untitled cheerleader story 5

Max is nervous to meet Taylor's boyfriend Gordo, but puts on a confident persona as Maxine. Gordo reveals that the football coach thought Max was a potential player, causing Max to panic. Taylor tries to diffuse the situation, but Max collapses in relief once Gordo leaves. Hello, I shall now be reading Untitled Cheerleaders Story, Chapter 5, Commitment. The stairs are in full view of the lobby, and the front door, and now that it's open, and Taylor's boyfriend is standing there in full view, Max really doesn't want to come down. Christ, the guy's big, he's not in that showy bodybuilder way, not in the way Clay is either, Gordo is shaped to move fast and break people, there's nothing in the world Max wants to do less than walk up to him right now. Gordo's only just inside, and he hasn't noticed Max yet, none of them have, there's still time to turn and run, but then Taylor looks up, and so do the rest of them, including Gordo, and Max runs out of options, he's doing this, he's wearing Taylor's clothes, even her underwear, and he's fucking doing this. Shit, what is he doing though? Will's set to do the valley girl voice, but someone that seems stupid, inappropriate, and what does that thing Avery used to do? Trying to get into R-rated movies, to make herself up to look older, yeah sure, but there's this way, she walked and talked, he commanded attention, yeah he can do it, he had to know he could still do the valley girl voice until earlier tonight, he's done it since he was a kid, since before his voice broke, and he pulled it off, so he can definitely pull this off too, even if his fucking belly button is on show. Oh my god, he says, speak as much through his nose as he can, he's about to avoid stagnant relief when he comes out okay, what's with all this shouting? Taylor's eyes presently pop out of her head, Max takes that as a vote of confidence, he takes that confidence and hands it right back to Avery's exaggerated Neal persona, and he flips his hair as he descends the stairs. His movements start to come more naturally as he goes, as he pictures Avery indiginously walking up to the seat at the ticket office, and by the time he steps off the last stair, he's shaking his ass just like she did. Max, Taylor says, this is Gordo, and she wiggles her hands at Gordo like he's the freshest and most delicious pie on the shelf, fuck him and everything about him but shit, Max can see what she sees in him, he looks handsome in that all-American way, square-jawed, tanned and stocky, with hair that's just dark enough shade of blonde that he doesn't have and beautiful eyebrows. They set up the Max, Dad used to say Max could walk to a turnstile without paying, that's just before he lost all that weight. Gordo, Taylor continues, this is Max, there's an unavoidable shock of fear that passes through him as this beast of a guy is introduced to him, and he realizes immediately he's going to have to play Will's plan to pretend to be Max's cousin. Maxine, all he's worth because otherwise? Nothing better thinking about, for now he has to be Maxine, and Maxine's confident, she's pretty, and she's unimpressed by Taylor's boyfriend. Maxwell? He's probably asleep, or playing on his guitar or something, in the room next door, alone, same as every night. Well, Maxwell's life sucks. So, he says, this is Gordo. Avery, he tells himself, as they close the last couple of feet between them, he's Maxine. He props a hand on his hip, lifts the guy up and down, trying not to draw on how the spine back of Meat Sack has at least six inches on him. Right, you can almost see Gordo's history laid out behind him, like the weird lines thing from Donnie Darko, he likes to seek out exes, Taylor says, and a string of f***ing hotter girls presents himself to Max, all of them glaring at Gordo. The contemptuous, ha! Max utters as he inspects him, it's not hard to find. Hey babe. Gordo says, and yeah, he sounds exactly like Max expected, if date rape could talk. Yeah, hi. And that should be it, right? He's presenting Maxine to show Gordo proof of Taylor's friend from New York, she's real and everything, so Gordo can go now, and all get on with their lives. Hey, is he staying? It's hard to make the question sound disinterested and not desperate. You were gonna show me! Shit, what do Taylor show Maxine? How you do that thing with your hair. Okay, good save. Shit. The guy says, he does that thing jocks do when they have the sink and walk in a circle like he's a dynamo for his slowly charging brain. No babe. He says, when he's done switching to a pleading voice, I can't stay, I need to get back. Shit, I ran out of coats. I need to tell him I was wrong. Wrong about what? Taylor asks, coming up behind Max. She positions herself at the united front, the two of them in the air, Max could use a bit of that. It's the worst question she could have asked though, it prompts Gordo to crouch down in front of Max, uncomfortably close. Max can smell him, he'd smell whatever they did today at football camp. Probably, he wouldn't be surprised if they also tortured small animals or beheaded unready freshmen. It's hard to say this Maxine. Gordo says, sounds like he's holding down the ugly girl who asked him to the prom. Our coach thinks you're a dude, he'll be pissed when I tell him he was wrong. He laughs. Guess we're not getting a new running back this year after all. There's the fear again, it's coiling around him. Gordo's coach knows about him. Your coach wanted me to be a running back? Yes, too quick, too interested, he sounded a little too much like himself. Shit, of course the football coach wants him. Coaches rule their little fiefdoms like tyrant kings. I don't want him in a coma like that. So yeah, they're going to keep tabs on promising new students with exploitable backgrounds. Max shivers. The football coach wants him for the head injury brigade. He did. Gordo says, is he able to contain his amusement? When he thought you were a guy. Yeah, well, I'm not. Gemini is immediate. Max is not going to be a fucking football player. Not after what they did to you. And then he realizes exactly what he said. He turned the position down for himself. He's supposed to be Max's cousin. Maxine's not supposed to be even going to this stupid school. He should have said, oh, you'll have to talk to my dumb cousin about that. Or, or, or, fucking something. Gordo's got up, and he moves away from Max a bit. He's still talking. Now he's talking back to him. But none of that is important because Max needs to start walking all this back. Like now. Anyway, he says, his heart's hammering his chest. I'm not staying. She's going to be a cheerleader. Ella says triumphantly. Is all Max can do not to stare at her? Because what? And that's why I invited her over. She's talking faster than Max has ever heard her talk. That's probably because he can feel Willow practically, find him practically exploding with the need to interrupt her and substitute the story she discussed with Max. Because she's a gymnast, like you said, and I want her on the squad. We want her on the squad. But she's a bit of a tomboy. So, makeover. Willow's brain is still working away at the police service engine, thinking through all the discrepancies in the stories he's been told. He turns to Eddie and points a finger right at his chest. So, if they're doing girl stuff, why are you here, Eddie? Eddie doesn't hesitate. He doesn't flinch like Max might have. Free food, he says. He points at the chip bag scattered by the couches. He says it like it's the most obvious thing in the world. And of course, Goldo takes that as an insult because Eddie is a fag under his breath. Eddie, again, doesn't react. But again, he's almost as tall as Goldo. He doesn't have the guy looming over him the way Max did. Max is so envious. Babe. Goldo says, dismissing Eddie and holding his arms out in Taylor's direction. I gotta go. Coach on his sandwich ran off. Now I gotta tell him you're not cheating on me and his new running back isn't real. I'll be lucky if he doesn't bench me. Okay, Taylor says, so go. Aw, come on, babe. Don't be like that. Ugh, fine. Taylor acquiesces and Max has to look away while they kiss. He blocks them both out to Goldo's back in the middle of the mall again. Willa, hi. He says, every inch, every foot, this mommy ex-boyfriend. Bye, Goldo, Willa says. And