Max and Warren have a movie date, and it’s silly, but it feels like a lifeline.

When she gets scolded in Mr. Jefferson’s class for rushing her homework, and doesn’t know how to explain she’s been too anxious to even pick up her camera, she thinks about their date. When Victoria mocks her under her breath as she passes with her cronies giggling in the background, and Max can do nothing but square her shoulders and glare, she thinks about their date. Like that alone will make everything okay; like it’s some grand, momentous occasion, marking her first steps towards becoming someone who doesn’t suck.

Or so she hopes.

With the bell’s ring, she picks up her polaroids off the table, shuffles them into a neat little pile, and dumps them in the first trash can she sees.

“Max!” Behind her, Kate looks positively heartbroken. Max immediately regrets not disposing of them in the bathroom, or somewhere else a little more stealthy. “You shouldn’t throw them away. It’s your art…”

“I wouldn’t call any of these art,” she answers with a guilty shrug. “I really did rush it this week. I’ve hated these since the moment I took them-- I just would’ve felt bad, bringing nothing in.”

Max knew this would be humiliating. She had thought of skipping altogether, but that’d be a mark on her record, way too early into the school year. Briefly, she’d considered bringing in the photos she took of Rachel at that party. Those turned out amazing, of course -- Rachel’s presence guaranteed it. But it would’ve felt dirty. Even if nobody else knew, she would’ve.

In the end, Max stuck with her hard-earned mediocrity, and Rachel’s gorgeous, neon-lit smile remained taunting her from her nightstand’s bottom-most drawer.

It’s the first time Jefferson’s ever been disappointed in her, and she kind of wants to cry. Her therapist back in Seattle used to say she needs to be gentle with herself about those things -- accept that slip-ups happen, and focus on getting back on track rather than swerving full-on into a ditch of self-loathing. But the knot in her throat is not easily swallowed, and the voice in her head chanting ‘failure’ isn’t easily ignored.

“Hey, but you know what,” she forces herself upright, puffing out her chest-- “I’m watching a movie with Warren tonight. In like, a date way. I mean, we haven’t called it a date, but I used a winking emoji, which is pretty much the same thing.”

“Oh my goodness! Max, congratulations! When did this happen?”

“Um,” Max’s shoulders hitch in a faint shrug, flustered by Kate’s audible giddiness.  “A little after our talk, actually. I just thought about it, and realized… you were right. Warren deserves some kind of answer, and I’m not entirely sure yet, but I feel like-- we might as well give it a try, right? So. Yeah.”

“I’m so happy for you,” Kate says, smile bright. “I hope you two have a lovely time.”

“Thanks, Kate.” A brief pause. Max shuffles her feet. “Actually, I was wondering, could I maybe borrow your lipstick? You wear such a pretty shade.”

“Oh, of course! Gladly. Just a moment...” She stops mid-pace to sift through her purse, producing the tube of lipstick in short order and placing it in Max’s hand. “Here you are.”

“You’re the best, Kate. I’ll give it back around eight once I’m done getting ready, okay?”

----

It’s ten minutes to eight, and Max is not remotely ready.

She doesn’t know how it ended up like this. She started preparing almost an hour and a half ago, and it seemed like ample time. Got through her shower, no problem. Dried and brushed her hair, narrowed her choice of outfit down to jeans and one of three shirts. But then she she got stuck cycling through them, studying each one too thoroughly in the mirror, with all the ways they crinkle and crease and cling to her waist. In the end, all shirts were deemed terrible and unfit for wear, and Max had ransacked her whole closet just to end up farther than she’s ever been from making a choice.

She checks the time on her phone again-- holy shit, I’m meeting him in six minutes-- and flings it back onto the mattress face-down. What a total disaster. First-ever date with a boy, cancelled over a shirt. Is that what she wants her life to be?

Raking a hand through her hair, Max forces a deep inhale.

“Okay. Okay. This is Warren. He knows what you look like. This is the stupidest thing to stress over, just pick a random shirt and go.”

Screwing her eyes shut, she sticks a hand in the pile of discarded clothes atop her mattress, and retrieves the first thing she touches. She takes a look at the result, some bright-purple lacy-collared monstrosity her mom got for her two birthdays ago, and winces.

