untitled cheerleader story chapter 2

Max is trying to make an effort to take care of himself and impress Taylor, a cheerleader. He showers longer than usual, uses fancy products, and reads the instructions on the bottles. He also picks out an outfit to wear for his visit to Taylor. Taylor, on the other hand, is frustrated with her boyfriend's pressure for sex and applies lipstick to feel more confident. She is excited to spend time with Max and hopes to show him the Southern California lifestyle. When Max arrives at Taylor's house, he is surprised to meet her clean-cut brother. So, I am now here to read Untitled Cheerleader's story, Chapter 2, titled, I Can Fix Him. Max can't remember the last time he spent so long in the shower. Usually, he just kind of jumps in, soaps up everywhere he can reach, and jumps out again. But today, he's making an effort. He even snuck into the main bathroom, the one that has Pride of Place at the center of the upstairs hallway, the one nobody's ever going to use, because every bedroom, bar, or the guest room in this insanely massive house has a bathroom of its own, and stole the fancy shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. He's got no idea why Mom put that stuff out. It's not like they're expecting guests on their second day in Vista Primavera. But he's got the matching blue bottles lined up on the side, and he's working his way through them, one by one. And instead of due diligence, he's even reading the instructions on the bottles for the first time in his life. Apparently, he's supposed to leave the conditioner in for several minutes. Does everyone know that? Is that why his hair has always gotten so tangled? Because nobody ever told him? He razzes up and cleans almost every other part of his body twice, skipping over the bones on his ribs, and then washes out the conditioner, running his hands through his locks as he does so. His hair pops cleanly between his fingers, and doesn't even clump up when he squeezes water out of it. It feels kind of amazing, actually. But yeah, he's trying. This morning, he's really trying. Sue him. There's no point to it, really. Taylor's a cheerleader, and cheerleaders never go for guys like him. And she's probably got a quarterback boyfriend or something. But Avery was always trying to get him to take more care of himself, like he used to. So, what the hell, right? New city, new state, new state, new Max. Mostly the same as old Max, but cleaner, with detangled hair. Besides, Miller's nice, and a nice cheerleader is so far out of Max's experience that maybe he ought to take advantage of the opportunities she represents. See how the other half lives. The popular half. Half that wears bright colors and has pep. He should take notes for posterity. There might be a book in it. Cleaning the door between his bathroom and the bedroom, he checks to make sure the drapes are still shut. And they are, because he hasn't opened them since he got here. And follows the misty air out into his room, toweling his hair and dripping on the carpet. When he's more or less dry, he throws his towel around his waist and starts looking through his closet. Last night, in another uncharacteristic burst of diligence, he actually put all his clothes away, hung up his shirt and pants, and bought up his socks and shit. While he looks, he slaps at his CD player and fills the room with music from whenever the last CD he had loaded was Knowledge by Operation Ivy. Cool. Watching himself in the mirror as he walks around, his eyes flicker as they always do, the triad of scars on his right side ribs. His fingers brush momentarily over them, from the base of his pectoral to the top of his belly, feeling the bumps and the distressed skin. Shit, he's been neglecting himself in every possible way, hasn't he? Including forgetting the dermatologist's instructions. Well, new state, better habits. He remembers dumping the yellow moisturizer he had mounted by him in the same box as all his other bathroom crap. Couldn't he have packed everything up? Couldn't he have packed everything up? That means there must be, uh, some cabinets. Still not used to having his own bathroom. He spreads the moisturizer over the scars, over the rest of his torso and along his arms because it smells nice, all the while looking through his clothes. In the end, he picks basically at random. He's making an effort, sure, but he has no idea what Taylor likes. More to the point, he has no idea what kind of guy she likes. Except what he assumes, massive, hung like an ox, with football instead of a brain that bounces around inside his head like a DVD screensaver. He can't make an informed choice, why not just pick whatever? All that matters is if he can move in it. Did she invite him over this morning explicitly to work out with her? Or help her practice her chair routines or something? She wasn't entirely clear about what she wants from him, so if he's honest, he might have been distracted by how pretty she is. Anyway... An old blue t-shirt, a pair of board shorts, mismatched socks, and a belt, one of which he already poked an extra hole. He has shit, he lost weight, and a lot of it. Turns out if you don't eat and continue half-artistically to exercise, you lose mass, and a lot of it. All of his jeans look like cargo pants now, his cargo pants