Chapter 2: Max

It was a miracle Etta had even been able to focus. She'd breezed through the math questions in a little over half the time her teacher had allocated, which was actually a slow pace for her. Every lesson, she'd burn through the work early, allowing her to spend the rest of her time sketching in her notebook, drawing up drafts for a graphic novel, writing song lyrics for Ethan's band, discreetly reading a book below her desk, or just staring out the window, daydreaming about not being there. Today, she couldn't think of anything but Max.

Max.

The name was a too-bright light rattling through her brain, a flutter in her stomach, a shake in her hands.

Things had been so simple until this morning. They were very close friends - maybe even best friends. More recently, Etta had started to wonder if they could be more than that. But in the end, it had been Max who crossed the line first.

Guys had asked her out before, even tried to kiss her – but this was different. This was Max.

She knew that Max liked her – she'd known for a while now. But somehow hearing it said out loud still managed to shock her into a stammering mess. She'd left without giving any sort of real response. Hell, she'd left without even being able to form real sentences.

Exasperated, she grabbed her sketching pad and started scribbling, letting everything out in her drawing. Her mom called this a Dunham trait. Etta didn't know what she meant to sketch when she first started, but somehow it ended up taking the shape of Max's face. Of course.

God, I must have looked like a fucking idiot.

General outline of the face – done. Hair – done. Eyes could wait. She always did the eyes last. They required the most detail.

Jesus, Etta.

You can handle getting hit five times a day in hockey, but you're scared of a little date?

Etta sighed and grabbed her eraser, rubbing out her first draft of the nose. The first of many, surely. She always screwed up noses.

You just ran without even saying anything. That was rude. Max is probably upset.

Stupid, stupid, STUPID.

"Whatcha drawing?"

"Nothing."

"Let me see."

Knowing he'd make a big deal out of it if she didn't, she passed her sketch pad to Ezra.

"Who's it meant to be?" he whispered, hoping not to attract their teacher's attention.

"My friend Max."

"The Max who plays in Ethan's band?"

"Yeah."

He put on a sorrowful expression. "Imagine walking around with a face like that. Not even having eyes. Your nose being a half-rubbed-out mess. Must be terrible. You'd never leave the house."

She smirked and punched him in the arm. "It's not finished yet."

"Well, so far, the resemblance is uncanny."

"How would you know? You've never even met Max."

He handed back her sketch. "Woman, I'm trying to give you a compliment, jeez."

"Ez, I've asked you a million times not to call me 'woman'."

"Alright, sorry." He seemed defensive, thinking to himself for a moment before softening. "Hey, you alright?"

She shrugged, continuing to draw. "Sure. Why?"

"I dunno. Just seems like you've got teeth this morning."

"I'm fine." She sighed, looking up at him briefly. "I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's OK. But you're lucky to have such a forgiving, understanding gentleman like myself for a friend," he joked, trying to get her to smile. "Guys like me don't grow on trees, you know."

"Henrietta," their teacher called from the front of the class.

"Yes?"

"What was your answer to question nine?"

She didn't even have to look back over her work. She had an insane memory for numbers - another Dunham trait. "X=14, Y=12."

"That's correct. But please stop talking and get back to finishing your work."

"I have finished my work, Mr Gomez," she replied in a bored voice, not even looking up from her sketch. "I finished it 20 minutes ago. Maybe if you gave me something challenging for a change, I wouldn't be talking."

Needless to say, he was unimpressed with her tone. "Well, I'm sure you can find something math-related to do while we wait for the rest of the class. Remember, Etta, not everyone in the world is as clever as you - as hard as that might be to accept. Feel free to move ahead in the textbook to something a little harder."

She gave him a tight smile, reopening her books. "Oh I'll get right on that."

Beside her, Ezra snorted a laugh he was trying to hide.

Being a smartass - that was what her mom called a Bishop trait.

When she checked her phone after school, the number of text messages didn't surprise her.

Etta, I'm so sorry about this morning. I feel like a fucking idiot.

Look, I shouldn't have asked. It was stupid. Can we just forget about it already?

Etta, I'm sorry, OK?

Most recently:

Please talk to me.

If she didn't feel like a total bitch before, she did now. She'd never meant for Max to be so embarrassed. Sighing, she typed a quick reply.

Max, don't feel bad, OK? It wasn't stupid. It just threw me off guard a bit.

Understatement of the year, Etta. Nice. She shook her head to clear it and continued texting.

I'm sorry I freaked out. Can I have a couple of days to think about it?

The reply was almost instantaneous.

Sure. I mean, of course. Just don't disappear on me.

She smiled a little.

I won't. See you at Ethan's on Thursday.

With that, she shoved the phone deep in her pocket – deep enough she could almost fool herself into forgetting about it – turned on her heels, and started running.

Running was an activity that never failed to be a release for Etta. She was a lot like her mom that way. It wasn't necessarily about running away from something – just running away for an hour or two until you got it all out of your system and were ready to come home. Etta could punish that pavement all night in situations like this, beating out all of her negativity in every stride, pushing her body until her lungs shredded in her chest. Until breathing hurt more than whatever was going on in her head.