the heat in her voice makes Max want to hug her. Eddie, sorry about your shoulder. Don't worry about it, Eddie says. There's Max's turn. Maxine, looking forward to seeing more of you on the squad. Right, he says, more? Fucking gross. If Maxine were real, he'd kick him in the balls. Yeah, sure, Max says. Yeah, a lot more. Goldo continues, didn't make it clear before. Worse, he starts dancing around like a cheerleader and the mockery he injects into his short performance is almost as gross as the innuendo. Just remember to be aggressive. Be aggressive. Maxine is going to kick him in the balls. Won't be a problem, Max says on her behalf. Goldo turns back to Taylor. Babe. Goodbye, Goldo, Willa says. Later, y'all. And then the mocker's gone, zooming off in some full-throated jock-munching vehicle that's probably been specifically tuned to be extra loud. And Max suddenly thanks Avery, thanks Maxine, and releases the tension he's been holding in his limbs. It turns out to be the only thing holding him up. As everyone else teases a sigh of relief, Max staggers backwards, leaning painfully on the bottom stair. He's not thinking about the pain. He's not even thinking about how he's wearing Taylor's clothes. Goldo expects a girl called Maxine to start school in September, a girl who looks like him. How could this get any worse? Nobody wants to break the silence. Nobody wants to be the one who precipitates Max's inevitable breakdown, least of all Taylor. She finds herself staring at him, waiting for him to react. But he's just watching the front door, as if Goldo might burst back in and require Maxine to perform Maxine again. And then Max collapses, falls backwards, woman on his feet, he's wearing pink socks, slipping on the fake wood or merriment or whatever the heck it was Dad picked. He lands on his ass at the bottom of the stairs, and then he's still, battery's pulled out, power off, shoot. Still, nobody else moves and that's it. Taylor's got to take control of the situation or nobody will. She feeds back the guilt and the panic and the concern. Max is just kind of sitting there. He puts himself into cheerleader mode. Do now and do well. Think later, when everyone's safe and off the field. Eddie! He says in her captain voice, to be amused at how quickly he snaps to attention if the situation weren't so serious. Help her up and take her to the couch. Rilla, get her some water. I'll be vacuuming with her. On it, with his clothes. Ick, stupid pronouns, like she's ever had a problem telling boys from girls before. Except, she's got to make herself, as Rilla slips out to the pantry for water. Max's whole performance really spun her head. From the moment he stood up to Gordo, wearing her I Love New York shirt, no less, with a hand on his hip and attitude oozing from every pore, Taylor knew something had shifted further. Maybe once you've seen someone as a girl, you can't see them as a guy ever again. Maybe she got her first glimpse at the true Max and now she'll never accept a lie. Or maybe, Taylor, the first is sexist reasoning and the second is wishful thinking. Oh, and why would she wish for that? Ick, what happened to think later? Move it, girl. Taylor takes the upstairs hall to her room at the near run and only doesn't bother to throw off its hinges because she doesn't want preparing it to be another fire she has to put out on her supposedly relaxing week without her parents. Inside, she finds Max's clothes scattered all over, in the sandal, she guesses, and starts collecting them up. She only pauses when she turns to her bed and finds his boxes discarded like the rest of his clothes. No, no, they can't be Max's boxes, can they? Who else has been leaving boxes in your room, Taylor? She whispers to herself. She shudders at the only potential other answer because Gordo, if he knows what's good for him, is never undressing here. With all his, she needs Willow to put Max in a pair of Taylor's panties and I'm like, wow, way to go, Max! That shows commitment! Out of the room again, in the stairs, three at a time, after getting a perfect landing on the jump in the last five or six. She can't help it if she's good, even when she's worried. Taylor marches into the living room, Max's clothes, and eagerly wonders why she brought them. What did she think? Willow and Mike make him feel better just to see them. She dumps them on her dad's recliner and squats down by the couch to check on Max properly. Eddie's got him lying down, but Max's head is resting in Eddie's lap, which is not what Taylor expected. She looks up, meets Eddie's eye, and he just shrugs at her, so fine, whatever. Max looks okay, though. Yeah, it's not actually good, but he'll be sitting up and talking or gasping for air or anything. Taylor, much in a more than her fair share of cheerleader panic attacks among the squad, is an expert at spotting the signs, and Max isn't displaying any of them. Maybe he's just thinking. She takes his hand, cups it in hers. She can't help but noticing that even his hands are small for a boy. Not super small, not like, say, Willow's, but she could splay her hand against his, and his wouldn't be notably larger, just like a tiny bit bigger. No wonder Gordo bought Max's garage. Taylor's buying it right now, and she knows the truth. Willow returns from the pantry, leans over the back of the couch, and hands her a bottle of water. Unwilling to release Max, Taylor grips it between her thighs, so she can grasp the cap with one hand. Hey, she says quietly, we've got to use some water. For a horrifying moment, his breathing ceases, closed eyes flutter, he thinks it's true, he's about to stop panicking, and then a miracle. Max opens his eyes, smiles at her, but the smile becomes a laugh, and seems to stop, not worrying in itself. He shakes his laughter, seems to be losing control of it, his legs start to curl up, he takes his hand from her grip, and grabs his stomach, like he can shut himself up just by squeezing it. Max? Eddie says. Willow, Max's hand travels up his body, through his chest, his face there, just for a second, Taylor's body sparks all the way through when she understands what that means, that's where his burn scars are, the scars from a time a group of boys used to know, used to trust, helped him run and hurt him, and Taylor, Jeff gave another boy, another very large boy, who already had reason just like Max, all these kids he would ever need to beat the ever-living crap out of him? Coach Penderson would definitely look the other way, if he finds out Gordo beat up a boy, he dressed up as a girl, it came out to him, and that's definitely how Gordo will see it, or spin it, when he finds out. What have you done, Taylor? Max would be covering a little, seems in control, as he sits up from Eddie's lap, he reaches for the bottle, Taylor's been lamely offering him it's a long swig, interrupted only by gas for air, as his body struggles to resupply him with the oxygen his hysterical laughing fit deprives him of. I am fucked, he says between gasps, I am so fucked. What? Eddie says, I thought you pulled off great, kudos by the way. Your boyfriend? Max says looking at Taylor, thinks I'm a girl, what's he gonna say when I show up at school in a month? Nothing, Willa says, think I'm gonna catch opposites, because we're going with the story, the original story we planned, yes I know he thinks you're you, but it won't take a lot for Taylor to convince him of our cousin's story, especially if she makes kissy faces at him, the cousin's story, she adds, looking poignantly at Taylor, being the one we should have gone with all along. No, Willa says, to crack in the floor in front of Max, I messed up, Max, I'm sorry. His chest is still violently rising and falling, his eyes are still wide, but his reaction's immediate, he meets her gaze and smiles softly. It's okay, he says, not your fault. He looks up in a way, I thought Willa, if I'd known about your cousin plan before this started, I would have definitely have gone out the window, given my chances with the drop on the first floor, I don't need to use my legs anyway. Just for that, Taylor smacks him on the knee, yes, of course you do. Looking, he says, I would have hit him, if I'd been thinking straight. It's okay though, right? Eddie says, Willa's right, Goldo might be pretty, but he's not the smartest boy, I happen to know he's worried about