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The main ideas from this information are: - Taylor confesses to Max about having a boyfriend named Gordo and lying to Max about it. - Taylor panicked when Gordo saw Max's name on her wall and lied to him that Max is a girl named Maxine. - Taylor shows Max a picture of them together and Gordo thinks Max is hot. - Max realizes that Gordo knows about him being in Taylor's room and that Gordo thinks Max is a girl named Maxine. - Max and Taylor discuss what they should do in this situation. Summary: Taylor confesses to Max about lying about her boyfriend Gordo and panicking when Gordo found out about Max. Gordo thinks Max is a girl named Maxine and finds Max attractive. Max and Taylor discuss their options moving forward. Hello, sir. I shall now be reading Untitled Cheerleader Story, Chapter 4, titled Go Stuff. Yo, Captain Taylor. Okay, first, I have to say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Maximilian. Uh, did you mean to send that to me? Yo, Captain Taylor. Yes, Max. I haven't been honest with you. I haven't lied. I haven't told you everything. I have a boyfriend, Gordo. I should have told you about him. I don't know why I didn't. Maximilian. Oh, is that all? I knew about him. Your brother warned me about him the first time I came over. I didn't know his name was Gordo, though. That's hilarious. That's the kind of name you'd give a pig. Actually, isn't that the name of Buffy's pig? Yo, Captain Taylor. Watch Buffy. Maximilian. I did a kitty kill Tara. That was bullshit. Yo, Captain Taylor. I get the point. You're right. Maximilian. About what? Yo, Captain Taylor. About both things. Buffy sucks for killing Tara, and Gordo is a funny name. But, Max. Oh shit, Max. Did you just type out a bunch of symbols instead of swearing? Max, this is important. You never want to see me again after this. Okay? Now I'm worried. Gordo came over today. He came up to see me, up to my room. He saw your name on the wall. He got angry. Cold angry. Scary angry. As if I had a boy up there. Bullshit. Should I be worried? I panicked. I had to calm him down, so I lied. I told him you're a girl. A girl called Maxine. Max? Are you there? Yeah. In a minute. Okay? You don't have to say anything. You don't have to talk to me ever again. I'm sorry. I panicked. I already said that, but I did. I'm back. Just screaming to myself, hello. Mom and Dad are still passed out from our family day. Resting up before they go see a movie or something. But I didn't want to wake them, so I took precautions. It's okay though, right? It's fine. You just have a friend called Maxine. Lots of people call Maxine. She's not going to have any reason to think it's me. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Taylor? Hey? Are you there? I'm coming over. Garrett greets him at the front door and lets him in immediately. Hey dude. Hey. Do you know what's going on with her? Garrett's uncharacteristically lucid and focused. Not just because he isn't facedown on the couch. This must be what he was like before the weed. When he launched a website that made him a multi-millionaire slacker. Or possibly he just spoke the evenings and weekends back then. Gordo was here, and she's been a wreck ever since. I offered to have him killed, but... It wasn't Gordo, Max says. Not really. He didn't do anything, I mean. He never asks if I'm here. I'm not. Ever. I'm never here. I don't exist. Sure, sure. Never liked him anyway. I'm rooting for you, pal. Thanks, Max says absently. Gordo's pushing past him to run for the stairs. Scott's house is almost more familiar to him than his own at this point. Every day he's been here, he's been up and down to Taylor's room at least twice. Taylor's door is shut, so he raps on it twice. No answer. Taylor? He calls. It's Max. Can I come in? No answer. Taylor? Never in his life has he entered the girl's room without an invitation. Gordo's parents were very strict on that. It was one of their compromises with her. And he turned to let her boy hang out with her so much. She had to promise they weren't in a relationship. She had to always give clear, full consent to him sitting in her room. Max, for his part, had to listen to a lecture from her parents to the effect that if she ever told him to leave and he didn't immediately comply and they found out, they would have him arrested. Taylor? Nothing else for it. He gently pushes the door open and slides in. He can see inside. Taylor's there. She's got the drapes pulled and she's lying face down on the bed. But she's on top of the covers and she's fully closed. That's enough. Taylor? He says. There's no one behind him. He doesn't do the parent's thing of striding around the room, opening drapes and windows and sliding up because unlike most parents, he's not psychotic. In Max's experience, daylight and a cool breeze have never solved any of his problems. They tend to look better in the dark. And instead, he perches on the edge of the bed. Taylor mumbles something