are basically unwearable. Today's shirt, one of the many he inherited from Clay when he cleared out his closet, is baggy as hell, but covers his scars, and it hides how thin he's gotten. And the belt holds up his board shorts, and that's enough. He can exercise in this. He can stand on his hands in this. Hell, he can do cartwheels and somersaults and basically anything you ask of him in this. And he can do fucking splits, too. A quick look in the mirror... Yeah, there's Max. Same as the old Max. The one from New York, it's fine. Let's go see the cheerleader. Taylor never wears makeup to work out. Some of the other cheerleaders do, but some of the other cheerleaders are silly biatches who've spent the last several years meticulously blocking every pore they have and how they have to slap on foundation half a tube at a time lest anyone get a look at their real skin. Taylor, meanwhile, wears headlights and only when appropriate, and she cleanses every morning and every evening and after practice, and that's why she's the skin of an angel, or Meredith looks like the dark side of the moon. So she doesn't know why she's doing her face this morning, except that maybe she feels gross for last night and wants to look her best. Steep face, empty mind, like the old cheer captain used to say. Last night... Ick. Last night, irritably, Taylor reaches over, cleans up the volume of a little CD player, so Taylor's Love Don't Cost a Thing starts a crackle in his throat. Stupid Gordo, he tries to get her to touch it again, and she's beyond fed up of telling him she has to wait until she's 18, and that's like only a month away. Doesn't know why he thinks so impatient, he clearly relays her parents' rules around sex, which are that girls can do whatever he wants because he's an adult legally, if not mentally, Taylor cannot because she is still a child, and because girls can't get pregnant, girls don't want to have to fight the anti-choice weirdos outside the clinic, because good girls, sisters or mom, are not thots. And no, Gordo, she doesn't care that the other girls have all done it, because A, if Meredith's done it, Taylor eats her own pom-poms, and B, the other cheerleaders jumped off a cliff, B followed him, he'd only followed him if he managed to form a pyramid at the bottom, he would catch her, but still, he insisted, it's like he wants her to get disowned by her parents, and live under a bridge selling cheers for money or something, he made her feel gross, and she told him to leave, now she's putting on lipstick, because if he can't see her, then she's going to look extra pretty. It makes sense, sort of, she throws her head at it and squints, Anyway, he's off to football camp this week, so she doesn't have to deal with him again for a while, maybe he'll find someone there to touch his thingy, some girl football player who shares an interest, and yell, hut, hut, hut, at the moment of climax. The song ends, and she eerily stabs at the pause button, before the next one starts. This morning's gone already, it's all because she's sitting here, staring at her face, applying and reapplying lipstick, because by right, her lips ought to stick out several miles from her face, and thinking about her stupid boyfriend, and the stupid things he wants her to do, and... reset. Taylor closes her eyes, takes a deep breath, holds it, and lets out slowly, opens her eyes again, it's a new day, for those part of yesterday, she doesn't have to see him for a week, and a new friend is coming over, and she's going to show him what she can do, she's going to find out what makes him tick, she plops most of the lipstick onto the tissue, puts her hair in, a practical ponytail, and skips out of her room, same room as Max she remembers, but not precisely, their houses are identical, but mirrored, their bedrooms even face each other, what sucks though is that, even as they become friends, they won't be able to do the teen movie thing, of talking to each other through their windows, they kind of fall apart, if Max ever opens his drapes though, they'll be able to wave to each other, she checks, his drapes are still closed, no wonder he's so pale, no wait he's from New York, so they have like 5 days of sun per year, obviously he's just not used to it, well that stops one isn't it then, get Max used to the Southern California sun, the whole Southern California lifestyle, he's going to love it here, Christ, even the morning heels are too hot, good thing he covered himself in deodorant before he left the house, even if it did mean getting gently ripped by his brother, but the effort he's obviously putting in for this Taylor girl, he's not putting in any effort, not really, not for her specifically, he should have stopped neglecting himself, yeah that's it, exactly, he rings the bell, and when the door opens, he's presented with a face he doesn't accept, Taylor didn't talk about her brother much yesterday, except to say he's a stoner, he's the most annoying man in the world, but here's a clean cut guy with a toothy grin, and slick black blonde hair, if not for his shorts and t-shirt, he could be an office worker, so from what he's seen, there's a deary girl enough around here, that many people go to work in those shorts, but then he comes closer for Max to see his bloodshot eyes, this all makes