his memory lately. Taylor's head snaps around, what do you mean? I hear things, he taps at the top of his head, too many helmet collisions, I think he's just paranoid that the coach Penderson made the football team read those blog posts on head trauma he printed out, and yelled at them to, like, angle their heads to the side of it they think are crashing to each other. If we can make him believe the Maxine story, I'm sure of it. You think so? Max says, and with such hope in his voice, Taylor almost bursts into tears. I know so, Neil Ortiz told me, after Varsity seems terrified of it. How do you know Danny Ortiz? Taylor asks, but Eddie doesn't reply, he just smirks at her, he taps the side of his nose. Is it not for Willa though, because she fake gas-sexes him? Eddie, she exclaims, we're not all married, we ought to be wed. It breaks the ice, and Taylor rocks back on her haunches, and in one practice motion, he flops on the couch next to Max, he brushes shoulders with him, he squats back, clearly feeling better. Thank God for dumb jocks, Max says, this is a big thing, so he starts to lecture him about making judgments, he's still a little shaky, but he's masking it, smiling, he keeps on his water bottle, and Taylor's so proud. That's the kind of resolve under pressure that all good cheerleaders need. He wanted to go home, calm down, sleep it off, masking the joy that his worst fears might not actually come to pass this time, but when he said so, he's mobbed by three cheerleaders, and implores to have another drink, and come upstairs, back to Taylor's room, because the night's not even half over yet, and they still have bad movies to watch. So he relented, and before he knew what was happening, found himself sitting on the end of Taylor's bed, with her sitting behind him, brushing his hair. She's been back there for ten minutes now, so surely she's doing it just for the fun of it? How much hairbrushing does one really need? But it is relaxing, Will and Eddie are arguing over which blockbuster brand its remanded-dressed VHS sequel is going to feed to Taylor's VHS player, and Max has a beautiful girl massaging his head, and another whiskey and coke, and a near-disastrous Bordeaux, where they feel a long way away, and what's not to worry about anymore, at least not for tonight. So, yes, what did I do? The excuse they've all been waiting for, he's sending them, to desperation, to ask every possible question about the performance he put on, and all he does in this, they want to discuss it, he wants Eddie and Will as friends, Moldy wants to avoid a little discomfort, and Taylor's been quiet, brushing away back there, but otherwise saying little, even if none of those things are entirely true, because I think I did pretty good. Oh my gosh, Max! Will says, suddenly animated by his forced confidence, he bounces away across the mattress till she's level with him. You were incredible! How did you do it? It's all Willa. She just kept throwing things at me, and I kept putting them on. She's come shuffling the bed, playing it up. Some of them are more comfortable than others. Holy shit! Eddie exclaims, loud enough to make Taylor and Max both squint. Are you tucked? What's that? It's a drag thing, Willa says, looking out from the pile of videotapes scattered on the floor, between her and Eddie. It's when you, um, actually, she interrupts herself as a giggle. See, I think this is more like your department. Eddie takes a long drink from his highball, and Max follows suit. This does not sound like information she wants to take in or in control of his faculties. Okay, Eddie says, but Max has come off her air. First of all, how squeamish are you, especially about, like, maleness-related things? Sitting down in her clothes, Willa dresses him in. Max replies in a voice he borrowed from Avery, I'm a lot less than I was when I woke up this morning. Willa giggles and bumps into him again, because it makes him think whenever she does that, he tries to keep talking the voice for the time being because she likes it. So, Eddie says, holding up his hand, isn't those fingers raised? I want you to imagine that I have a testicle on the end of each finger. I see it visibly. I see it vividly, Max says. Taylor snorts. What tucking is, you push up with those two fingers and shove those bad boys right back where they came from, back in your body again. She raises her middle finger. While you've got them in position, you take the penis and you tuck. He makes bunny or quotes marks with his other hand. Get back between your legs and you pull your undies up real quick before it all falls apart. Max nods slowly. Then I'm definitely not tucked, he says. So, um, Taylor shuffles closer, looks down at his lap. Where are you keeping it, then? Okay. So, less huge reaction. He lifts his legs and lays his free hand in the way. Taylor can't ogle the crotch with the jeans he borrowed anymore. Bike shorts, Willa says, rescue him. Oh, sure. Willa says, nodding, like it makes perfect sense. Then she butts against Max again. Still loving that. And explains, we wear them for practice. Spankies were games, but bike shorts were for practice, they're just... She waves her hands around. They cover everything, Willa says. Time of the month? Covered. Exploded? Covered. Rose of Bumps? Covered. Murdered cellulite? Willa says. Covered. Everything, Willa confirms. They watched the return of the fall down stairs earlier, or part of it anyway. So Willa overrode Eddie's request for more Disney sequels, and instead conducted a vote for Teen Wolf 2, which proved disappointing enough that Eddie, halfway through, declared himself in need of more alcohol. Willa went down to help him, leaving Taylor Max alone. At last, she's been sitting next to him on the bed for like an hour. She's barely got to talk to him. Still laughing with Eddie Willa's commentary on the Taylor movie. But there's something brittle about him the whole time. Taylor's desperate to check in. Max, she says seriously, if you need to have a breakdown, you totally can. Max gets to laugh, but she's not sure why. I think I'm okay, Tay, he says. You really think Eddie Willa, right? You think we can gaslight Gordo? Gaslight him? Someone's been reading ahead in the psych textbooks. Someone other than her. Yes, I'm sure of it, she says. Though she's far from as certain as she makes herself sound. She just doesn't want Max to worry. It's not like there's anything they can do about it right now. Then I'm good, I'm fine. I mean, what am I actually wearing? Seams in a t-shirt? It's totally different from what I normally wear. It fits better, so I can't resist pointing out. He rinses, wondering if it was a rude thing to say. Max doesn't seem bothered. He knocks on the door and says, I am only an inch taller than you. She bumps into him, holding his shoulder, not even an inch. Max snorts, and finishes the last of his drink. Hey, Taylor says. How come you didn't borrow any of my shoes? They don't fit me, Max says with a shrug. Since we didn't have time to check anyway. Both of them are wearing socks. Taylor extends a foot out next to his, meeting him at his thigh, knee, and ankle. Their legs are practically the same length. Max's miniscule extra height must be in his torso, which makes sense, looking at how Taylor's shirt sits on him. She lines up their feet next to each other. We look like the same size, she says, and quickly adds to mollify him. I have big feet for a girl, which he does, kind of, but not too big. What size are you? He shrugs, like a nine, sometimes, but also a bit loose on me. She leans down, briefly steadies herself with her hands on the floor. The alcohol is definitely settling back in, and rummages around under her bed, looking for her tennis shoes. Once she finds them, she presents them to Max. He recalls slightly. Don't be a baby, she says. I've barely worn them. They don't smell. It's not that, he says, defensively there. I think, okay. So? He huffs at her. Fine, he says, picking up from her, slipping them on. He seems briefly irritated that they go straight on to the struggle. When he looks back at her, she beams at him, which prompts a blush that can't be entirely attributable to alcohol. He likes her. Pretty boy, right now dressed as a pretty girl, likes her, and she loves that he does. Is that because I'm a bad person? No. No. Absolutely not. After Gordo's