“--Just not this one.”

The second attempt provides a more favorable result by far: a black T-shirt printed with a vintage comic book cover, featuring Batman and Robin riding ridiculously oversized unicycles. It’s seen a couple washes too many, the color eroded in places, but what the hell. She loves it. Warren probably will, too.

Max tugs it on, smooths her hair back into place, and settles in front of the mirror to apply Kate’s lipstick as best as she knows how. Makeup is a strange, alien thing to her, but lipstick is simple enough even for the clueless, and Kate’s choice of color is nice and subtle -- just a slightly warmer pink than that of her own lips.

“Okay,” she sighs as she steps back for one last, full-body look in the mirror. It’s fine. She looks fine. And she has literally no time left to keep fussing over this, so it’s just going to have to be good enough. With a determined nod, Max slings her bag over her shoulder, and heads out the door -- to Kate’s room, first, to return the borrowed lipstick.

Not two steps into the hallway, she stops dead in her tracks.

“And I was like, dude, of course you can’t feed your dog that--”

“Oh my god!”

“He got hella upset. It was hilarious.”

It’s Chloe and Rachel, yakking and cackling in their own private bubble, butting shoulders and hips together as they walk. It’s Max’s first time seeing Chloe since their fight, and she looks -- vibrant. The newly-dyed hair, and her smile, too. The two of them together now are just the same as the day she first saw them: completely caught up in each other, two halves of a perfect whole.

The words from Mr. Jefferson’s first lesson resurface in her mind: what shape hole would you leave behind, and Max wonders if she was kidding herself to imagine any void left in her absence at all.

Chloe notices her first, and her footsteps grind to a halt, smile thinning. Following her gaze, Rachel stops, too. There’s expectation in her eyes, almost a challenge: come on, say something.

She should. Max knows she should.

But her teeth are glued shut and all she can do is gawk at Chloe, watching her twist her fingers in her belt loops as her eyes trail from Rachel, to the floor, back to Max. It’s a deadlock, three pieces frozen in place with every path blocked.

When it feels as though they very well might stay like this forever, Rachel breaks the stasis; a quick inhale, a thin-lipped smile, and then she’s grabbing Chloe by the nape to pull her into a kiss. A deep, demanding, open-mouthed kiss, the kind that doesn’t care who sees.

The kind that wants Max to see.

Caught unprepared, Chloe’s eyes go wide, darting startled every which way. For a split-second, her stare locks onto Max’s, and Max feels a burn from her throat to belly like she’s swallowed hot coal.

But then Chloe’s eyes close, and she leans into the kiss, and Max is left standing there with her stupid heart pounding even after Rachel’s pulled Chloe into her room and shut the door.

What was that? Did Rachel do it just to get to her? And what does it say about her that it worked?

“Lipstick,” Max mutters aloud, abruptly remembering the silver tube pressed against her palm. She shakes her head, chastising internally. “Lipstick.”

Her phone’s buzzing in her pocket already -- Warren, no doubt, wondering what’s keeping her. That’s right. She’s going to give this lipstick back to Kate, and then she’s going to watch a movie with a boy. Alone, in his room, on a date. She’s not going to stay a useless virgin forever; soon, kissing will have become so normal to her that she could watch Chloe kiss ten thousand people without batting an eye.

She’s going to be normal.

“Warren,” she picks up the phone. “Hey, yeah. Sorry, I got a little held up. I’ll be right there.”

-----

“What was that?” Chloe asks, narrow-eyed, as soon as the door clicks shut behind them. Her face pricks hot, one part indignation and two parts want.

“Exposure therapy,” Rachel answers, settling onto the edge of her bed with a flippant shrug. “Max needs to get over the fact we have a thing, you need to get over your compulsive need to censor parts of your life for Max’s approval. Let this be a growing experience for the both of you.’’

Chloe has no real rebuttal to offer. Whether she likes it or not, Rachel’s right on both counts, and she’s struggling to rationalize her own frustration. “You’re a tool,” she mumbles, if only for the sake of getting the last word in. Rachel hums lightly, accepting this, and pats the space beside her on the bed.

The mattress dips beneath Chloe’s weight, her sigh wary as she watches Rachel rifle through her schoolbag. “So what’s on the agenda tonight, Professor?”

