Shameless
Chapter 1: Discordant Concord
When Max Batchelder wakes up to the fire alarms screaming, one word immediately flies from her mouth:
"GAZZY!"
She rips the batteries out of the smoke alarm, resulting in its immediate silence, and shoves them into the pocket of her basketball shorts. She then makes her way to the kitchen, thundering the whole way to warn Gazzy of his impending doom
He has set their third microwave on fire by once again putting tin foil inside it and setting it on high. He continues to insist he does it on accident, forgets that you can't put tin foil in the microwave; but Max knows he likes watching the colors it creates. The pops of red and blue heat fascinate him to no end.
"It was an accident," he's saying, and Max shakes her head.
"You'd better hope Ella will let us borrow hers."
Gazzy gives one last attempt at being apologetic before Max sends him off to take his shower.
She takes the moment of silence before rousing the others to collect her thoughts, looking around. The gas bill is due today, and she hates to ask the kids for money, but it's the only way to keep the place running. It ain't no Motel 6, but it's home. And Max wouldn't have it any other way.
She glances at the clock on the stove. 7:00 AM.
Show time.
"BATCHELDERS!" she screams at the top of her lungs, parading through the narrow hallway and picking up dirty laundry as she goes. Thursday is laundry day.
She storms into Iggy and Gazzy's room with the intention of waking the older boy, but is pleased to find he's already up and packing his bag. His hands sweep over the floor, searching for something.
"You're up," Max says, not bothering to hide her surprise.
"Yea, well, fire alarms'll do that. Gazzy blow up the microwave again?"
"Uh-huh."
Max sees him physically struggle with his face, trying his best not to look proud while also trying to remember what proud looks like. Suddenly, his expression shifts to one of irritation – a face he can never forget how to make. "Have you seen my Science notebook? I can't – " but before he can finish his sentence Max spots the lime green book with the word SCIENCE done in Gazzy's horrendous scrawl across the top laying just inches from her brother. She gives it a surreptitious kick straight into Iggy's path.
"-never mind, got it," he finishes, looking pleased with himself. Max smiles fondly.
"Hey," she says, and shakes the laundry basket in her hands so Iggy can hear the clothes rustle inside of it. "Got any laundry?"
"Damn, Thursday already?" says Iggy, as if Thursday's inherent ability to always arrive after Wednesday continues to surprise him.
"Yessir," Max confirms, and watches with a sense of pride as Iggy easily locates the dirty clothes piled under the desk and shoves them inside the basket. His ability to memorize exactly where everything is without ever seeing it astounds her, though she'd never tell him.
"All right, I'm going to go turn on the Nudge channel. Prepare yourself."
Iggy chuckles and rubs a hand over his face. "Good luck. I'll make some pancakes."
Another impressive feat of Iggy's; he's an amazing cook, whereas Max could probably burn water.
"Thanks, Ig," she says, squeezing his shoulder before heading down the hall to the girls' room, the basket sitting comfortably on her hip.
"Rise and shine, ladies!" Max calls in her most perky voice, flipping the light on. She finds that Angel is already awake and attempting to dress herself, but something has gone wrong with the buttons on her shirt and it lays a bit crooked.
Angel looks up, and her bright smile immediately makes everything worth it. Max grins back, setting down the laundry basket and coming to crouch in front of the youngest Batchelder.
"Hey, kiddo. Need some help with that?" She indicates the button issue with a well-placed poke to Angel's belly, causing her to giggle.
"Yes, please," she says in her small voice, "I think I did it wrong."
"You did better than most people," Max assures her, undoing the clear buttons, and Angel squirms with pride.
"Hey, quit wigglin'," the oldest Batchelder scolds, but Angel shimmies again, her smile daring Max to do something about it.
"Oh, you think you're hot stuff, huh?" Max says, and her accent, which Iggy refers to as her "hood girl accent," become slightly stronger. Angel heaves forward and giggles, a loud "Hee!" of mischief. "You think you're tough, is that it?"
And she grabs Angel around the waist and begins to tickle her mercilessly, the small girl's squeals of laughter like music in her ears. From the other side of the room, a pile of blankets and pillows groans.
"Good morning, Sunshine," calls Max sarcastically, releasing Angel and finishing her buttons. She smooths the fabric and tweaks Angel's nose, putting on her best "rich old lady voice" to say "You look splendid, dahrling," which elicits another giggle.
Another groan from the other bed. Max gives Angel a gentle pat on the back, indicating the little girl should head to breakfast, and Angel does.
"Nudge," says Max loudly, "time to get up, kiddo."
The wild curls poking out from underneath a bright pink comforter do not move.
"C'mon," Max says, and heaves the blanket off of Nudge's prone form. The younger girl screeches.
"Up. You got next shower after Gaz. He'll be done soon, since I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually do any scrubbing."
Nudge sits up, looking disheveled but slightly more awake. "You need to talk to him about that. I can only take so much stanky boy smell." Max smiles in agreement.
"Anyway," Nudge continues. "What about Angel? Can't she shower next?" Still bartering for more minutes of precious sleep. Max shakes her head.
"She had her bath last night. So did Ig. C'mon, girl, get outta this bed." The last few words are said in a playful growl, and she whaps Nudge over the head with a downy pillow.
"I wish I could shower at night. But, if I sleep on my hair it'll be ridiculous in the morning, even if I dry it. I wanna get a blowout, but my friend Jessica said they're, like, super expensive and only last like a couple days so I mean -"
The Nudge Channel has finally started, lurching and sputtering back to life after a night of inactivity.
"Whoa!" Max interrupts, holding her hand out. "I don't even know what a blowout is. You don't need one, anyway. You're beautiful just as you are." She runs her hand through the wild brown locks to prove her point, then smooths them out, her hand finally coming to a stop on the side of Nudge's face. For a moment, she marvels at how beautiful and grown up the twelve year old has been looking recently.
"O-kayyyy," Nudge says, "this is getting a little sappy, Max."
Max contemplates this. "You're right. Would you rather I say you look like a monkey's ass?"
Nudge tries to look enraged, but the effect is ruined by the hysterical giggle that bubbles up from inside her. "Shut up!" she shrieks, and runs off towards the bathroom.
Max smiles to herself.
The kitchen is a show of organized chaos when she arrives after doing the laundry; four moving bodies all dodging each other, crammed between the refrigerator and the counter as Iggy doles out breakfast.
Max takes in the image before her.
Nudge's wet hair is already beginning to curl and frizz. Iggy has accidentally put his shirt on backwards. Angel has put on one black Converse shoe and one blue one, and Gazzy appears to have scrubbed his hair with conditioner instead of shampoo.
But as she passes around the "gas bill box," and each kid puts in their share of work – Iggy from his gigs in a local coffee shop, Gazzy from mowing the neighbors' lawns, Nudge from babysitting and Angel's change that she has conned her teacher into sparing her for "lunch money" – Max feels a lump form in her throat.
The Batchelders are dysfunctional, a bit insane, and nowhere near perfect.
But she wouldn't have it any other way.