little display tonight, she's earned a little fantasy cheating. She'd never do anything. The more she gets to know Max, the more certain she is that he would never do anything without her explicit consent. But the idea is fun to play with. So she giggles at him, makes him stand up to model the shoes, and she hugs him. Maybe for a little too long. Are we interrupting? Betty says. He's standing in the doorway, holding a tray of several Cokes and the rest of the whiskey on it, and she's smoking at her. No, Taylor says, letting Max go and stepping away, but slowly, because she isn't doing anything wrong, because she hugs girlfriends all the time, that's what Max is right now, so she sticks out her tongue at Betty. She's delighted to see Max copy her. Movies start being comprehensible after a while, start shifting between scenes seemingly at random. Takes it a while for Max to realize that it's because he's drunk. Drunk as hell. He might be overdoing it, actually, because he's still not very experienced. A couple glasses of wine with Sunday lunch, his odd sneaky blouse with Avery being basically his limit, but it's hard to care because they're all laughing and drinking with him. And Taylor's here. Taylor's here. He's had to make two things for himself tonight. First, the girl voice gets easier when he's had a drink or three, that it doesn't require the exaggerated belly or New York accent to sound right, and that it's kind of fun to just keep going in the voice he's half-singing, rather than his usual effective monotone. Second, that he doesn't just have a crush on Taylor, he's smitten. How could he not be? She's sweet and bubbly and friendly, but she's also smart and thoughtful and surprisingly naughty about unexpected topics. Not just computers, she's a math geek, and she's into a series of sci-fi dragon novels with intensity she says she cannot possibly reveal at school. Even being chapter of the cheer squad is enough to protect her from that revelation, she said. If it ever gets out, she might as well go get the big square glasses and the dungarees to go live in the school library. He told her he basically lived in the school library his whole life here in New York, and she giggled and said that was sweet. Max has never been sweet before, not to anyone except Avery. Still, Taylor's fucked up some stuff. He's still convinced things with Gorda could explode, despite Eddie's and Willa's insistence otherwise, whilst he could no more reject Taylor for it than he could go walk on the moon. Besides, he never expected to make friends this year. Dodging a jock, if it comes to that, is still preferable to holing up in the library at lunch and spending every evening either alone or painfully aware that Avery could be making out with Rebecca rather than wasting time with him. Aside from his dream, Max remembers how excited Avery was when his overdreams turned out to like her back. She deserved her in a way Max never did. Hold still, Taylor half-whispers in a hoarse and overly careful tone as someone trying to concentrate through too much alcohol. Sorry, Max whispers back, his whole head as motionless as possible. The makeup brush tickles as it glides under his chin. In the background, a Disney movie plays. Not the remainder sequel this time. Eddie and Simpson are watching something actually good. It dug out the VHS of The Little Mermaid. Part of your world plays as Ariel swims around her under-collection of human trinkets and Taylor pats powder onto Max's cheeks. At least she got done with his eyes quickly. Can you look up and hold steady at the drum? Taylor whittled in an eyeliner pencil right up close with almost as if fixing down Gordo. He sprays his face with something cool. He folds his blow-dryer to dry. He closes his eyes with his, which makes her laugh as she bounces up off the bed, announcing him ready for his close-up. A sudden self-consciousness takes him over, despite the significant alcoholic lubrication. He clutches both his arms over his belly as he stands, and it's a bit silly. A sensation that isn't helped by Eddie's catcalls and Willa's excited whistles. He didn't want to put on Taylor's spare-chair uniform at first, but the second fall even stopped in his voice to say so. He looked stupid, he insisted, but she won him over. She was pleading, then her smiles. There was another highball, something about going out to a bathroom and getting into uniform herself. If you look stupid in that, she says, then so do I. Then she giggled at him, and how was he supposed to resist? Willa's uniform turned out to fit perfectly, but he had to put the bra a little bit more so it didn't feel loose up there. He had to borrow a pair of leggings to hide his leg hair, though he did feel weird when he first put it on. That was before he sat there for twenty minutes, working another whiskey and coke while Taylor painted his face. Right now, if he doesn't think about what he's wearing, it feels as comfortable as anything he's ever worn. More so, actually, he realizes as he walks a little circle around the room, Taylor and the others watching it in silence. He's the actual freak of those movements. Only he's had in anything except kind of athletic shorts that make the other boys hurl homophobic insults at him. He tests it by bouncing on one foot, slowly racing the other behind him, leaning forward on one of the yoga-inspired stretches his old coach taught him, and the uniform just gets out of his way. Amazing. See? Taylor says, but Max has his foot with his level at his neck. I told you she was good. Taylor throws him a pair of pom-poms, he implicitly runs through what he remembers as one of her simpler routines, oblivious to the flashes of her Lord cameras, able to concentrate only on the freedom of getting to move again. Despite his bare belly, despite the skirts flying out around his waist, despite the cheer uniform, he doesn't care. He's not in the gym at his old school. He's here, in Taylor's room, the only people present are his friends, so why be self-conscious? You picked up that whole routine just from watching me? Yeah, you did a lot, Tay, out in the yard, mostly made of stuff I've already done, just not in a skirt. Well, you owned it. You owned that skirt. You're already as good as half my squad. I wish... Hm? I wish you could join the squad. Taylor, I know. I know I don't want to, and I'm not going to pressure you. We don't even have any boy slots open right now. I just... Taylor sighs and rolls over to face him. I wish you'd come here two years ago, is all. I wish you'd never had a bad year. It's not fair. To me, or on the squad, he whispers, smiling. He's smiling with his head propped up on one arm, but she can barely see him. She can hear the smile in his voice, a voice she feels like she knows intimately now, in both its forms. On you! Taylor squeals on the other side of the room, and he grunts, rolls over on the futon, causing Willow, sleeping quietly next to him, mumbling her sleep. Taylor slaps her free hand over her mouth, and acts last gently at her, and she adds truthfully, Okay. End of squad. He might be never to become captain of anything. I'll corrupt. Max, I am not corrupt. I'm just aware of my responsibilities, is all. He grins at her again, rolls over on his back, gathering the sheets around him. He's probably cold. He's still wearing his steady uniform, which doesn't cover the arms or the stomach. The A.C. keeps it chilly at night. She wishes she could tell him how beautiful he looks, because with actual time available to make him up, there's time to do more with his hair, just brush it out. Max looks fantastic. When he went to the bathroom last, Willow came over to briefly obsess him with the first pictures they took. They agreed. He looks like a cheerleader. A real cheerleader. Like one of them. He looks like the kind of girl who has a hundred friends, who always has a date, who tailored by silhouette, they give the things she didn't share with Willow. She looks like the kind of girl, the kind of person who never has to worry about boys holding her down and burning her until she scars. Instinctively, she reaches out for him, or for him to roll over away from her. She's almost disappointed to her quiet growling snore emanates from the other sides of the bed. Taylor thrills briefly at the confirmation that Max is comfortable enough around her to