“Well, I’ve got a quiz about the Great Depression in three days, and you’re going to be my flashcard assistant. How does that sound?”

“Like having my flesh slowly peeled from my bones as I lie completely awake and alert, yet helpless to resist.”

“Great! Then let’s get right to it.”

“Ugh,” Chloe groans as the looming stack of flashcards is thrust into her uneager arms. “Why do I have to do this? My life’s already a great depression.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, who was the one texting me all, ‘pleeaase Rachel, can we hang out, I don’t even caaare what we do’?” She pouts her lips and bats her eyelashes, voice taking on an unbearable baby-whine, “‘I jush mish yew sho much!’”

“Die,” Chloe hisses, butting her side hard enough to send Rachel toppling down onto the mattress. The chime of her self-satisfied laugh rings through the room, and Chloe fumes in silence, distracted only somewhat by the strip of tan stomach revealed beneath the ebbing hem of blouse.

That’s the worst part. She does miss her, even though it’s only been three days since they last hung out. The school year always picks up faster than she’s ready for, and already it’s taking Rachel away. Soon three days will turn into a week -- even longer, come midterms -- and Chloe will try to act mature and reasonable about this, and it’s never going to fucking work.

She needs Rachel. Especially now. She can’t help it.

“Hey,” Rachel whispers once her laughter has faded, and there’s a sudden earnestness to her expression that makes Chloe falter. Rachel’s hand lifts, molding itself to the crook of her arm, thumb caressing the soft inner of elbow. It tingles.

“I get it. This time of year sucks, and I wanna be here for you. But I gotta stay on top of school stuff. You know that.”

Chloe bites her lip. “Yeah. I know.”

“We’ll get this done, and then we can chill, okay?” Rachel’s fingers trail down as she straightens, until she’s sitting beside Chloe again, shoulder to shoulder and hand over hand. “Do you wanna sleep over? Is Step-dick done riding your ass?”

“Ch’yeah, in my dreams,” Chloe mutters, then heaves out a sigh, trying for hopeful: “But… this weekend, maybe? Could you come?”

“No, babe, I’m sorry. I’m starting this student-mentor program, I’m gonna be tutoring this first-year every other Saturday.”

Right. Of course. Chloe’s shoulders sag. “Christ, at this point I don't even know how you’re gonna fit all this on your freakin’ college app.”

“I’m thinking of mailing out scrolls, medieval-style. Possibly by pigeon.”

That wins her a weak twitch of the lips; a failed attempt at forcing a smile. Worry darkens Rachel’s features, and she laces their fingers together with a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, it’s cool. We’ll just make good use of the time we have. How about,” she leans in close, a hushed whisper-promise: “for every ten flashcards, I’ll give you a reward?”

The edge of Chloe’s grimace quirks upwards again, and this time, it sticks. She can feel Rachel’s breath flutter on her lips, but still she lets the inch of distance linger between them, pressing: “Like what?”

“Like this,” Rachel says before covering her mouth with her own, and this time it’s honest: quietly appreciative with a hint of playful, nipping at Chloe’s bottom lip. It’s good. It’s what she wanted.

And yet she can’t help but think of Max’s wide-eyed stare, and the odd-pink tinge to her lips, and how much she wanted to say something to her, but couldn’t.

Rachel’s brow furrows slightly as she pulls back, head tilting at an inquisitive angle. “How about it?” she asks, and it feels like more of a question than her coquettish tone conveys.

Chloe shakes her head to empty it of pesky, unneeded thoughts, and offers Rachel a proper smile. “We have a deal.”

----

“Max! You made it.”

Warren greets her with a grin, and Max is instantly struck by two things: the smell of aftershave, and the button-down he’s wearing. She hadn’t even realized Warren owned any button-downs, and it makes her smile to think he made an effort for tonight, too.

“Hey, Warren. Sorry for the holdup.” tucking hair behind ear

“It’s cool,” shifting his weight “Awesome shirt, by the way.”

satisfaction! “Thank you. It’s a favorite.”

stepping aside from the door and letting her enter. he tidied up for her, too. no clothes on his chair or anything. it’s nice. “You know, with all due respect to gritty modern-day Batman, I feel like the best takes on his character are those that acknowledge this is a grown man running around in an animal costume, punching clowns.”

