CHLOE

Chloe was going to tell her she did a good job on her poem. Yes. That's what she was going to do.

Then again, maybe good job was an understatement. Maxinewait, Max— had recited her poem like it was something that was alive, like it was something that needed to be let out. You couldn't look away from her when she was talking. (Even more than Chloe usually couldn't.) For the first time all year, Chloe had put her pencil down to listen, a squirrel left tragically tail-less on her page, and actually felt like she understood poetry. Okay, understood may have been an exaggeration, but she was definitely somewhere in the ballpark. Besides, it must have been good — everyone clapped, and Mr. Stessman hugged her when she was done, which was totally against the Code of Conduct.
'Hey, good job. In English.' That's what Chloe was going to say.
After walking Jennifer home from ballet class that night, she picked up her comics — but she waited until Thursday morning to read them.

MAX
That girl totally knew Max was reading her comics. She even looked up at Max sometimes before she turned the page, like she was that polite.
The girl definitely wasn't one of them (them being the bus demons) because, as far as Max was aware, she didn't talk to anyone on the bus, including Max. Especially Max. At the same time, Max knew she had to be in with them somehow. Whenever they were together, everyone left her alone. Even Victoria. Max kind of wished she could be with her all the time. Max didn't know what made her so weirdly untouchable. She really wasn't that scary once you were able to look past all of her… everything.

This morning, when Max slid into her seat, she felt like the girl was… waiting. For her? The girl didn't say anything, just wordlessly opened her comic and turned her eyes to the page. The once six-inch gap between them was gradually shrinking, but mainly because Max wanted to see the left pages, too. Eventually, she got so close that she could feel the heat radiating from the girl's body. She smelled like clean soap and cinnamon.

Today, the girl had brought Watchmen, which Max had never seen before, and it was ugly. Like, really ugly. Max sighed, knowing she had nothing better to do for half an hour, so she let her eyes wander over the pages. And then she was reading. And then they were at school. Which was weird, because they hadn't even made it half way through. Which totally sucked, because Max would miss the parts the girl read during lunch.
Except she didn't.

When Max climbed back on the bus that afternoon, there was the girl, there was the comic, and there was the exact page that they had left it on. There was so much going on in that they stared at each frame for like, entire minutes, meaning that they had only read a few more pages when they arrived at Max's stop. As she got up, the girl closed the cover and handed it to her. Just like that. Max was so surprised that she stood frozen for a few seconds, almost shoving it back into the other girl's hands before—
"Take it."

Max took it. Her hands were shaking but she hoped that the girl didn't notice. What if she crumpled it? What if one of the kids got hold of it? She tried to hand it back, but the girl had already turned away, staring determinedly out of the window once again. Max slipped it between her books like a secret and got off the bus.
She read it over three more times that night, lying in her bed, squinting at the words in the darkness.

CHLOE
What if she didn't give it back?
What if she never got to finish the first issue of Watchmen because she'd given it to a girl who didn't ask for it and probably didn't even know who Alan Moore was?
She was so, so stupid. Take it. Ugh. Somehow, she always managed to sound like a giant bitch. So far, Max's impression of her was entirely based on the six words she had angrily grunted at her over the course of a month, and it seriously bothered Chloe, even though she totally wasn't supposed to care about what other people thought. This girl was single-handedly responsible for the slow collapse of her punk rock self-image.
Maybe it would be a good thing if Max kept it. Maybe it would cancel out the whole Jesus-fuck scenario. No… it wouldn't.
What if she did give it back? What was she supposed to say then? Thanks?

The next morning, when the bus pulled up to Max's stop, Chloe actually felt her heartbeat speed up as she waited for Max to climb up the steps. More and more people were shuffling along the aisle, chattering and laughing, but it wasn't until she saw Max and released her breath in one giant huff that she realised she'd been holding it. Max slipped into the seat beside her, no longer awkwardly perching on the very edge of the seat. Chloe looked down. Their thighs were almost touching.
There was a moment where Chloe thought that Max had, in fact, stolen her unfinished comic book. But she hadn't.
Max handed the comic to her, and Chloe took it.