fall asleep in her bed. Then she plumps up her pillow, twitches as she's completely comfortable, and closes her eyes. Only to be shaken by Willow till she opens them again, what feels like moments later. Oh, crap. Willow mumbles, My head. Yeah, mine too, Willow whispers. Get out from under Max and come with me outside, okay? Get out from under what? Willow gets her eyes and marches out of the room, leaving Taylor to discover Max still sleeping, as she's rolled over to face her. Willow is exasperating thankfully. Max doesn't have his arm around her or anything. It'd be hard to get up without waking him if he did. But his head is resting lightly on Taylor's shoulder. He takes a moment just to look at him, wincing against what sunlight penetrates the drapes. Never claimed to wipe their faces or anything last night, any of them. And Max is still fully made up. He looks like a girl, a beautiful girl in Taylor's spare uniform just like one of her cheerleaders. Will she ever see him any other way again? Ick. Do now. Think later. ... ... She lifts her hand gently off her shoulder and lays down on the mattress and carefully rolls out of bed, thanking God and all his heavenly angels that Dad had to fall aboard scene to when she first became a cheerleader, because the creaks from late night routine step-throughs kept pretty mom off her bodice ripper novels. On the balls of her feet, she walks suddenly out of the room, pausing only to pick up pile of Polaroids on the dresser, thinking that if Max wakes up before she gets back, she doesn't want them to be the first thing he sees. One of them, one segment at the top, shows him jumping off the floor, just enough to curl his legs up. The motion raises the uniform to the top high enough to expose the very bottom of his burn scars. Poor Max. Will is waiting for her in the hallway and grabs Taylor by the wrist as soon as she emerges, drags her all the way to the main guest bathroom, shutting the door behind them, calmly looking around like a spy in a kid's cartoon. Where's Eddie? Taylor asks before Will can say anything. Gone, Will says. Are you distracted already? Hey, it's past ten. Oh. Any other thing? Don't you mean, Taylor says, wagging her eyebrows, that someone else has a thing and he wants to? Any other time are they inter-ending along with you, Will says, but this is important. She sits on the edge of the tub and stretches her fingers. Hey, we fucked up bad. Are these things that have nothing to do with her headache, cancer, or squats on the floor, only afraid for co-ordination? Messed up how? She says. It's not just Gordo we have to worry about, no? Think about it, he's also that intensive football thingy. Football camp, right into Coach Penderson, Enzo's, the whole team, and the usual hang-ons. And you know what Gordo's like when he's mad. All of them will know that he's thought to have cheated on him with a guy named Max. Hell, she adds, flipping her hand in the air. He talks to Penderson about it. Now he knows about the gymnastics stuff. Taylor, rubbing her throbbing, rolling head. I can't think straight, Willa. Walk me through it. Jumping up from the tub, Willa starts pacing, counting on her fingers. Coach already knew about Max. He's updated some new students in case she wants to coach them. That means he's seen Max's file. Seen his picture, kay? Then Gordo confesses, sorry Coach, Maxine's a girl. You think he's gonna just let that go? Oh no. Taylor says as someone clutches. And the rest of the team, you know what they're like. They could care less about some new gymnast guy unless he joins the team. Or the new hot girl. When he told Gordo it's gonna be a cheerleader, they're gonna be asking around. Maxine's gonna be the it girl of the fall semester. Oh, no, no, no, no. Yeah, Willa says, dropping back onto the rim of the tub. I figure we haven't hit the elite football camp. Then Coach Penderson's going to go straight to the school computers to check and see if his potential new running back is real. The boys are gonna start talking to Willa. Everyone else they know. Taylor's mouth feels like a sand dune. Willa, she says, we really messed up. Yeah, no shit. I've been up since five. I've been thinking about nothing else. Tell me you have a plan. Only one, but it's a really bad one. Max rolls over in bed. The first thing he notices is that he's slept on the other side of the bed. The usual. The second thing he notices is that this isn't his bed. The third thing he notices is that he's wearing Taylor's red, black and white cheer uniform. He sits up straight. The third thing he notices, the final thing, is his monstrous hangover. God, how much did he drink last night? Will Taylor get in trouble for it? She said her mom doesn't notice when they take whole bottles. But he's 90% sure they finished off one bottle of whiskey and moved on to another before they finally stopped. Eddie drank at least one round neat after he ran out of coke and nobody wanted to go downstairs again. Bouncing carefully on the mattress, Max edges right on the bed, trying to stay on the very end, almost tripping over food in the process. He frowns at it for a second before he remembers. Oh yeah, that's where Eddie and Willa slept. Weird that Willa didn't sleep in the bed with Taylor and with him. Oh shit. And she's gone. And Willa's gone. They've all gone. That means he must have done something stupid in his sleep or said something awful in the source of drunkenness or done something just my way and leave him here all alone. Alone, dressed in Taylor's spare uniform. Shit, he really should have gone out the window last night. He creeps across the room. He reaches Taylor's giant closet. He needs a mirror. He needs to know how fucking ridiculous he looks so he can prepare himself for the mockery. He swings it open, refuses to look away. In the full-length mirror and inside the closet doors, he sees a girl. No, he sees himself. No, he sees his cousin. His real cousin, Alice. Also his fake cousin, Maxine. No. No, he sees himself and not himself. It's like having an out-of-body experience. Experimentally, he holds up a hand in the mirror and moves it around with lots of fingers, making a reflection out of an absurd hope or fear. He can't tell which. That is some kind of projection. It's him. He's her. He's a fucking cheerleader. Holy shit. I say this with love, Taylor. What the hell are you doing? Taylor spins on her toes, holding up a piece of half bagel in each hand and posing with them. Arm out, arm up, hold for two beats. He'll go titans and switch up. I'm making Max breakfast. Willa, pinching it, to Bridget Reneau, says, You're toasting a bagel? Yes. Taylor says, stretching it around, popping the two bagel halves in the toaster. It's the taste of home. New Yorkers are always eating bagels. Are you taking this at all seriously? Taylor drops a smile. She's getting tired of him creeping up anyway. Yes. She hisses, stepping closer to Willa. Of course I am, but I'm not going to go out there looking like someone just died and crises are best faced on a full stomach, Willa. Willa mutters something like, give me strength, but she doesn't contradict Taylor, and that's good enough. Look, she says, after a moment, you know you need to be careful with Max, don't you? I do, Taylor says seriously. I am. I will. No, I mean really carefully. Remember how he completely blinked after Gordo left? Then, like, two minutes later, he was laughing hysterically and then he was fine. Taylor, he made himself be fine. Those pop up. Taylor starts covering them with some cream cheese she found in the fridge. What do you mean? She says. I mean, that's a boy who is used to repressing, who is used to pleasing other people, and maybe it's to keep himself safe or to make friends, or it's a trauma reaction. I don't know. Have you been reading the psych textbook, too? I just watched The Sopranos to pay attention to what the mob guy's therapist says. Taylor, I know he's all cute and fun and snarky and stuff. I know he seemed okay with everything last night, but it could really hurt him. I see him touch that scar today when he's anxious, and part of him is always thinking about it. More than anything else, we can't put him in the crosshairs that kind of thing again. I'll be careful. I promise. Believe it or not, she tips the bagel onto a plate and fetches a dice out of pepper and bottle