“Like Burton’s! He really had this perfect balance of ridiculous and dark. Nolan’s stuff is so edgy-- I mean, it’s cool, but sometimes you want him to lighten up a little, right?”

“I hear you. It’s like… Why so serious?” Wiggles his eyebrows. Max groans.“Sorry, sorry, I had to.”

“So what’re we watching?”
“I was thinking we could do Equilibrium. It’s like the Matrix, except the kung fu is gun fu, and it’s all about feelings and the beauty of life.”

“Wow. Sold.”

he places his laptop on the chair, taking a few moments to load up the video before angling it towards the bed. max takes a seat, hands bundled in her lap.

‘i got pringles. do you want pringles?’

‘sour cream?’

‘you bet.’

‘yessss.’

he places the can in her hands before settling down next to her on the bed, a comfortable distance between them. the movie starts up, flashing a series of production company logos.

‘oh, the lights--’

‘i’ll get it,’ max says, and switches them off.

and there she is, sitting on a boy’s bed with the lights off. it feels like kind of a big deal, but then, she’s not sure if she’s blowing it out of proportion. they’re just watching a movie -- they’ve done this before -- but it feels different, now that she’s decided to acknowledge the elephant in the room. she used a winking emoji. warren even dressed up for her. that means something, right?

warren likes to talk during movies, like, ‘ooh, this scene is gonna kick ass,’ ‘you’ll love this part,’ ‘oh man, this is where shit gets really real’. it’s kind of cute, and better yet, keeps her from getting too stuck in her own head. those little quips and comments disperse any tension that would’ve otherwise clouded the air, until max is almost relaxed enough to forget this is even a date.

it’s halfway through the film, when he puts his hand on hers, that she remembers.

Warren’s hand is bigger than hers, and his fingers are a little crusty from the Pringles, which is grody, but she tries not to focus on that. This is huge. This is a milestone. She’s holding a boy’s hand. The only person she’s ever held hands with is like, her mom up until she was seven, and Chloe.

Chloe’s hand feels so different; her fingers thinner but longer, the back of her hand always scratchy in autumn. When they were kids, her palm was always covered in scrapes from the skate park, and her fingers often calloused from sketching and scribbling. Warren’s hand is smooth, just clammy, and Max can feel her own palm starting to sweat beneath the warmth. She wipes it against the bedsheet as subtly as she can, careful not to break contact.

They spend the next five minutes like that, Max’s attention divided between the flashy fights on-screen and Warren’s hand on her own. She wonders if it’ll be rude to pull back. she doesn’t wanna be rude but her hand’s feeling seriously gross man. so she finally withdraws and warren briefly glances her way but doesn’t say or do anything. she shifts a little closer to him on the bed, as if in compensation.

the movie ends and the can of pringles is down to the last few crumbs.

‘okay, that ruled.’

proud grin. ‘i knew you’d like it.’

‘i bow before lord graham, master of cinema.’

‘what can i say, it’s a gift.’ … ‘there’s a bunch of other movies i’d love to show you, you know, if you wanted.’

‘yeah, i do. i want that.’ ‘though, i should head back to my dorm if i don’t wanna be totally dead during class.’

‘right, of course.’

awkward shifting by the door. ‘thanks for tonight, warren.’ then max remembers rachel kissing chloe and in a fit of boldness kisses him on the cheek. ‘it was a good date,’ she says, decisively. ‘see you tomorrow.’

yeah!!!
---

max texts frenando and kristen about dating warren and theyre both super happy and excited for her. the group chat had been kinda dead for a while, kris and fern stayed in seattle for college so they dont really need the group chat to stay in touch, fernando sometimes posts dumb memes and max shares cat videos and sometimes they all ask one another how theyre doing but its always, like, ‘super busy but ok’. but now max has something NICE to share that isnt just whining and/or evading and she’s getting POSITIVE ATTENTION and theyre like ‘omg that sweet nerd boy you’re friends with? that’s so CUTE’ ‘how long have u 2 been going out? who asked who? deets deets deets’ and that feels really good. suddenly people are happy for her. this basically never happens.

this was definitely the right choice!!

--