sense, hey, Garrett says, you're uh, uh, the uh, the dude from next door aren't you, yeah, I'm Max, Garrett right, getting Garrett's name right seems to delight him, yeah, yeah that's me, he leans down to whisper in Max's ear, flooding Max's senses with the smell of stairweed, and cool ranch chips, you're not fucking my sister are you, if you are, be careful dude, big boyfriend, big, no plans dude, Max says, yeah, she's got a boyfriend, obviously, that's a maybe then, cool, oh cool, Garrett folds his arms, satisfied as he relayed his oh so important message, so, come in, mi casa es su casa, mi sister es su sister, alright, kinda gross, Ella appears from behind Garrett, whacking him with the flat of her hand, oh my gosh Garrett you slime, she yells, whack him again, don't say things like that, and move, move, ick, she keeps slapping him on the shoulder till Garrett finally catches on, so rolls his eyes at Max, he steps aside, and walks slowly over to a split square of couches in the living room, he falls into one, and stops moving, hi Max, Ella says, slapping a strand of displayed hair out of her face, I see you met my brother, she grabs Max by the wrist, and leaves him inside, but Max is distracted, Garrett still isn't moving, is he okay, oh yeah, sure, Ella says without looking, dragging Max into the kitchen, he looks dead, yeah, he does, unfortunately, nevertheless, take it out, I made you a smoothie, Max's view of Taylor's allegedly not their brother is cut off as he enters the kitchen, he looks around to find Taylor posing in front of the open fridge, two more of the same metal cups from yesterday are waiting in the door, and now that she has their attention, she pulls one out and hands it to him, as he takes it, she doesn't go back for hers, she leans around him and backs at his ponytail, Max, she says slowly, why is your hair in a rubber band, correction, she raises and puts her finger right in his face, why is your hair in a rubber band, again, because I don't want it in my face, now what do you mean, again, she snatches the smoothie back from him, refrigerates it, and says, come on, she says, walking back around the dividing wall, we're fixing it, he comments on the way up the stairs that, oh yeah, the house is all the same, just flipped, and Taylor starts to agree with him, and talks about the extra rooms built over the garages that he won't have at home, before she realizes that, shoot, she just invited Max up to a room, she invited up to a room, and he's a boy, a boy who isn't Gordo, isn't that like, adultery or something, isn't that like, adultery or something, eh, maybe in Utah, she pauses, her hand is on the doorknob, and thinks quickly, thinks like she's about to get thrown, and she just realized it's Meredith who's about to catch her, it's different right, it's not like Max is a guy like Gordo right, doesn't seem the type, doesn't seem the type to put his hand on the back of a not quite 18 year old's head, and push her down towards his pants, because he's nice, okay so they didn't talk for all that long yesterday, but he is nice right, a little sad, a little snarky, a bit of a fixer-upper, but he's nice, and does she even know any nice boys, any nice boys who haven't openly lusted after her since she joined the squad, correction, does she know any nice boys who aren't already, sort of, dating her best friend, well, now she knows Max, they do share an interest don't they, there's no harm she decides, puts him into the room, well, he says, following her inside, pink, it's not, that pink, she says, only why she instantly feels defensive about it, she points to the accent wall, one her computer desk is pushed up against, but she has that pink pastel blue, because she read that blue is conductive to studying and memory retention, with the white ceiling it provides a pleasing contrast, it balances the room, see, I stand corrected, Max says, holding up his hands and surrenders, gosh, he has a sweet smile, he's a little faded looking though, does he have voices in New York, she can fix that, she can fix everything, that starts with the way his smile fades too quickly, like he can't have a positive emotion without something in his brain showing up, and reminding him, hey dude, you're supposed to be miserable, must be why he likes all those punk bands he was telling her about, anyway, she can fix him, make him happy, voice his tears, tell him to stop tangling up his hair with rubber bands, get him a girlfriend, at that last thought, it's like she borrows Max's sadness demon, ick, shoo, she chases away, and bobs up to him, confirming once again how close and high they are, then puts a hand on each shoulder and turns him around, he doesn't resist, gently she hooks her finger inside the first ring of the looped rubber band, starts to tease out the hair, I can't believe you use this, she says as she works, and gosh, his hair is so silky, I'd say when he first got here it was really greasy, like greasy enough that she could tell from half way down the backyard, understandable though, since I've got an entire list of content for the United States, the actual showers are still only like, passably clean, did he wash it? It's specially for her? She's not sure she's allowed the level of affection that's felt generated in her, kills the sadness demon right off