into the pillow. You're scaring Garrett, Max says. Apparently that's the key to getting her to roll over. Oh, please, she says, her voice tapping automatically into annoyed sister. The only things he's scared of are giant burritos. What? He says. Taylor starts to dance, startled. She gathers herself up, knees under her chin. But she just realized where she is. When she continues talking, it's a much smaller, softer voice. He has nightmares. He says to come and take revenge. Max, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I keep running things over and over in my head. If I'd never written your name on the wall, I'd break up with Gordo at the end of the semester. I don't know if I might at this time. Hey, it's okay. Don't worry if he thinks there's something about Maxine. If he wants to break up with Gordo, he should. GM folds a little, looks earnestly in his eyes. It's not that easy, Max. When he's not around, I hate him. When there's those big, slow-grabbing hands on me, it's kind of hard to think. He excites me. I'm kind of ashamed how much he excites me. But he always wants to take things further than I'm ready for, and now he's getting mad at me. Just because I might know another boy. Anyway, she continues looking away and regressing her legs. I can't break up with him now. He thinks Maxine is hot. If we break up, I'll be just asking around about her. He does that. He dates best friends. That's how we got together. He used to date Willa. He sounds like a piece of shit, eh? He says before he can stop himself. He is, she says, nodding her knees. But he's hot. Before him, I never really got what people meant by immoral magnetism, you know? Looks like I'm down to him. Any other person's ever happened with his? She stops herself, shakes her head, forces herself to stretch out her limbs. She looks stiff and uncomfortable. Max, I need to show you something. She gets up from the bed. Together, they move to her computer desk, where one of the monitors has been ugly drawing and redrawing a series of multicolored pipes. They disappear when she nudges the mouse. I switch screen shavers. Ugh. I switch screen savers, she says. I've just had the blank screen before. It had meant I didn't realize the computer was ever on, and... She turns to him, eyes wet. Gordo saw the picture of you. The one of you and me. He saw you. Oh, shit. He wants to sink into his chair. He wants to be swallowed by it. Be taken from its place. This is too much like the first days of the fall semester last year. Too much like the fear that took him over that made his movements stiff, made his head swim, made him skip classes to avoid boys who attacked him, made him eat his lunch out back of the math building. It was as much responsible for his refusal to return to gymnastics as anything else. It made him feel ungainly and strengthly massive, as if dread had enlarged his bones and swollen his stomach and stolen from him every quick movement he ever made. Fuck, he whispers. No, Taylor says. You don't understand. She clicks and brings up the picture on the monitor. Look at it. Look at yourself. It's almost too hard for him to focus, but he does so. He doesn't understand what she's showing him. It's the picture she took on Sunday when she sent to Avery. Taylor and him, cheek to cheek, are smiling at him looking bewildered. It's fuzzy, but not so fuzzy that anyone who has these memories for faces couldn't pick him out of a lineup after seeing it. What are you saying, Tay? Gordo, um, he said you're hot. He saw the picture and asked me if that was you, and he said you're hot. What? Is he bi or...? Taylor takes his hand. Pretend for a minute, she says, practically whispering, that you've never met you, that you don't know what you look like, and you've just been trying to see a picture of a girl called Maxine. Now look at the picture again. You see her next to me. We're best friends. I don't. Oh. Yeah. Maybe his webcam is cheap, or it's old, or maybe that's just what webcams are like. She doesn't know, but yeah. He has fuzzy hair on his upper lip, but in the picture, mangled by the low resolution, it just looks like a shadow that's taken from above. So Taylor's pink scrunchie is visible in his hair. He has a few loose strands around his face. If he remembers constantly brushing them away, they look like bangs. His face, so much like Mom's, but not only like Mom's. I look like Alice. He remembers glancing towards the screen. He has a cousin, older, who lives in the U.K., so they don't see each other much, but she's the daughter of his mom's sister, and the few times they've ever seen each other in person. They've had to suffer jokes from everyone else in the family. They could be siblings, because they look so alike. In the picture, he looks like her. Whoever Alice is, Taylor says carefully, she's very pretty. Yeah, Max says absently. She's always getting approached by men, which sucks for her, because I'm 90% sure she's gay. Taylor snorts, Max, are all the girls you