of ibuprofen. Not hurting Max is like my primary goal here, Willa. She jogs up the stairs and back into her room with Willa falling behind, expecting to find Max still asleep. He isn't, though. He isn't even in bed. He's standing in front of her closet with the doors open, looking at himself in the mirrors. He's not moving, and his hands have curled into fists. Hey, Max, Taylor says, placing the plate and the soda and the bottle of pills in the nightstand. I brought thee some breakfast. This is fucked up, Tay, he says, now looking away from his reflection. She doesn't mention he's still doing the voice, though it's a flat, emotionless rendition of it. Might alarm him. How do I look like this? How do I still look like this? Max! I'm supposed to be a man, like Clay. How can I look my dad in the eye ever again? Max is just... Taylor trails off. This wasn't what she expected. Maybe that's stupid of her. But he really was so comfortable with his last night. Willow, coming to his rescue. It's not that you're not the man, Max, she says, slowly down at the end of the bed, close enough that Max can see her reflection far enough away that he gets to keep his personal space. Me and Eddie, we talked about it this morning, before we left. We, um, go to clubs sometimes. I remember, Max says. Oh, he hooks up. One time he hooked up with the drag queen. More than once, actually. But he asked this one if he could make him look, um, fabulous, and he, the drag queen, said he could, but he'd be more Wesley Snipes or Patrick Strazy than John Leguizamo. Still fabulous, but not, uh, Steve Brown. The word for it, I can't remember, means a drag queen who looks like a real girl. Taylor's not the only one who gets lost. Max doesn't get the reference either. Whatever it is, he's staring at in the mirror. He turns away from his reflection, unclenches his fists, and starts to dance a little. I'm sorry, he says, with a small animation to his voice, too. What does any of this have to do with Patrick Swayze? Too wong foo, Willa says. It's a movie. It's not important. The point is, there's, like, a limit. Everyone hits it. Or most people, right? Okay. Same with the average 12 or 13-year-old twin brother and sister. What's different about them, except clothes and hairs? From the outside, I mean. Well, start off kind of the same, and it's puberty that separates us. Puberty takes a long time. Most people at the end of it couldn't do what you're doing. Now, now there's a lot of work. They can look good, but... Willa, Max says, smiling. Smiling? And sitting on one of Taylor's many scattered stools. You don't need to keep hedging. I know drag queens can look amazing. Oh, Taylor says. How come? Willa's not the only one who went places with gay best friends. Except Avery's gay the other way, so we only went to a drag ball once. Still, they look great. Max's eyebrows pinch, and he looks down, away from both of them. They didn't look like this, though. I'm not sure if they did, Willa exclaims. That's exactly it. It's a pre-limit. Three years from now, 20 years from now, Willa wouldn't be able to do it. Eddie's hit the limit. Goldo's flown past it. Still getting there. He nods slowly. The ice wall around Taylor's heart starts to melt. Ray looks when she first came in. Scary. Not Goldo scary. She was scared for Max, not of him. Have some breakfast, she says. But Max doesn't seem ready to say anything else. He looks up at her, still silent, so she picks up the plate and the soda, takes them over to him, dragging one of the chairs from her computer desk as she goes. She sits down in front of him, bouncing the plate on his thighs, wishing she was wearing leggings like Max. The plate's kinda cold, and keeps hold of Dr. Pepper for him. Eat! Eventually, he reaches for one half of the bagel, picks it up, inspects it, shrugs, and takes a bite. There's a microscopic pause after his first chew, and carries on as if nothing's out of the ordinary. He says after swallowing, Not New York, huh? Lula says. Back home, you can get them fresh before out of a packet. This is fine. That's fine? Taylor whines in offense. It's not entirely acting, but mainly because she hates it when he calls New York back home. She wants here, California, Vista Primavera, to be his home. It's lovely, he says with a smile. Hey, Taylor. He finishes off the rest of it quickly enough before washing down his soda. Taylor's relieved of need to keep the plate bouncing her legs, crosses him off to the side, leans back. Max, apparently subconsciously, copies her. Okay, Taylor says when Max is fed and watered, leaning back in his little stool. His hands clasp over his knees to keep him from toppling back. Now there's something we have to talk about, Max, and, um, he might just be sitting somewhere a bit more sturdy, and maybe take some ibuprofen. He tilts his head at her, his silky, nail-black hair pressing his neck. Taylor bites her lip. He's so pretty, and this is so going to hurt. He should get changed. Fortunately, he thought, he's never going to be able to set foot inside that school. Hell, if Gordo or any of the others on the football team ever find out where he lives, far from impossible. He might become his own house, have to move again, another state, another town, another school, new jobs for everyone, because Dad won't be able to move offices so quick again. Max isn't stupid. He knows they left New York because of him, even though they won't say it. Because he got stupid, and got caught, and got hurt, and then couldn't shake it, couldn't become his old self again. Mom used to look at him like he might suddenly vanish one day. Dad still looks at him like he's weak. That's right. He looks at himself again, leggings, new uniform, bra, panties, and white shorts. He should get changed. All his fault. He couldn't let it go. Had to prove to himself he could still do it. Had to promise himself he could maybe keep up with what he loves in the privacy of the new backyard. Had to get seen by Taylor. Had to go along with whatever she asked, because he needs to be liked so much, because he needs to fly so much. He had fun last night. Taylor dressed him up like a cheerleader. He was so drunk and so dizzy with relief that he let her. Then he threw himself around her room like he had not a care in the world, because briefly, he didn't. It was like he became someone else. Someone for whom the last year in chains hasn't happened. It's hard to face, but he really did enjoy himself. That bar in Taylor's clothes was fun. It was mostly embarrassing. The less said, the more he drank. But being with her is a friend. Being part of something again. It was fun. It was more than fun. It's what he's been craving for a year. Everything was natural and easy. They all chose to be there. He wasn't holding any of them back. Not like with Avery. And now here they are. Taylor and Willa looking at him with concern in their eyes. Worrying about what they're going to do. How they're going to fix things. And he's done it again. He's fucked it all up again. They're going to have to move again. And Clay will pity him. And Mom will worry. Dad will probably give up on him entirely. And he'll lose Taylor and Eddie and Willa. He should get changed. Boy clothes again. Get out. But they can't seem to move. Taylor is saying something. It's like he can't hear her. He doesn't want to hear her. She's trying to fix it. She's trying to fix it for him. How can he tell her he's not worth it? How can he make her understand he's a waste of time when he doesn't know how to form words? In the days after he was burned, he used to get very cold. Didn't matter how hot it was outside, how close he sat his radiator, how many layers he bundled up in, he'd get cold. He had to sit very still to conserve all his energy. On those days, all he could do was sit and hold himself, wait for day to end, and hope that the day after would be different, that he would be more himself again. Max tucks down his top as far as he'll go, moves out his skirt, pulls his legs up under his chin, positions to the leggings, and shivers. Taylor, using her own phone, at the house on a checks and numbers for the house on a monthly bill, asks why Taylor called Garrett at lunchtime on a weekday, and she'll have to come up with an excuse. She's not supposed to be going anywhere this week, and Garrett's supposed to be watching her because