It wasn't until she was halfway there that she realised she had been running towards the lab. Showing no sign of slowing, she bounded through the corridors of Harvard, past classes teaching chemistry she'd already started reading about in her Grandpa's old textbooks, until she reached the basement stairs. Pushing through the double doors, she breathlessly scanned the lab. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"Moooooo."

She smiled, dropping her backpack by the door and jogging over to pat the cow. "Hi Gene. How's my big girl, huh?"

The cow leaned into Etta's hands, appreciating the attention. Behind them, the door creaked open. "Etta?"

She turned to find the woman carrying a mop down the stairs. "Hey, Aunt Astrid. Good to see you."

"You too, honey," Astrid replied, setting the mop down. "How was school today?"

Etta groaned. "Boring. As usual."

"Well, just keep sneaking in those advanced textbooks and you'll be alright. You smart cookie," Astrid chuckled, approaching her. "I didn't know you were coming today."

"Sorry, I should have called first."

"It's OK. Just let us know next time so I can make sure everything's cleaned up for when you get here."

Etta nodded, giving her a close-lipped smile. Whenever she came to the lab to study after school, her parents made her call ahead so she didn't walk in on them dissecting a body or something. She was glad for that, too. She could handle blood, even found the idea of autopsies fascinating, but it felt good to know she had parents who cared enough about her to try and protect her innocence.

"If you're looking for your parents, they already left. We just finished a case this morning so it's just been paperwork all day. Except for me. I'm the lucky girl who gets to clean up the lab."

"Do you want some help?"

"No, thank you, sweetie. I'm almost done. Just that last puddle of ketchup then I get to go home."

Etta glanced over to the lower half of the lab, where a small pile of blood - and…other stuff – had overflowed from one of the autopsy tables onto the floor. As much as her parents had tried to shield her from all this, she saw more than they thought she did. When she was little, if she ever accidentally stumbled across things like this in the lab, it was always "ketchup". Of course, she'd known it was blood for quite a few years, but somehow the reference had become an inside joke and stuck. For Astrid, at least. Her parents would be beside themselves with guilt if she ever saw something they thought she was too young to see, but her Aunt had always respected Etta's ability to handle adult things.

Even so, Etta turned her face away. "So you got the bad guys, huh?"

Astrid smiled. "Yeah, we did. Now if we're lucky the universe might actually give us a well-deserved weekend."

Etta shifted on her feet, not quite knowing what to say next. She knew her Aunt was studying her, picking up that she was upset about something. "Well, I should probably get home. I have a lot of homework to do," she said, starting to back away.

"Etta," her Aunt pressed. "What's up? Why did you come down here?"

"It's nothing. I should go."

"Come on, sweetie, I don't bite. Did you want to talk about something? We can discuss it over some Red Vines."

Etta bit her lip as she considered it. A vague memory fluttered into her head- being two or three years old, toddling around the lab, looking for "Weds". Seeing the top of the jar peek over the edge of a too-high table. Reaching, reaching. Jumping. Crying. Two hands, scooping her up by her armpits to bring her to them. Her Grandpa, maybe?

Astrid didn't wait for an answer – just gently hooked a hand around Etta's elbow and led her to her Grandpa's old office, away from the blood and the mooing cow. His room had been relatively untouched since he "left", a mausoleum of his existence. His old television was here, his photos of her Dad, some of his records. Her Mom told her that her Grandpa, at one point, was so scared of the outside world he never left the lab and built his life around this room. But the few shaky memories she had of him, she couldn't reconcile with that idea. The Walter she remembered felt confident to her, a masterful mind with a child-like sensibility. He was always smiling around her. She didn't remember ever seeing him scared.

"Talk to me," Astrid prodded gently as they settled down cross-legged on his bed, a pack of Red Vines between them.

Sighing, Etta, fiddled with her piece of candy, tearing it into smaller pieces she didn't have the appetite to actually eat. "Aunt Astrid…?"

"Hmm?"

"You…" Exhaling, she finally bit the bullet. "Can I ask you something? Without you making a big deal out of it?"

"Sure. Is everything OK?"

"Yeah, it's just… you and Aunt Claire… Well, I…" she trailed off, shaking her head at how stupid she sounded. "Sorry."

"It's OK. Just take your time."

At times like these, she couldn't decide whether she loved or hated the fact that she had an FBI family. While they were completely non-judgemental and compassionate, they also knew how to push her to make her talk, regardless of whether or not she planned to. Etta chewed her lip before finally blurting out, "Did you always know you were gay?"

If Astrid was thrown by the question, it didn't show. "No, not really," she replied honestly. "Well, I think the deepest part of me always knew, but it took a few years for the rest of me to figure it out. It was very confusing for a long time. I think it is for a lot of people."

"Well, how did you know?"

"For me, everything sort of fell into place when I met the right person. I had dated guys once or twice, and I liked them, but it never really felt right. Then I met this girl who blew me away and things just started making sense when I decided not to fight it anymore."