know lesbians? Fair amount of them, yeah. That really could be Alice on the screen, and it all hits him, all of it. Goldo, Taylor's football player boyfriend, he seems to have anger issues, knows about him, knows he's been up in the room. His only saving grace is that Goldo thinks Max is a girl called Maxine, a pretty girl at that, the spirit of his cousin. Unfortunately, Max is a boy, he should be attending the same high school as Goldo. Then, Max checks the kid's calendar, hangs over Taylor's computer, it's August 5th, slightly less than a month ago, slightly less than a month. Fuck, he whispers. Yeah, Taylor says, slaps Goldo's hand and leans back in her chair, eyebrows pinched, and thinks, what am I going to do? What are we going to do, she corrects him. I'm not dumping this on you and running away, that is if we're still friends. He sounds so anxious that Max momentarily forgets his shock. Of course we're still friends. Really? Really, he says as firmly as he can. He's not buying it. Shit, he gets real, actually, really real, he's off those barriers, he keeps up all the time. He stands and reaches out for her, he takes his hand, he gently tugs on it, so she stands too, holding his other arm open, he waits for her, it takes less than a second for her to get it, to understand he's not going to initiate something so intimate, but that the invitation is there if she wants it, then she's in his arms, and he's in hers. Friends, he says. Max, I'm so sorry. It's okay, it's a really fucking huge problem. I don't know how we're going to solve it, and he leans away enough that she can see his face. He looks kinda short-sighted to write my name on the wall, but you know your boyfriend gets jealous. Max, but we'll figure it out. He smiles. Great big guy has a reason to come after me. Not my first rodeo, okay? I'll be more prepared this time. He launches into the hug this time, and squeezes him tight enough to almost force the air out of his lungs. Jesus, Tay, he says. You're strong. She lets him go, steps away, beaming. Duh, I am a cheerleader. Clay answers the door, blinking in the early morning sun. It's Taylor's first time seeing him up close. The first impressions from move-in day are more than validated. He's not just tall, he's big. Big like his dad. So big, it feels like he comes from a different family to Max. For a fleeting moment, she wonders if Max was adopted. Then she remembers Max looks a lot like his mother. There's probably a family photo somewhere, and most definitely looks like Taylor's family photo, posed by the professional photographer. As if to highlight the almost comical difference in size and shape between the two sides of the family, mother and father on one side, father and son on the other. The only difference being, well, Max is a second son, not a daughter. Hello? It says. Hi, I'm Taylor. Is Max in? He looks down at her. Are you the one who put the scrunchie in his hair? Kinda. Adopting a more intimidating posture, Clay says. Was it to make fun of him? No. Taylor waves her free hand rapidly. Nice to know Max is being looked out for, less likely to get caught in the crossfire. We're friends, she insists. At least, she hopes they are. Max promised her yesterday that her mistakes, mistakes plural with capital P, floodlit and covered in sparkles, had to doom their friendship, but then he didn't show this morning for practice. It's almost ten. For the last two hours, she's been sitting on the couch, neck sides closed, waiting for the doorbell and needing so much to chew on her nails that she ends up nibbling beside her thumb instead. She's almost broken the skin when a useless brother threw an empty box of Cheerios at her and insisted she stop moping. What if now he's had time to think about it? He hates her. On up, she says, standing aside. She feels strangely stiff as she runs up the stairs, but she didn't stretch this morning. She didn't do anything but worry. My consolation is that if Max doesn't hate her, he hasn't stretched yet either, and we can do it together. His door's ajar, so she pushes it open and almost gasps. His room is a room, no longer the blank, personality-free, generic bedroom she saw when they first moved in. It must have been what he was doing yesterday before she messaged him while his parents were recovering from Family Day. The walls, which unfortunately for him are still painted Zelda's Health Cream, are plastered with posters from M's Taylor mostly hasn't heard of, but some she has. Bobbage, Hole, Blondie, Nirvana, the rest, she assumes, are rocky punk bands, more than for two women in the lineup that we would have expected for their progressive genre. He's got his guitar and amp set up to one corner, a small TV with a VCR and DVD player, a big-box store PC and rickety-looking desk. He still likes furniture, which is a little puzzling. The Giordottos have got to be doing okay to afford a home in this neighborhood, but maybe they put most of their stuff in stores back in New York, and Max