the bat, what's wrong with the rubber band, he says it's slowly, like he's in a trance, and takes Taylor a second to guess why, when she's close she's glad she's behind him, oh, he'd see the huge adulterous smile, the temper takes over her whole face, she's got her hands in his hair, she's got her hands in his hair, and she is, no need to be modest, super pretty, but boy, wouldn't enjoy it, Gordo, Gordo wouldn't enjoy it, he just wants her to touch his dick, dick, she returns to the task at hand, carefully extracts layer after layer, of soft, sweet smelling, and jet black hair, from his rug band prison, she distracts herself, because she's enjoying this a bit too much, she concentrates on answering his question, rubber bands are grippy, Max, she says, your hair will get caught up in it, it will get stripped apart, it will completely destroy your hair, oh, he says, oh, he says, it seems to be all he can manage, before Taylor starts the final loop, she gives herself a moment to smile again, why is she so loopy around this guy, he's just another long haired, punk rocker, she can throw rocks from the front room, hit half a dozen of them as they drift lazily by, and they stick it up skateboards, whatever, a puzzle for later, she turns him around, I'm sorry, my girlfriend was fucking with me, and making me laugh, anyway, uh, stick of the skateboards, whatever, a puzzle for later, she turns him around again, takes a step back, to admire her handiwork, smoothing out his locks, reeling them out around his face, she almost forgets to breathe, there really is something about him, something those other rainbow guys don't have, something she thinks, although, would probably go to avoid, for some reason, it's more exciting to Taylor, than a hundred sweaty football guys, it's more exciting to her, than the memory of Max's own, older brother, whose thick arms and tree trunk grace, had previously seemed so enticing, anyway, it's a shame that's the place, Max's brother, he's going to gain a good few inches, he's going to thicken up, he's going to be a man, so, so that makes this Max special, dummy, but firefly isn't beautiful, because they last forever, Taylor, he says, what's up, shoot, he noticed, his hands halfway to hers, he wants to comfort her, but he doesn't want to cross the boundary, which again, his decision to let them up, into a room, indicated, she shakes her head, grins at him, and wow, it's easy to find a smile, when she's so close to her, turns him 90 degrees, towards the mirror, why do you tie, why do you tie your hair up, Max, she asks, it's way too gorgeous, not to show off, he doesn't look at himself, in the mirror, but for more than a second, instead, he's gathering up his hair, pulling tight, away from his face, it's not supposed to be gorgeous, he says, cryptic, do you have a, hair tie for me, he turns around, quickly finds one, a nice scent, here, he says, pressing into his hand, Taylor, he says, holding up, this is a scrunchie, yes, she confirms, it's a, scrunchie, and, it's, Taylor, it's a scrunchie, a pink scrunchie, it's for girls, it's a baby, she says, he can't back, before he can stop her, she steps behind him, tucks his hair up, and, ties a ponytail for him, he twitches his nose, in concentration, as she adjusts, making sure it's dead center, taps on the top of his head, you can look now, wow, he says, turning his head, that is, definitely a pink scrunchie, my hair, isn't it a little high, he reaches up to adjust it, and she backs his hand away, leave it, she commands, leaning into a cheer captain's voice, yes, it is a little higher than he ties his hair, but high is better right, cheering, oh right, it's supposed to be cheering, it's supposed to be exercising, the scout's backyard is, unsurprisingly, this is actually, right, the scout's backyard is, unsurprisingly, exactly the same dimensions as the one behind Max's house, so theirs has a pool closer to the house, and way more attentionality to the foliage, dad's already complaining about the weekends, he's going to lose getting theirs into shape, and Clay wasn't fast enough to leave the room, when he was looking for volunteers to help out, it's nice though, he's like a preview of what their place will look like when it's done, Taylor's entire house is actually, even her room, fully furnished as it is, not nearly looming around a single desk in a corner's guitar inn, is a preview of what his might be like once he's lived here, more than ten minutes, minus the pink walls obviously, and the, I just realized, he says, as he stretches arms over his head, you have, three computers in your room, you just realized, she replies, she's got their feet on the grass, their head between them, and either she's showing off, she's going to feel that tomorrow, or she's limbo as hell, we've been in the yard for like two minutes, and you just realized, she straightens up, and despite the critical tone, she's grinning at him, so he doesn't take it the wrong way, I thought one of them might be a TV, he copies his move, just to show her he can, he giggles at him, Christ, she's so cute, well, she says, for your information, I have four computers, when he straightens his hair incredibly, incredulously at her, she starts listing them, I've got my main PC, some older ones for testing, I also have a laptop, I