MAX

The next morning, when Max got to her seat, there was a stack of comics waiting for her. The girl was already reading. Max tucked them in-between her textbooks, and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey. She didn't want to read in front of her. That would be like letting her watch her eat. Like admitting something.
She thought about them all day, though. They burned a hole in her backpack, and by the time she got home she was bursting with anticipation. She didn't even eat dinner at the table, and her mom didn't care.
Max spread each comic out in front of her on her bed, careful not to spill any instant mash on them because they were all surprisingly pristine. Not even a corner was bent out of place.
That night, after Sophie and Christopher and little Mouse had fallen asleep, she crept out of bed and turned the light back on. They were the loudest, heaviest sleepers ever. Christopher was mumbling in his sleep, wriggling around, and Sophie was snoring. Mouse wet the bed sometimes, which was silent, but generally disturbed the peace. Max wasn't too concerned with waking them.
She was only very slightly aware of the low mumble of the TV playing in the living room. Jeff must have been watching sports, because if she moved to the edge of her bed, she could just see his fist clutching the TV remote. Every so often, he would jump up, or cry out, and every time Max got such a fright that she almost hit her head on the ceiling. She was so absorbed in the fifth issue that when he jerked the door open, Max thought her heart was going to stop, but not in a wow-this punk-girl-gave-me-comics way. More of a holy-shit-I-might-die way, which was considerably worse. The look on his face suggested that he had expected to burst in on some late-night (nine PM) hijinks, but when he saw it was just Max, his expression soured. He grumbled at her to turn of the light so that the kids could sleep, and then closed the door behind him— but not all the way, just in case she dared to leave the light on. Max shuffled to the end of the bed and groped for the switch, plunging the room into darkness. She could have risked it and ignored him, but she didn't want to see Jeff's face again. He looked like a rat. Max wondered what her mom had ever seen in him. Anyway. Whatever. She could still read. There was enough light coming in from the window.

CHLOE

Max read stuff as fast as Chloe could give it to her. Every day, she'd leave a stack of comics on her seat, and every day, Max would return the last ones with so much care that Chloe was weirdly touched. She treated them like they were alive and fragile. Like a kitten, or a baby. You wouldn't even know she had touched them, if it weren't for the smell. Every comic that Chloe got back always ended up smelling like Max. Like vanilla. Like a whole field of it.
She'd read all of Chloe's Alan Moore comics in a week. Now, Chloe was giving her X-Men five at a time, and she could tell Max liked them because she wrote the characters' names on the front of her notebooks, sandwiched between song lyrics and band names. They didn't talk on the bus rides, but the silence wasn't as pressing as it once had been. It was almost… friendly. Almost. Not quite.

Chloe would have to talk to her today. She had made the spectacular mistake of leaving the comics on the kitchen table this morning because she was running late, and now she had nothing to give her. And Chloe would have to explain that, or Max would get the wrong idea. She'd think that Chloe was… mad or something. Retracting her peace offering. Whatever. She didn't even have time to eat breakfast, or brush her teeth, which made her self-conscious, because Max was going to be sitting so close.
But when Max got on the bus and saw the very obvious space where her comics should be, Chloe just shrugged, and watched Max's face fall. Ouch. They both looked down. Max was wearing those ugly ribbons again, tied around her wrists, which were covered with so many freckles. All different colours, pink and gold and brown and going down onto her hands. Her tiny, tiny hands.
Max stared at the notebooks in her lap. Chloe looked at them too, covered in ink and doodles and spirals like the ones she drew in class.
'So,' Chloe said, as casually as she could, 'you like the Smiths?'
Max looked up, confused. Her eyes looked even bigger when she was caught by surprise like that. Chloe pointed to her book with a blue fingernail, where she saw the words How Soon Is Now? printed in block capitals. Max shrugged.
'I don't know. I've never heard them.'
'So you want people to think you like the Smiths?' Chloe said, trying and failing to conceal her disdain.
'Yeah,' Max said sarcastically, glancing over her shoulder at the others on the bus, 'I'm trying to impress the locals.'
Her eyes were narrowed, and she had pulled her notebooks into her chest. Chloe couldn't tell if she was trying to sound like an asshole, or if it just came naturally to both of them. She shifted towards the wall, and Max looked out the window. The air soured around them.