just hasn't got the chance to buy furniture yet. There's something of Max here, though, and that's good to see. He's even got some framed pictures up of him and a girl who is probably Avery in various dismal-looking New York locations. She's pretty, but so is he, although he looks kinda different. Ignoring his light-storing, he picks up what looks like the most recent poster. Max and Avery, arms around each other's waist, dressed casually, posing on the sidewalk somewhere. In the background, looking over them as if casting judgment. It's the Statue of Liberty, but on closer inspection, it's just a billboard or something. And Max? Well, he's the same Max she knows, same surprisingly delicate features for a boy, same full lips, all that stuff, but his hair is a lot shorter, his shoulders are broader, and there's even an impression of more bulk around his neck. He wasn't kidding when he said he lost weight. As if in response to amusing, he rolls over in bed, startling her. So she puts the picture back, lingers on it for a moment longer, and crouches down by his bed. He's facing her now, and it makes it easier. Still in front of him, her eye packs open. Go away, Max mumbles. That's dark circles just like her. He's probably up all night worrying, just like her. I brought you a Dr. Pepper, she says. He dives off the bed, has her plastic bag, and sits down on the bed. The other eye opens. Fine, she says. You can stay. She puts the duvet aside and sits up. Shuffling up the headboard, she's upright enough to drink. He opens the can, and starts pulling it into himself. Taylor can't help quickly looking down. It's not like she thought he wouldn't be wearing boxers or anything, but there's always a chance, right? What she sees is alarming. So, his thighs are way too skinny. Which is a good thing, you can't take gymnastics at VP high, because the first thing any clinic coach would do is turn him away, to drink his way to protein shakes, and put on 20 to 30 pounds. He's not aware, everywhere. He says, stay, he says, throwing the empty can at the trash can. He's got another one of those. Finally, she hands him the one she was going to drink. He's suddenly not that thirsty anymore. He makes short work of it, finishing with an expensive belch, which he immediately, and quickly, sheepishly apologizes for. So, she says, standing up, you want to get dressed to come exercise with me? Or would you rather sleep until noon? I'm getting up, he grumbles. I'm getting up. Don't suppose you've had any brilliant ideas about our situation, have you? He adds, as he swings his legs out of bed, and staggers to his feet, nope, but there is something I wanted to talk to you about. He stretches, and he's not pleasing her. He gets to see a shoulder blade slide on his t-shirt, and wow, yes, it might be spare, there might be little of him left compared to how he used to be, how he might be again, but there is of him quite a compelling picture. Taylor can't help it. She likes athletes. He turns to talk to her. She cools her face. This situation is caused by her boyfriend's jealousy. It is inappropriate, therefore, for her to lust over another boy. At least until the situation is resolved, because Willa is right, he is lusting, and to just admit it, at least then she gets to enjoy it. She lets him get his morning shower out of the way first, before she approaches the subject. She wants him feeling good, because then he's more likely to say yes. She waits for him, wandering his room, looking at more pictures, hanging the strings on his guitar, and playing it at his PC. He didn't even take the stupid stickers off the front. It looks so ugly. He doesn't send her away when he's done, which she likes. He just leaves the bathroom in that same robe, just actually tied fully closed this time, unlike on the day they met. Clips up some clothes, takes him back into the bathroom with him. When he emerges again, fully dressed, with wet hair, finger combed, out of his face, with her eyes still tangled and messy, she clucks her tongue at him, makes him sit on the end of his bed, while she brushes his hair out. Why even own a hairbrush? He's not going to use it. I was going to tell you last night, she says, but after Gordo, I forgot. You said you had a birthday recently, right? Last week, yeah, he says. Wait a minute, you don't want to have a party, do you? Because I can sit with the car-lagged excuse a little longer. Not a party, just a little thing, a day to get together for the birthday you couldn't have. Just you and me, a couple of my friends, Willie and Etta, we'll go hunting in Mom's drinks cabinet, we'll watch movies, eat pizza, and it'll be fun, Max. You really want to have a party? Not a party, after all that shit with Gordo? Yes, because Willie and Etta are some of the smartest people I know. Think of a way to put this all behind you. I know it. I know it. Come on, Max, we can sleep in the guest room, we can stay up all night. She pauses, her hand resting lightly on his neck. She's