wanted to mess with OSX, so my dad got me iBook for Christmas, give me that book, it's not fancy, it's just a base model, max not, that's not what the look was for Taylor, it's the 21st century max, she says, sounding surprisingly pompous, if you don't know how to use a computer, you're going to be left behind, oh my god, max explains, for computers, you're a nerd, the captain of the cheerleader squad, I'm the captain of the cheerleader squad, I'm a nerd, I have a historic interest, you're a nerd, he giggles, the levity he feels around her, Avery is the only other person who ever made him feel like this, understood and appreciated, but there's something more, something he never felt before, we've discussed Taylor straight, and therefore, despite her boyfriend, despite his looks, some incredibly stupid part of his brain, he has a chance, doesn't matter, I take the win, I like your shirt, I like your shirt, she says, when they're done warming up, is that your band? he laughs, pulling out his shirt all fully, it's not my band, he says, this is me first, and the gimmie gimmies, there are, well, it's kind of hard to explain, Taylor bounces over, takes the hem of the shirt out of his hand, and keeps stretching it, so she can look at it more closely, sorry mate, she says, you can smell her perfume, or shampoo, her body lotion or something, and it's intoxicating, and distracting as hell, which might be why he babbles a bit, okay, so they're a punk rock super group, born in San Francisco, circa 1995, and still going today, they only do covers, because they all have like their own projects, besides the group, like Chris Shiflett, which is also a no useful name, anyway, their first album is all songs from the 60s and 70s, stuff like Uptown Girl, and Rocketman, their second album is all show tunes, they did Don't Cry For Me Argentina, from Evita, and Science Fiction Double Feature, from Rocky Horror, and, what? People get him, most peculiar smirk on her face, and he finally, finally shuts up, she brought it into a delighted smile, and said, and you called me a nerd? Wow, her smile is incredible, uh, he says, he caught a thing on his lips, which keeps suddenly bursting for some reason, and he's losing control here, I think you were going to say, something like, punk rockers can't be nerds, she says, they just have historic interests, and then I was going to say, something like, you just proved yourself wrong, you're the biggest nerd that's ever nerded, and then you're going to blush even harder than you are right now, and insist we start doing what we came here to do, and the day, she says, which is, she lets go of his shirt, and prances backwards, ultimately, transforming her momentum into a perfect athlete, integrating into a full sequence, yes, she says, as she lands, spreads her arms out, holy shit, she's an actual athlete, and she's really good. On their way back in, Ella collects the smoothies, she prepares for them both, in the room, she digs out her TV from under a discarded pair of jeans, and puts it on the Disney channel, chores done, she flops onto the bed, starts sucking earnestly on her straw, and Max, Max looks adorably about the room, but something he can sit on that isn't her bed, vindicated, vindicated, vindicated, she's known him for a day, she's never felt so safe as a boy who isn't gay, she points at her toe, at one of her computer chairs, and moving slowly, he jerks it over, near to the bed, drops into it, cupping the smoothie with both hands, and sipping from it, his eyes on the boy meets world rerun, saying it's awesome, sauce of hate, makes us more comfortable, smacking one leg under his butt, props the under high enough that he rests his chin on his knee, he's still breathing heavily, and so is she, what a workout, he challenged her like nobody on the squad ever has, like coach Dale never has, like not even Robin did, and she challenged him right back, she never knew she could move like that, she never knew a boy could move like that, the boys on the squad get talented, they work hard, they're all bulky guys, whereas Max moves like, okay, so she can never say to him, ever, because she knows what boys are like, but Max moves like a girl, he's got pace, and speed, and just enough power to accomplish everything he needs, and not a drop more, maybe that's what pro gymnasts are like, but Taylor watches every Olympics, and she doesn't think so, he's not like those other guys, except he will be, one day, maybe, anyway, think about it, we had a good look at mom Giordano yesterday, a decent glimpse at dad Giordano, and Max takes much more after his mom, while Clay looks like a younger, and less wide version of his dad, Max is even about the same height as his mom, so maybe that means he won't grow into something like Clay, but oh, he's 18, aren't you basically done at 18? Like sure, other stuff happens, like you lose your puppy fats, if your boy starts getting hair everywhere, ick, by 18, you're finished growing, right? How tall are you, Max, she says, without thinking, 5'8", he says, automatically, well that's a lie, are you sure? He asks, reaching out with his foot, and rotating his chair to face her, I'm 5'8", if I go up on my toes a little bit, he admits, I knew it, she exclaims, you can't lie to me, Max, you're an inch taller than me, at most, and