she's not quite 18, so why exactly did she need to call him? But ever since her first cell bill was wall-to-wall text, just in a handful of numbers, Dad's stopped checking it. Too much work. Come on, she mutters to herself as it rings. Come on, pick up your piece of Garrett! Hi! Taylor? He croaks. He sounds like crap. Garrett, where are you? They're pausing the line, probably Garrett's silly idea for whatever hole he found to sleep in, and getting his bearings. Taylor can picture it, graffiti on the walls, some poor woman having a baby on a bare mattress on the other side of the room, needles everywhere and shoot. She just remembers the apartment from train spotting. Uh, he says, not sure there's there's a couch. She shouldn't be annoyed with him, he got out of the house yesterday explicitly so she could spend time with her friends, without her brother crawling all over the place, expelling Doritos and musty odors, but she needs him. There's definitely a cough, he says, and there's oh yeah, I know where I am, thanks. He adds to someone on his end, probably someone giving him a cup of coffee or a huge pile of drugs or something. Garrett! He says, you have a situation. I have a situation. I need a hack into the network at two schools, one here, one in New York, and that means I need zero days, got it. He says, searching up the Z to a ludicrous instance. While Max processes everything, he has been carrying out Willa's plan, which is as ingenious as it is simple. Change the M on Max's record to both schools to an F, swap his name out, and update the picture. It's only a stopgap solution, but means that when Coach Penderson logs back in tomorrow, checks up on Maxwell, Giordano, he'll find Maxine in his place, chalk off his memory to the contrary, opt to a senior moment, and move on. Gives them the rest of the month to fix it. Taylor's fallen at the first hurdle, those schools have kept their systems up to date, how dare they, socially incompetent, feed high schools in common two years ago, she had to hack the class schedule to get her, Willa, and Eddie the same lunch period. It was easy back then. Garrett, as much as she hates him in it, will have no such problem, not just because he's smarter than her, he's luckier, he has contacts, he can get the latest system vulnerabilities for her. Once he has them, she can do everything else, but until then, how soon can you get here? She asks, do you need me to pick you up? No. He says quickly, don't come here, little sith, I'll get Bangor to drop me off. Who's Bangor? He's Bangor. Later, Taylor. He hangs up, Taylor gives herself a moment to look out of the patio door, such a serene, silent garden, and fetches up a cushion from the couch, and screams into it, it'd be so easy not to have a brother, could have pulled out, mom could have faked it and finished early, could have been a freak electrical storm. She quits her silent ranting and circles, which she's only realized she's been walking around the living room, when Max and Willa appear in the entryway from the lobby, having just come down the stairs. Willa throws her phone at the couch, smart to check the lens safely because she's running for Max, she greets him up in a hug, after a moment, he hugs her back. I'm okay, Tay, he says sounding weak and tired. He goes back to the hug, smiles at her, I'm really okay, Willa, she helps, Willa flashes eyes at Taylor, then she says with slight forced cheerfulness, I just talked, not my fault if I was simply helpful. I was smiling, he says, cocking her eyebrows at her, he says, a maladaptive coping mechanism, Willa says cheerfully, a shame framework, a shame work, which all problems will be caused by, and deservedly by, Max. What she said, Max says, everything gazes from both of them entirely, just walking circles around the living room, just like Taylor did, while he stretches his arms out as he goes, he's looking at the drinks, I don't have anything else to drink, anything non-alcoholic, I mean. I can make you a smoothie, Taylor says, bouncing on her toes, I can make all of us smoothies. She practically runs in the kitchen, Max and Willa follow her, cannot suppress Max's psycho-jealousy, it was Willa that helped him again, it's just good that he's been helped. You know, Max says, hopping up on the counter, kicking his legs in the air, Willa makes a mental note that if Max ever wears his skirt again, she's going to have to warn him about keeping his thighs together. I think everyone's plan last night was terrible, actually. Hey, Willa says, sitting at the kitchen table, I will toggle mine. Come on, Willa, nobody has an identical cousin with the exact same name as them, I mean, I thought I looked like my cousin when I looked in the mirror this morning, but put us in the same room, you wouldn't have a problem turning us apart, we're different heights for one thing, her name isn't anything like mine. It's Alice, right? Taylor says, feeling deflended to the limit, right? It happens, Willa insists, identical cousins, same names, I bet it happens, it's an epidemic. I still think it would have been better than what I came up with, Taylor says gloomily, I just panicked, said the records were wrong, and well, we're fixing that today, aren't we? Max says. Taylor breathes out in relief, she and Rory and Max hadn't taken any of it in when she and Willa outlined it upstairs, she hadn't been looking forward to wearing it all out again. It's a temporary fix, she says, we're just buying time, think older coach Henderson off your back, I can revert it afterwards. She pours the contents of the blender into three metal cups, pops off the lids, and hands them out for a minute or so to no sound, but three girls guffing their morning, okay, early afternoon health drinks. Max still has most of his lipstick on, and with his lips wrapped around the straw, he really won't have every boy in school after him, and that's something Taylor's going to save him from, by fixing this, so she knows having all the boys she's after you is a really, really important position to be in. Oh my god, Max says, he hops back down from his couch and starts rinsing his cup in the sink, I really needed that. Hey Tay, he adds paws in his cleaning, so I freak out trying to be better about that. Max, oh my gosh, do not apologize, she steps in front of him and raises her first finger, it's a cheerleader rule, we fix problems, not people. There are cheerleader rules? Oh Max, Willa says, there's a cheerleader bible. He seems to feel better about things when he's around Taylor and Willa, it makes no sense because by any objective measure, his life is getting more and more complicated, the three of them are coping with that only by constructing an ever more elaborate house of cards around his identity, but they're just fun, so rather than keep drawing on his myriad failures and mistakes, he's helping him clean up the mess of last night, collecting and washing glasses, and packing up his clothes and stashing them in Taylor's room, folding Adrido's bags into little triangles, he tells Taylor how to see suitably compressed, injecting him into the trash, and also rearranging the bottles in Mrs. Scott's drinks cabinet so it doesn't look like any are missing. He goes into the washer and dryer, the pile of VHS tapes gets stashed away, the huge glass from the cabinet of the den, Jeff sitting down to warm through pizza slices, one each, Taylor lurches, since they were watching their race, Max watched his waist, he counters, Jeff kept getting smaller, like he'd rather be in the front door, Max says, pizza halfway to his mouth, Taylor glances over, looks down at a chilly uniform he saw at the auto truck, whoops, both giggles, wanna hide, Willa whispers, Max shrugs, again, and then Gareth finally succeeds in invading Key the Lock, and the front door bangs open, peacefully in the trash area for the last few days, I suspect he'll have to bother Taylor's stuff at least once more, better get desensitized, better keep practicing the voice, which has been getting easier and easier, at least that's the logical explanation, actually Max doesn't have the energy to care about it all right now, hey sis, Gareth calls, in here, Taylor yells back, the two of them positioned facing the arch, through from the lobby, so they're all witness to Gareth, looking at the shepherd as ever, similar to his self in the