been gathering up the hair. She could swear he shivers after a touch, just a little, so she leans in closer and says, please. Max shivers again. Taylor can talk him into anything, it seems. Is he wrong? Flirting with him this morning to get him to come? Yes, no, he has to be wrong. She has a boyfriend, but she doesn't like him much right now. He's a pretty solid indicator of her type. He excites her. Max therefore never could. He looked up Gordo up, he looked Gordo up, now he has internet again. He's all over the school's website, news article after news article after, after news article. While Gordo isn't a star of any of them, mostly when football comes up, it's the QB who gets the lead caption. He's there in all the pictures, he's giving them some quotes. He's a big guy, scary big, bigger than the guys who held him down back home. Big enough, he wouldn't have to worry about stopping Clay after his attacker like he had to the first time. Now if Gordo comes after him, Clay won't get the chance. Max is going to die. He's got to help Taylor's friends have some ideas. She told him not to dress up, so he didn't. He's wearing the yes it's fucking political skunk underneath shirt Clay bought when he saw them live years ago. Because Clay got the wrong size, he's small enough that it actually kind of fits. It makes him look thin, but Max is fed up with wearing his old stuff. It all makes him feel even more scrawny than he actually is. He did throw on a pair of battered neglected cargoes though, because A, he's got to wear something, and he can't wear shorts to a party. And B, all his panting loose, and his cargo pants is still, still, he has to wear a pink belt. His hair is an unusual look, in detail, but the modified Taylor, he's got real hair ties, as today, black to get unobtrusive, and that's how she's right. They feel better than the rubber bands. The door opens for their kids, rings a bell, and Taylor's dad, dressed only casually, boasts a gold paper party crown on his head. He's about to comment on it, but she cheekily moves it and places it carefully on his head. Thanks, he says stridely. Happy belated birthday, Taylor says, grabs both of his hands, dragging him inside, where two new people are waiting. He snaps on the couch when they see him, almost laughs, so comfy, mismatching size and shape. Willow, the girl, sees tiny, like 5'2", 3' at most, with English features, pale skin, and hair even more black than his. She's standing with the guy, who is easily over six foot, and he's pretty built. He's not as big as Gordo or Clay, his build reminds him of the kind of adults in gymnastics he used to assume he would eventually come to emulate, but he doesn't seem intimidating. In fact, he's all smiles as he rushes forward to take one of Max's hands from Taylor. Hi, he says, Eddie. Willow! Willow says, leaning on Eddie. So, Max says, you're both cheerleaders, huh? Yep, I'm a flyer. Willow emerges from behind Eddie, looks up at Max, snapping his up if she has to look too to meet Eddie's eyes. That means when the rest of them want to show off, they pick me up and throw me in the air. What happens next? They catch me, hopefully, she says with a shrug. It usually works. It always works. It always works, she says, because I'm always one of the people catching her. In the bottom, Willow says, I'm a base. Eddie corrects her, laughing, a male base specifically, our job is to anchor the pyramids. Among other things, Kayla says, coming back in from the kitchen, Max thinks it's easy to leave, so now she's here with a tray of highballs which she passes around. Salute! Salute! Willow and Eddie course and reply, drink their drinks, Max hurries to follow them, whiskey and coke, fine. Now we are all relaxed, Willow says, between the couch, he and I have something to ask you. They give themselves a range, Willow and Ed are on one couch, Max and Kayla on the other. Wait, wait, Eddie says, what if I'm not quite relaxed enough yet? Know what? I'll call it till the pizza comes. Kayla scolds him, oh, you know what happens? She turns to Max and explains, Eddie buffs very easily for a boy his size. Fine, fine, Eddie says, sit back on the couch, arms folded. Ask away, dear beloved girlfriend of mine. Kay says, you're cool. Willow says, are you cool? Fine, cool. Max says, shame he got his drink the same as the rest of them. He could use a prop right now. What do you like? Eddie says, it's all weird and stupid if, for example, attractive boyfriend and girlfriend couples turn out to be, let's say, not entirely as they seem. I don't think so. Good enough, Willow says. When she leans forward on her knees, she whispers, we're fake, and jerks her thumb back and forth between Eddie and herself. We're not dating. Oh, okay. Oh, oh. Max feels suddenly incredibly stupid for not realizing it 30 seconds ago. So, uh, which one of you is? Both of us wear co-beards or I'm a beard and he's a frock, Eddie suggests. Unless it's beards for lesbians, too. I need to ask someone. Willow