Max was trying so hard to ignore Chloe that she wouldn't even participate in class. English, which Chloe assumed was Max's favourite subject, was particularly painful. Mr Stessman kept trying to bait her out of her shell, and kept failing. They were supposed to be discussing Romeo and Juliet, but nobody in the class wanted to talk. Chloe could almost hear the crickets chirping in the silence.
As Mr Stessman always did when class was quiet, he turned to his favourite student. When it came to English, Max pretty much had an answer for everything.
'You don't seem particularly troubled by their deaths, Maxine.' He said, stepping slowly, dramatically towards her desk. His shoes squeaked.
'It's Max. And no. It's so obvious that Shakespeare was making fun of them.'
This was the reaction Stessman was looking for. He smiled, but also frowned. It was weird.
'But this is the tragedy of tragedies. Two young lovers lying dead. Never was there a story of more woe. Doesn't that get to you?'
'I guess not.'
'Are you so cold? So cool?' He gestured wildly with his hands.
'I just think that… that they're so young. They're just two rich kids who've gotten everything they've ever wanted their whole lives. And now they think they want each other.'
'But it was love at first sight!' He cried, clutching his heart. Max sighed, beginning to fidget with the ribbons around her wrists.
'It wasn't. It was oh-my-God-he's-so-cute at first sight. Shakespeare wouldn't have made Romeo so hung up on Rosaline in the first scene if he wanted you to believe in love. He's making fun of it. You can't fall in love with someone because you think they're pretty. You fall in love with what's inside.' She finished. A few of the class snickered.
'Then why has it survived?'
'I don't know. Because it's Shakespeare.'
'Someone else, someone with a heart, tell me Miss Price. What beats in your chest?' Chloe made eye contact with Max, scowling, and didn't look away. Not until Max did, anyway. Then she turned her attention to Mr Stessman.
'I guess people just want to remember what it's like to be young. And to be in love.'
'I don't know if that's why Romeo and Juliet has become the most successful play of all time, but you're certainly right. Yes, indeed, Miss Price. Truer words never spoken.'

When Chloe arrived at her seat that afternoon, Max was already there.
'It's a wishlist.' She said quietly, staring at her fidgeting hands.
'Huh?' Chloe sat down, this time in the aisle seat. She wasn't used to this whole… talking thing they'd started doing.
'The songs. On my books. They're songs I want to hear.'
'Then… why don't you just listen to them?' Chloe asked. Max continued to stare at her hands. She was twisting one of the ribbons around her finger again. She did that a lot.
'It's not like they play this stuff on the radio here. Just… forget I even said anything.' she said, turning towards the window. They didn't speak again after that.

That night, while Chloe did her homework, she made a tape with all of her favourite Smiths songs. And a few by XTC and Joy Division. Then she put five new X-Men comics into her backpack, along with the tape, and went to sleep.

MAX

Max was taking a bath. They didn't have a bathroom door, just a curtain, so she liked to have one right after school, before Jeff got home. She ducked her head under the hot water and pretended for a second that she was floating in some clouds, and not in a tiny bathtub in a grimy bathroom that didn't even have a goddamn door.
'Why are you so quiet?' called her mom from the kitchen. She was probably microwaving some frozen monstrosity for them to eat.
'I'm having a bath.' Max answered, watching the clear water ripple. She missed having bubbles.
'I know that. Usually you sing.'
'I do not.'
'You do.'
'Well, thanks for telling me. I won't sing anymore.' Max said, pulling the plug and climbing out. The water was getting kind of cold anyway. When she emerged from behind the curtain, her mom was waiting with a tiny bottle of vanilla extract, which she smudged just behind Max's ears.
'Why do you do that?' Max asked, smiling as her mom put some on herself, too.
'It's cheaper than perfume. But it smells just as good, Maxie. You'll have boys falling all over you, just wait and see.'
Hah. Boys.
'Do you want to watch a little TV with me before Jeff gets home?' her mom asked, tucking Max's wet hair behind her ear. Max shook her head.
'No thanks, mom. I think I'm gonna just go do my homework.'
'Oh. Alright, Maxie. Dinner's almost ready anyway.'
Her mom knew something was up, Max could tell she knew, she mom didn't push any further. She used to make Max tell her everything. 'What's going on in that big ol' brain of yours?' She'd say, knocking on Max's skull, 'Are you thinking yourself into a knot, my little worry-wombat?'
She hadn't said anything like that to her since Max moved back. Maybe she'd realised that she didn't have the right to ask anymore.