I'm 5'6", and 3'5", 3'5", he confirms weakly, he nods at the door frame, checks the marks, healing her, he stands slightly stiffly, and puts his cup on the floor, he walks over to the bedroom door, and runs his finger over the notches in the frame, there's a notch for every one of her first 17 years, but she doesn't expect to be making new ones in September, since she's basically done two, it's a bit of a sad start in some ways, following impulse, she jumps up and joins him, him around by the shoulders, which he did in the backyard, until he's facing her, with his back to the door, she pushes him until he bumps against it, then she protects his feet with hers, until he's standing up straight, she starts taking her eyes off him, she reaches for the craft knife, then checks the drawers, flicks out the blade, and places his hand on the top of his head, to create a straight line to the door frame, you stick out your tongue when you're concentrating, you know that, she shushes him, and coughs his nuts into the frame, she doesn't know why she's doing this, she barely knows him, they might not end up being best friends at all, they might not speak to each other after school starts, they might turn out to hate each other, but this feels important, and if there's one thing she's learned as a cheerleader, when something feels right, you should trust it. Step away, she says, and he does, the craft knife goes back under mess of junk, she opens the drawer, her underwear drawer, which curiously, unabashedly, opens on max, pulls out her tailor's tape measure, she unravels it, presses the end against the wall with her toe, swoops up to the door frame till it reaches max's notch, there's a shelby on my desk, she says, keeping everything in place, can you get it for me? sure, moments later, a shelby, uncapped, how thoughtful, drops into a waiting hand as she whacks, then she writes, max, august 10th, 2003, 5 foot, 7 and a half inches on the wall, just above tailor's, september 13th, 2002, 5 foot, 6 inches, air, she says, immortalized, she twists around to smile at him, expecting one of his shy smiles in return, but instead, he's retreated back to, by her desk, he's got his fists clenched at his side, he's standing very still, max, she asks, shit, he says, turning away, a hand goes up to his face as if he's wiping away a tear, it's just so confusing, she takes three careful steps towards him, before realizing he's not one of her girlfriends, can't just go up to him and manhandle him cause she doesn't know how he'll react, and oh yeah, he's a boy and he's in her room, he's been careful not even to touch her so far, as nice as he's been, she doesn't want to give him the wrong idea, die, do something wrong, she says, she makes her voice small on purpose, which is a little manipulative, but it is appropriate to how she feels, max is special, she doesn't want to lose him as a friend before she figures out why, it gets him to turn around at least, ties on thread, his cheeks are only a little wet, so it can't be that bad, no, he says, forcing a smile, I don't know why it got to me, it just did, it's a stupid mock, phyllis says, get him filled in if you want, I know her dad keeps the filler, no, no, he says quickly, I like it, if you don't mind it there, I like it, okay, okay, he has an issue about this, as much as she wants to probe it, as much as she wants to know everything, she refrains, if there's one thing she's learned as a cheerleader, it's when to give a girl her space, phyllis lies here, even though max isn't a girl, let's keep it then, she says, matching a smile has the effect she hoped, which is that his smile becomes warmer and more genuine, he has to fight very hard, now she'll just bounce forward and hug him, hey max, she asks, you wanna go out, we could go to the mall or something, she pulls playfully at the hem of his shirt again, we could even buy you some clothes that aren't black and don't have bands on them, he laughs, the scenes are almost real, no thanks, he says, I'm tired out, maybe I'll just go home, oh no, you don't mister, she says, mom voicing him, hard enough that he steps back, I have nothing to do today, so you're going to keep me company, deal, he turns instantly, deal, so, you smoke weed, don't you know way that she had a drink or something, because the look on his face is absolutely priceless, and she definitely could have got him to spray water if she timed it right, uh, he says floundering, uh, yeah, she's bouncing her toes, floundering him is fun, do you want to smoke weed and get take out, sure, it'll be good for him, he needs to talk and whatever this is off his chest, and Taylor, she needs to listen, look at him a bit, look at him a lot, the one thing she's learned as a cheerleader is when to stay sober and when to get high, wait one second, she says, holding up her finger, then she skips over to her door, getting to dope and leans out and says, Garrett, I'm taking some of your weed, you tell mom, I'll rip your balls off and drop them in your fish tank, she turns back to Max, grinning and waggling her eyebrows at him, her hand cupped around her ear before she rejoined her, only if you bring me another bag of Doritos, Garrett yells back, probably with the same dumb couch they left him on, see, she says to Max, told you he wasn't dead,