grins apologetically. We've never done this before. I worked it out, Taylor says smugly. She did not. Eddie says, he caught me making out with a boy from another school at the last regional attempt to qualify for regionals. This is, of course, a huge secret, Willow says. And don't let this little display fool you, Taylor adds. They're way more straight-acting at school. Eddie coughs, sit up straight, folds his shoulders forward, de-centrates his thighs, and pushes his voice down almost a whole octave. Hey there, she says. Max doubles over laughing. He can't help it. The transformation was so suffocating, so complete. Usually I scratch something, Eddie says, returning to normal, or stare at a girl's chest, just in case. It's mostly for my benefit, Willow says, dragging Eddie to pull him back to his thoughts. I won a sports scholarship and I think I'm going to get one, a few years ago. There's this girl who also thought she was going to get one, and she came out. Willow slices her finger across her throat, end of story. I keep telling you, Eddie says, just switch to women's hockey or something. Yeah, right. Willow turns back to Max, can you see me playing hockey? I'd be the puck. Some of those girls are big enough to throw me the length of the pitch. She shudders theatrically. That'd be hot though, she asks. Or gently. Willow says, pulling him back the same way Willow pulled on Eddie. I see him bounce back into the couch cushion. Max here is straight like me. For the first time ever, all those sleepovers don't feature something other than sad guys fussing over men and women they can't have. Hey, Eddie says, don't knock the closet until you've been trapped in it for 18 years. A little while later, Willow and Eddie both declare themselves in need of the bathroom and vanish in alternate directions. Leaving Taylor alone with Max. Steve's pleased with him. He's been doing well. As long as the surfboard isn't hanging over his head. If Taylor's eyes are constantly slipping back to him, well that just means she gets to ignore the knowing looks Willow fires away whenever she gets a chance. So, she says, what do you think? Of Willow and Eddie? I like them. I like them. They're not their respective cheerleaders. I love them. Oh my gosh! Taylor says, dropping the valley to her voice, you're like so prejudiced. And then Max does the most incredible thing, being eye contact with her. He slaps her on the chest a couple times, quits his throat, and his posture changes. He stretches his back, slams his throat a little. He says in a clear and pleasant valley, I know, right? Cheerleaders can do anything. He even tops it off with a giggle. What the fuck? Willow says, returning from the bathroom, and being Taylor's new response, because Taylor has been completely drunk and struck. What the fuck? Was that you? As far as him, Taylor confirms, she almost wants to look for her jaw. It's probably on the floor somewhere, under the couch maybe. I don't know how he did it, though. He sounded exactly right. Still a little scratchy, maybe. Still looking for things to critique. Despite that, she closed her eyes. She could believe she was listening to an orange tan beach bunny, not the skinny pale boy, sitting next to her, turning red under the attention. What? He says, still speaking valley, despite the embarrassment, like it's hard. He coughs lightly, covering his mouth, says in his double voice, takes concentration, though. It's not falsetto, is it? Willow asks, but she already knows it's not. Taylor can't imagine how she knows that. No, Max agrees. It's more like, okay. And he sits up again, his confidence suddenly in full flow. My family, we were a church-every-Sunday kind of family. At least their mom and dad got too busy for it. When I was a kid, I used to love to singing. Didn't do any modern stuff. None of that what-a-friend-we-have-in-Jesus crap. We sang popular hymns, music you can get your teeth into. Some of it was kind of punk rock, actually, all about the absolution of death and blowing the shit out of cities with trumpets. Anyway, I got to know how to move your voice around your mouth. I like your voice. It's about throwing it into the front and speaking through your nose a bit. You can use falsetto if you need to go really high, but I never used to bother. I can also do a movie trailer voice. He shifts posture again, sometimes stamps his chest and growls. In a world where one man stands for justice, another man stands for, uh, something else equally good. Will or not, it's very trailer-y. Much better than Eddie's straight voice, Taylor says. In 6th grade, it was mainly useful for prank calls, Max says. You know, when you call up and pretend to be the school secretary when it's the movie phone or something. Taylor, overwhelmed, puts both hands on his knees. Is there anything you can't do? Max laughs, his cheeks so pink from his embarrassment when he's rolling with it. It makes Taylor so happy. Hey, he says, I can do gymnastics, I can do funny