arch, leaning against the plaster, another guy's shoulder, won't put together, a much darker skin comes up behind Gareth, and leans on his shoulder, hey, this is the guy, cheerleaders, how you doing ladies, up, head, Taylor says, backing off ladies, be nice to Bingo, Taylor, Gareth says, he's driving me back to my car when I'm done here, ugh, Taylor mutters under her breath, out from under Bingo's arms, Gareth is heading upstairs, Gareth takes a deep breath, puts her hands over his ears, Max copies her, a fraction of a second later, and yells, fine, I'll be nice to your inevitably gross friend, I appreciate it, Bingo says, so, Willow says, Bingo is an interesting name, how do you get it, it's actually Bingo, he says, emphasizing D.O., it's a city in Wales, it's where I'm from, Max realizes he does have a slight accent, oh, Taylor says, disinterested, in England, the man laughs, the laugh has an edge to it, no, no, Wales isn't Great Britain, it is not in England, we're neighbors, that's all, England's a big ugly bruise on a doorstep, worse food, worse weed, fewer sheep, more money, so, what's your real name, Max asks, Jim, Bingo it is, Taylor sits smiling, and Bingo nods, it's way more interesting of a name, he says, makes me sound dangerous, or, or like a firework, Willow suggests, or like a firework, Bingo says, rolling his eyes, saved from the awkward silence that descends by stomping feet on the stairs, followed by a frantic, scrabbly noise, as it presumably fails to make the kind of perfect landing Max has seen Taylor make several times now, he's panting when he rounds the corner of the kitchen, he throws a thumb drive on the kitchen table, nearly, nearly misses Max's piece of plate, and at him, he says, not just fast, Taylor says, near your eyes, it's two school systems, Taylor, it's not hard, hey, she says, I could have, I'm sure you could, but says, hold up his hand and surrender, you need it quick, don't you, yeah, Taylor mutters, Willow leaps over Max's lap, it's Taylor, she adds, thanks, Garrett, welcome, I'll go start the car, Bingo says, and smiles, it was nice to meet you, ladies, here too, Max and Willow stay together, Bingo gives them a little wave, it backs away, out of sight, moments later, Max hears the car start outside, is everything, yes, Taylor says, holding up the thumb drive and glaring at Garrett, everything, Garrett says, Taylor looks at Max, narrowing his eyes, weren't you a guy before, possibly, Max says, Garrett barks a quick laugh, says, never, himself, jumbles away, out of the house, Taylor pulls up to her computer, keeps in the thumb drive and starts copying files, behind her, Willow finds funny Max, somewhere to sit while they wait, will this work, Max asks, it'll work, Taylor snaps, then she carefully unhunches her shoulders and spins around in her chair, sorry, I get angsty when I hack, and I have to deal with my brother, it'll work, this is all Garrett does when he's not high, go take a look in his room, if you want, it's like cereal, it's famous Layton there, if Layton smells, really gross, Willow says something in reply to that, but Taylor's already spun the chair back around and got back to work, physicals, networks, they've been mostly using the same software, although they've been patched recently and have to keep her out, because she doesn't spend her life talking about tips with other hackers online, they haven't applied a single update since the end of the semester, it still takes a while to get in, find a way around, very different from last time, pull up the information she needs, and when she does, she kicks the chair back from the desk to show them, Willow is showing Max how to play Mario on Taylor's GBA, ladies, she says, clapping her hands for attention, they both look up, Max laying the console aside and walking up to stand behind her, Willow bouncing along the edge of the mattress and peering at the screens from there, here are the records of the Primavera High, she brings up the three entries she prepared, here's me, Taylor's, Janine Scott, her file is headed up by the last class picture taken for Christmas last year, as you can see, it's right on the biographical information, you can see on the academics and extracurriculars, they're not going to have to change much, here's Eddie's, here's Willow's file, Eduardo C. Pereira, it's up on the screen, see here, put new names in, now Max, here's yours, Max Giordano appears, Willow says, hold that picture, Max says, he traps his fingers between his thighs and he's staring at them intensely, I skipped a picture there last year, it's basically the same file as Max's old school, Taylor says, bring up the appropriate records, they sent the whole lot over, all we're going to do is change the name, the sex in the picture, Max looks up startled, the picture, yeah, we're going to retread it exactly, just with you as, you know, a girl, okay, he says suddenly, I've already saved the old one, Taylor says, I can put it back in any time, he cuts his head at her, seems right to protest, then he half-smiles, says, yeah, okay, makes sense, I guess, it's just, he shrugs, it feels final, it is extremely not final, and Max's old picture, he's nearly 16 years old, and smiling, he lingers at the screen for a while, a familiar face, wishing to take back the time between there and now, wishing to erase everything that put him here, everything that permanently marked his body, and then he shivers, throws the salt away, yelling back, so stupid, at least now he knows what happens to boys who don't behave the way they're supposed to, and hey, at least he has friends again, the picture is posing as a standard class picture wall, that blue model thing the photographer always brings up with them, Taylor's proposing the use of a blue accent wall as a substitute, she can adjust the levels on the computer after, she says, to make them look the same, all Max has to do is wear something similar to the old picture, but unambiguously feminine, and fortunately, Willa, Taylor has a large wardrobe, it doesn't take long for Willa to organize the contents of Taylor's closet, to find a collared shirt that's almost an exact match with her new picture, stitched with buttons on the other side, Taylor adjusts his makeup, toning it down a little, everyone's a slut on picture day, except the sluts, and Willa passes him a simple Swiss necklace, you look innocent, Willa says, and kinda catholic, I am kinda catholic, he says, grinning at her, doing up the clasps, I'm just not innocent, check him out from all angles, and he looks a little weird, he's still wearing the cheer skirt, and a lot of colors don't go at all, still understated look up top, he stops a neutral pose from on Taylor's desk, angling himself so none of the computer stuff gets in the frame, cheese, Taylor says, gets off the Polaroid, there's another flash, Willa's taking one too, hey, I'm just memorializing the moment, Willa says, shaking the picture, put those Polaroids down on the bed, it's incredibly strange watching pictures fade into existence, Taylor looks like his alternate self, this girl Maxine comes to being, right in front of him, he can't stop himself from reaching out, so the one Willa took, the one that's slightly off angle, does unsuitable for the computer record, keep it, Willa says, you think I, should I, definitely, Max, Taylor says, you're never gonna do this again, might as well remember it, true, he mutters, it's less and more real than the mirror somehow, it's because it's not moving with him, it's a frozen moment in time, a moment in which he was never seen, and nobody else, Taylor, meanwhile, is scanning the other pictures into the computer, and he and Willa watch, fascinated as she loads it into her PC program, making adjustments, he keeps his old computer open, another window she works, once he's done, she's proved right, the colors do match, she's even replicated the weird texture of the photo they backdropped, from there, it seems to take her only seconds, makes adjustments to the files, almost his old school and his new one, and she kicks back her chair again, so he can lean down and look at his new self, now official, for as long as she needs to be, Maxine, Max, Giordano, female, and that concludes Untitled Cheerleader Story, Chapter 5, Commitment, I hope you enjoyed my reading, and I look forward to hearing what you think.