"Was that Aunt Claire?"

"No, the one before her." Astrid smiled wistfully before popping a piece of Red Vine into her mouth. "Even though our relationship ended, I'll always be grateful for everything it taught me. She was the one who helped me embrace who I was. In a way, she got me ready for Claire long before I ever even met her. Weird how life works like that."

Etta smiled, taking a bite. "You guys are really sweet, you know."

"Thank you."

"Did people freak out when you told them?"

"Not really. My family and friends were really supportive. It didn't really change anything. A lot of them weren't even surprised," she chuckled. "Occasionally you still come across someone who has an issue with it, but that's really dying out now."

"Not everywhere. They still haven't legalised gay marriage in a few states."

"The point is, if someone gave me trouble about it, I just had to put it out of my mind – sometimes even cut those people out of my life. You're not worthy of unworthy people's attention, Etta. Remember that."

The girl nodded, repeating the words in her head so she'd remember.

"Etta…" Astrid started, taking her hand. "Are you just curious, or is there a particular reason you're asking?"

She made up her mind then – she hated having an FBI family. Curse them, curse their interrogation skills. All they had to do with give her "the look" sometimes, and that was enough to make her cave. Finally, all the whirlwind thoughts that had rattled through her head all day forced their way out, bringing a sheen of tears to her eyes. She blinked quickly, trying to push them back, biting her lip to keep it from quivering. Don't cry, she scolded herself. Don't fucking cry.

There was a hand stroking her arm. "Etta…? It's OK, sweetie…"

When she finally looked up, her green eyes big and wet, Astrid couldn't help but think she looked just like she did when she was three. When Etta spoke, it came out almost like a whimper. "Don't tell my Mom and Dad, OK?"

"OK. I promise, I won't say anything if you don't want me to," Astrid assured her, shifting to take the confused girl into her arms. "It's alright, sweetie. Come here…"

But Etta shook her head, politely resisting the comfort. Just like her mother, Astrid thought.

"Sorry," Etta muttered, wiping her face as if furious with herself. "I feel like such an idiot. I don't cry in front of anybody."

"I won't tell anyone you're a human being. You're secret's safe with me," Astrid tried to joke.

"I just… I'm so confused right now."

"That's OK, sweetie. What are you confused about?"

"It's just… I always thought I was straight, right? I've liked guys before. Just this week I was in the locker room with Jamal, blushing like an idiot about how good he looked without his shirt. But lately, I think I'm starting to like girls too, and I… I don't know what to make of any of it. It's really freaking me out."

"Etta, sexual attraction is really fluid. The whole gay or bi or straight thing is a little ridiculous because it's more like a spectrum than putting yourself in a box. And it can change as you get older or as you meet different people. At one stage in your life you might like guys more than girls, then a few years later you might like girls more than guys. You might like them both pretty equally all the way through your life, or just mostly one or the other. Everyone's different. The whole thing's a mystery, really – don't beat yourself up for not understanding it, OK?"

Etta sniffled, grabbing a tissue to wipe her nose. "OK."

"The point is, no one can tell you whether you're straight or bi or gay or whatever – not even me. How you choose to define your sexuality or whether you choose to define it at all is completely up to you." Astrid tucked a piece of hair behind the girl's ear, using her thumb to brush a tear from her cheek. She remembered being Etta's age, feeling the same confusion. She and Claire didn't have kids of their own, but Etta was almost like as child to them. Watching her grow up, and now start being attracted to people, was as exciting and beautiful as it was terrifying. "Is there any particular reason you're asking me about this now? Is there someone you like?"

"I…I got asked out before school today. By a girl."

"Do you like her?"

At this question, Etta felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach, the heat creeping back to her cheeks. "Yeah," she admitted, almost breathlessly. It was the first time she'd said it out loud, even admitted it to herself. "So much it scares me."

"Well, girls can be pretty scary," Astrid agreed. "So what did you tell her?"

"I said I'd think about it. I kind of freaked out."

"Well, take your time. It's no one else's decision but yours. And you could always talk to your mom and dad about how you're feeling."

At this, Etta visibly baulked, snatching her hand back out of Astrid's grasp. "I-I have to go," she stammered. "My parents will wonder where I am."

Astrid stood with her. "Etta, your parents love you. If you told them, they'd be really supportive, I know it."

"I know. I just need some time to figure it all out for myself. I'm not ready for them to know, OK?" she wept, gathering her things. "Just forget I said anything. You can't tell them. Please, Aunt Astrid, I'm asking you."

"OK, sweetie," Astrid assured her, trying to calm her down. "But if you want to talk about anything else, just call me, OK?"

Etta stopped at the door, suddenly feeling guilty for her panicked outburst. "Thank you," she said softly. "For talking to me."

"Anytime, honey. You gonna be OK getting home? I can give you a ride."

"No, I'd rather run. Thanks Aunt Astrid. I'll see you later, OK?" she blurted out, and before her Aunt could ask her anything else, she was already out the door.

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