voices, I have to only do things I have to practice with as both of them. It's true, Will says. There's not a lot of things, Taylor. Max had enough room for only three slices of pizza, and he had to leave the crust on the third one. Taylor declared it enough and disappeared briefly to the kitchen. Returning a minute or so later, with small highballs, she asked if her parents would know that she's taking their alcohol. She told them the trick is to take the entire bottle, mom forgets how many she bought, she said. They're out in the backyard, full pizza, each of them floating on whiskey and coke. They have another tray out with four more highballs, and Max feels good. Everything's cool, though, feels far away, unimportant. He's out here with Taylor, just talking and watching the stars. And Willa and Eddie are nice, they have as many depressing stories being closeted as high school, as they do funny stories about cheerleader stuff, and he snorts. Are all his friends here going to be cheerleaders? That's unexpected. At least they share interests beyond gymnastics. Oh my gosh, Taylor's saying, Max and I were talking about it earlier, it really sucked when they killed Taylor. I didn't watch a single episode more of Willa Says Tirelessly, they could have killed anyone, they could have killed Xander, so why kill Taylor? They should have killed Xander, Taylor agrees. Well, he says, stroking from his glass, I don't see what the big deal is. Oh come on, Max protests, he wants the alcohol seems to have settled mostly in his throat, making him way more toxic than usual. They finally let her kiss Willa on camera, but they kill her the very same season, they know that's bullshit. Taylor's vigorously nodding, but Eddie just says, eh. He wouldn't understand, Willa says, it's a lesbian thing. And um, he gets this Max and Taylor straight people thing I guess, flies right over your head. Hey, I have solidarity, I just think it's you people who are really interesting after Giles left. Giles? Max says, really? Giles? Giles. I don't get it, Willa says, Taylor and Max nod along, we all know you don't, Eddie says, but Taylor, Max, can you not see it? But he takes off his glasses because he's just so world-weary, and man, he could show me his Dewey Decimal any day. Nope. Willa says, emphasizing the tea, Max however does his best to consider it, to fill on a drink as he does so, and he swears all eyes on him, waiting for him to say something, he shrugs, eh, he says, don't see it. Philistine. Eddie says, what about Spike? Taylor says, Spike? As he replies in the tone he might use to describe something he found floating in a school toilet, ew, after what he did to Buffy in Season 6? I thought he stopped watching after Giles left. Eddie folds his arms and harumps, I follow the vlogs, hey, someone calls Philo way away, it turns out to be Clay, his head poking up over the fence, he knocks on the wood until he has everyone's attention, mom and dad just called Max, they're on their way home now, they will be able to see you from their room, now I won't tell them you're drinking out here, but if you don't want them to know, got it, Max yells back, and say you can stay over if you behave, and they say you can stay over if you behave yourself, I'm 18, I can stay wherever I want, if you tell them that to their faces, please do so when I'm in another state, now shoo, thanks Clay, thank you Clay, Eddie and Willa course, Taylor joins in a moment later, Clay waves at the cube, stresses them to get up, to get up the tray and the glasses, and the big pinkies, Taylor brought out for them to sit on, and head inside, Max is the first in, Willa following, together they take the glasses into the kitchen to rinse them, but Taylor and Eddie put everything else away, while Max, Willa says taking glass for him, putting it upside down to dry, your brother is so built, I know, that's very proud, she slides closer, I take it from your tone, to feel confident about that, about your brother being large, about him being the favourite, Willa picks him, and don't try to deny it, I'm a lesbian daughter, with three straight sisters, us black sheep can spot each other, I don't know, Max says, I don't want to be him, so much makes my head ache, he doesn't have any of my shit, you know, Taylor tell you about the, scars, Willa says, I might have mentioned them, yeah well, Clay doesn't have scars, Clay is a normal guy, he has a life, and lots of friends back home, probably have a job by the end of the week, lots of friends here, by the end of the month, when the credit comes through, for the sale of his Honda, he has a car, he just lives life, you know, he lives life, makes it look so easy, you okay Max? He turns around, watches out the last glass, I think maybe I shouldn't drink, he says, I get depressed when I drink, I have a solution for that, Willa says, coming around the corner, into the kitchen, and strangle little, Willa had maybe, one drink too many, bad movies, not bad, just awful, she says, coming