a hand on his arm again, then he pulls him over the closet, hooking his toe into the door, and opening it so the mirror is facing out, he's about to see himself, Taylor can tell when he understands what she wants from him, as she turns to the mirror, he's suddenly become completely motionless, almost inaudible to face him, and sits for several seconds, you're kidding, he says, dropping the voice for the first time today, that's you, she replies smugly, then presses him on the arm, and don't forget the voice, oh shit, right, yeah, he waves at himself in the mirror, Christ on a motherfucking cross, language, Maxine, Taylor sleds, spotting it next to him, wrapping it all around his waist, putting a dress fabric tighter on him, he couldn't see even, almost has curves, like, the barest suggestion of them, only because he's spent, what, over a year not really eating, but still, curves, kinda, in the mirror, they stand almost of a height, Max is dressed for a party, and Taylor still frazzles from the trip, she feels almost frumpy next to him, then she feels nothing but pride, pride, and a peculiar sense of warmth, the sound of the front door slamming, Taylor's dad coming home, pulls him out of their shared trance, and Taylor scolds Max, refusing to let her fingers linger around his waist, as she pulls away, girls, her mom calls up, dinner in twenty, Max is still looking at himself, in his lips, he doesn't seem as hypnotized as she was, she reaches in, and yanks his lip out from under his teeth again, and he laughs gently, turning away at last from his reflection, why do you keep doing that, he asks, because, do you want to strip all the skin off your lip, um, no, right, now, I have a favor to ask you, Taylor, he puts it on the spot, filled suddenly with enthusiasm, and with a need to show off who her new friend is, can we at least show mom, she asks, she lives for makeovers, she already thinks you're a tomboy, and I'm inflicting myself on, you couldn't inflict yourself on anybody, Max whispers, Taylor trips up on that, so she resets her pleading, starts again from the top, please, he rolls his eyes at her, smiling warmly, fine, Taylor empties his hand, noting as she does, that thing worn for the list tomorrow, is going to be rounding off his fingernails, and maybe adding clear coat to keep them strong, Max follows her down the stairs, Taylor's timing to hit the lobby to regret that she didn't pick out a pair of shoes for Max to wear, as he's just in bare feet, and then mom's coming out to the kitchen to see what the fuss is, he's got almost 20, oh, wow, she reaches for Max and pulls his hand back, presumably concerned that she might have three fingers in cooking, did you buy this today, outlet store, Taylor says smugly, $15, can you believe it, it fits perfectly, and what do you think of it Maxine, her mom asks, Max shuffles on the spot, and then seems once again to find a Maxine persona, he makes a show looking down at himself, I love it, he says, I never would have had the confidence to try something like this myself, well it's just a lovely, ah, fact, mom adds, Taylor's dad emerges with a bottle of red wine, this is Maxine, Taylor's new friend, from next door, ah, dad says, and he shares none of her mom's reticence, leaning forward to shake Max's hand, at least he doesn't pump it like he does with his business partners, very nice to meet you, and then, he continues turning to mom, I thought the new neighbors had two boys, no girls, I was so wrong, mom enthuses, oblivious to the wave of attention that rolls briefly to Taylor and Max both, I caught just a glimpse of her, and thought she was a boy, with a name like Max, it could go both ways, so naturally I assumed, but look at her, doesn't she Jack, she does indeed, dad agrees, it seems it's all his attention span, he focuses on the most important thing at hand, his bottle of wine, and bustles off to the dining room, either to lay the table, or to yell at Garrett until he does, Maxine, Taylor's mom says, you have such wonderful legs, of course you do, you're an athlete aren't you, um, you wear dresses more often sweetheart, hiding those pins in the baggy pants I saw you wearing earlier is a crime, isn't that right Taylor, Taylor just nods enthusiastically, well, her mom continues, go on up and get changed, you're going to get tomato sauce on your new dress, believe me, three plastic bags, that's all he's got to show for a stay at the mall with Taylor and Willa, emphasis on the he, he made a bit of a ceremony after showing him his portion of her closet, which was sweet, now Maxwell has a couple pair of jeans, and cargoes, and two t-shirts, that Taylor very reluctantly consented to, on the grounds that his male persona, his real self, needs more shirts than one, can actually fit, he also has a few new bottles for his bathroom, a new breakfast school, a hair dryer, a handful of other sundries, he's got two weeks worth of panties, triple bagged, so no one can possibly guess he has them, finally he's got a new messenger bag, so he can carry around all the shit he used to keep his old, barely functional messenger bag, and also for example, a pair of boobs and a bra to put them in, Taylor wasn't as awkward as he expected, he had a couple funny jokes until Taylor kicked him under the table, but Jacqueline were, well, they were parents, play up to your accessible interests, pretend you've never smoked a joint, or drunk a beer in your life, and in this case, pretend to be a girl, Blaine was particularly easy to keep entrusted, she was fascinated by his gymnastics experience, so Max's quality discovered, when we get to leave out the bad stuff, he still enjoys talking about it, the lasagna was pretty good too, he seems to have known it was low fat, I wish you didn't have to go, Taylor said, she's lying back in her bed, sitting at the faded stars on the ceiling, Max shrugs at her, he puts on the shirt he wore this morning, and the pants he wore out, which they have collectively decided is an androgynous enough combination to get past both of their parents, provided Max flips his boobs out in the shadow of a big tree, that marks the termination of the fence between their homes, the sports bra he has on is kind of large enough for his adult tee, or so they hope, he can still wait until her parents went to bed though, before he can get to the house without being seen, so he can hang out with Taylor a bit longer, even if he did have to spend a lot of time trying on and wanting clothes for her, and reluctantly allowing her to take Polaroids, to that he says, but if I don't go home, my mom might forget I exist, run