closer, place your hand on his forearm, good promise, total garbage, well, that was close, Max very nearly got worse again, like he did when he got stoned together, and Taylor had to deploy, the only solution she has, not the movie thing, just a pretext, it's a very distracting pretext though, local blockbuster, sometimes folks sell it to VHS tapes, it can't get anyone to rent, it has no taste, that's how they have a pile of directed video, action flicks, terrible sequels, the odd Disney movie follow-up movie, right now, they're watching Return of Jafar, which helps with some of Gary's Doritos, Willie and Eddie, Face and TV, and have their throwing chips at the screen, whenever the parrot says something, and Taylor's got the other couch, she's got Max, the movie's gone on, she's moved closer and closer, close enough, she can hear his breathing, close enough that her thigh's almost touching, close enough that temptation almost overwhelms her, close enough that she crosses her legs, right now, she can just, the doorbell rings, they all look at each other, and Eddie, clearly sensing that nobody else wants to get up, busts her eyes, before he's halfway out of his seat, it rings again, and again, and then the banging on the door starts, Taylor! Gordo shouts, Taylor, I know you're in there! Shoot, Taylor whispers, Gordo, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, it's too real, it's too familiar, Gordo shouting something through the door, about Max being a guy, and Taylor being a liar, so everyone's always pissed at him, what the fuck did he ever do? Eddie's up on his feet, only pausing to say, oh, you know what to do, Willa, before heading right for the front door, Willa looks startled, more startled, she nods, but Eddie's already rounded the corner, and can't see her, and Taylor's in Max's face, holding both his hands, Max, she says, I think I know what he means, to go with the bouquet, please, we can fix this, Max's jaw feels tight, almost too tight to speak, but he forces out, aren't I just going to jump the fence? No, Willa says, as Taylor leads him away from the couch, he might see you, Willa says, he's here because he's mad, right? Willa says, you hear that? She rinses, and he bangs on the door again, and yells for Eddie to take the chain off, you want him, as I said, Taylor, shit, no, come on, the three of them run through the stairs together, they pass casually close to the front door, Eddie's deliberately blocking the line of sight, Max overhears Eddie trying to get Gordo to back off, they're upstairs, Gordo, and keep it down, you want the neighbors calling the cops? What are they doing up there? I don't know, girl stuff, so let me in, not until you calm down, Gordo, Eddie says, in a voice so commanding, and gradually, he suddenly sounds almost like Clay, Max, Taylor, and Willa are frozen together on the second floor, none of them willing to move on, he says there's not anything useful to hear, it's Willa who breaks the spell, she thinks, we don't have time to listen to this, right, Taylor says, right, come on, she ushers them into a room, and shuts the door behind them, what are we going to do, Max asks, he's already compressing his chest, his collar seems to throb, he covers them with his hands, we're going to show him Maxine, Willa says, and winces something at Gordo's, shouts, manages to get through, Eddie and me, we talked about this, we're just going to take pictures, this is even better, so get him off Maxwell, back forever, Taylor, she continues, turning to her before Max can properly process what she's saying, I've got this, go down there and calm him, we're doing girl stuff, whatever, we need five minutes, that's all, Willa nods, rushes back out, possibly wanting to apologize, look Max's way, five minutes, he says, you think you can make me do those five minutes, I'm a cheerleader, Willa says, we can do anything, it hurts to leave Max up there, all alone with Willa, not knowing what she has to do to him, not knowing how he'll respond, whether he'll even go along with it, whether he'll turn out, suddenly, to be a boy like Gordo, and not the boy she thinks he is, it hurts Willa, but Gordo needs play skating, and nobody but her can do it, so she takes a stand at a run, and jumps, lands perfectly, duh, at the bottom, with a deep, calming breath, when she appears at the front door, once again, her most perky, perky, view-captioning self, Gordo, she says, makes herself sound excited to see him, why aren't you at football camp, coach views, I'm off, two days in a row, he didn't, it's not football camp, Tay, he yells, it's an intensive, fuck, you lied to me, Taylor, Max is a guy, only one thing to do, is stupid, he'll believe it of her, you know, as she listens, when she tells him stuff, no, she's not, she says, cocking her head to the side, like a confused puppy, Maxine is a girl, I told you, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's not, she's 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