out of my room, and clay to steal all my CDs, and pull their arms over their chest, I'll be here at 9 tomorrow, ok? Pulling over in bed, so he can prop himself up on her elbows, Taylor says, I'll have smoothies, ready and waiting, Max escapes the house without encountering anyone, a relief, so he doesn't want to give Gareth a chance to catch him alone, ask, what the hell dude, and hides under a tree to pop his oatmeal boobs out into the messenger bag, the message to him is traditional, what time do you call this? Trishie responds with, I'm 18, it doesn't matter, and runs up the stairs, Max, Clay shouts, and through his open door, Max passes, so Max pokes his head in to tell him about his retro store, to give him the number, Clay suggests they also go together, and Max leaves with a vague agreement to hop in a car on Sunday and into Gareth's room, he once again wishes for a lock, and settles rolling up a towel, shoving it into the crack under the door, just to provide a bit of friction, should anyone take it upon themselves to bulge in, now he's got to put everything away and hide the things that must be hidden, but he sets to doing so, stashing the record bag under the bed and the panties in the very back of his closet, he piles other things in front of both, only moving on to find homes and stocking his bathroom with various new ointments and creams, when he's absolutely certain that even a reasonable thorough search of his room would find nothing out of the ordinary, in a moment of panic, he checks himself in the mirror and the closet door, confirms that yes, and Taylor did successfully remove all his makeup, but then he leans away from the mirror, suddenly confused by what he sees, maybe it's the low light from the lamp he's been maxing all day, but even in cargo pants, on his usual baggy old tees, he just can't see Max anywhere, shaking himself, he closes the closet door, stretching his head, Clay didn't see anything weird about him, it's just in his head, usually suddenly feeling unexpectedly wrong, he tucks his clothes through his pants until he pulls out the tuck, which releases much less pain than before, but does still hurt, and in the confusion of not having his genitalia shoved right up into himself, he sits down at the computer to follow up on his idea from earlier, tag 101 is his first try, but the first few results seem mostly focused on performance, drag makeup and whoa, great big butt pads, searching how do drag queens tuck doesn't help either, it turns out he's been doing it basically correctly, and he had the right idea according to something called a GAF, a specialized pair of panties ideal for spending a long period of time with parents, he plugs a few keywords into the search engine, nails down a store, relatively local, that can ship in two days in discreet packaging, fine, he buys three to try them out, the store turns out to be morbidly fascinating, he clicks around to make sure one of them is nice, passing over wigs and corsets he sells herbal hormone supplements as well, he files a link to the page, curious as to what they claim to do, the list of effects line up pretty well, so Willard says he's got birth control pills to do for him, with the addition of some expensive claims about breast growth, which is alarming, they are Supercharged Natural Nelly Breast Growth Herbal Hormone Cream, a website screen for multiple banners, but at the bottom of the page is a list of disclaimers, most of which contain the claims reducing them basically to a promise that if breast growth were to occur then everyone at the Garden of Paradise would be very pleased and somewhat impressed, combined with the website's borderline scammy nature, Max can't help but be relieved, he's probably going to regret ordering the gas from them, but it's weird even scammers can't mess up what are essentially just panties, he blasts out of himself for being even slightly scared of such absolute bullshit, herbal hormones, it would have been after school specialist warning about it, some cop would have shown up at school to warn of the dangers after making himself grow boobs, Willard's promises of softer skin and so forth seem reasonable, but breast growth? Growing whole new body parts? From a pill? Yeah sure, doesn't matter if it feels herbal or legitimate, it's not happening, but oh shit, Willard did say something about growing breasts so that's gotta be a load of crap, because those breasts can soar during their periods right? He's probably getting mixed up with that, better make sure though, quickly type breast control side effects into the search engine and scan through the results, looking for something, anything about breasts, sore and tender breasts, okay fine, another result, oh yeah breast tenderness, and another, mild pain in the breasts, the breasts will grow as a result of taking them, he relaxes, rolls his shoulders against the whole back of the dining chair, trying to push the tension out of them, he lets himself get worked up for nothing, he's still got Willard's pills in his pocket actually, pulling them out, he checks the back of the box, one more check for side effects, and then slides the tray out into his hand, skin texture changes, just one of the things that was listed as a side effect, improvement in acne, excessive face and body hair, yes please, hell even entry for mood changes doesn't sound bad, and hey, is that how he got through the day? Are these little blue pills somehow mood stabilizers? Does he can't imagine Max of a week ago sitting down with someone's parents while dressed as a girl, and carrying on a pleasant conversation? Nor can he imagine him strolling through Target with a basket of panties thrown casually from his arm, maybe everyone should take these things, he thinks ahead, tomorrow's the day he drills tube routines at Taylor, and since Thursday, which is dated on Friday to Friday, he's got a hell of a few days ahead, if these things give him the boost he needs to get through it, then what the hell, he pops one out of the tray, and swallows it, he starts flipping the box into his medicine bag when his phone lights up, it's a text from Taylor, so then he gets on AIM, so he shoves the bag back under the bed, camouflages it with shoes, he opens, Captain Taylor, Hey, Max, get home okay? This one here, obsessing over the plan, has some stuff to discuss with you, Max, yo, Maxine, he pulls up the keyboard, checks behind him to make sure his bedroom door is still closed, and then occasionally types, Hey Taylor, smiley face, I hope you enjoy, and have a good time.
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