Max shoved Muffin off the top bunk. Again. He left his grey fur all over her bedsheets.
Why didn't the girl bring her any comics today? Why had Max been such an asshole to her? Max wondered if the girl was done with it. Done with her. Why did she even start in the first place? She looked at her notebook, at the scrawly writing all over the cover and wanted to tear it off.
Max was tired. She hadn't realised how tired that staying up reading every night had made her. How happy it had made her. If the girl hadn't brought Max any comics today. she sure as shit wasn't bringing Max any tomorrow, especially after how Max had acted today. Goddammit.

Max had fallen asleep. It was dark when she was awoken by shouting, and the room smelled of pee. Mouse had wet the bed.
'It's tough! Can't you cook a goddamn steak, bitch? You think this is good enough?'
'I tried, Jeff! You were late coming home, I— I had to leave it in the oven! What if it had gotten cold?'
'Not my GODDAMN PROBLEM!' he shouted. Max flinched. Mouse began to whimper.
'It's okay,' she heard Sophie shush him from the floor, so Max climbed down the ladder and sat beside them on the mattress. When she pulled Mouse into her lap, he curled against her chest. Max winced. Mouse had definitely wet the bed.
That's when they heard glass shattering. All four of them jumped. Sophie looked up at Max with wide eyes, full of fear.
'It's alright, Sophie.' Max said, putting an arm around her younger sister. Sophie began to cry silently into Max's side, and Max wondered when Sophie had learned to cry so quietly. She used to wail and wail and wail. Max wanted to cry too, but she was the oldest, so she just hummed the only song she could think of. trying to drown out the shouting.
'Maybe I didn't treat you…quite as good as I should have…'
Her mother began to plead. Mouse began to wail.
'Maybe I didn't love you…quite as often as I could have…'
Christopher crawled across the room, reaching out for Max's hand. He joined in the song, eyes watery. Max realised that it was probably because he was the only one who was old enough to remember they days when their dad would play Elvis on the record player. And he'd dance with their mom, who'd laugh and try to wriggle away at first, but she always gave up in the end. And Max and Christopher would spin and spin and spin, so fast that the whole world went blurry and she felt like she wanted to puke. That's how she felt now.
'You were always on my mind…'

The next morning, Max jolted awake, only one thought in her mind. She shoved Mouse off her and stuck her nose out of the door. Bacon. Good. That meant her mom was alive.
It was morbid, but it was all Max could think about. She walked into the kitchen/living room/dining room.
'I need to take a bath.' Max said, wrinkling her nose. Her mom frowned. Max pretended not to notice the bruise on her jaw. (that fuck, that fuck, that fuck)
'I slept on the floor with Mouse last night. He wet the bed.'
'Again? God. Don't let Jeff see you. I'll wash your clothes.'

Max left the house that morning feeling tired and anxious and dishevelled. She reached the bus stop fifteen minutes early, and spent her wait trying really hard not to smell like pee.

CHLOE

When Chloe got on the bus, she set the comics and the tape down so they'd just be waiting for Max. So she didn't have to say anything.
But when Max got on the bus, Chloe could tell that something was… wrong. The ribbons around her wrists were gone. Her hair was still damp. She was wearing the same clothes that she wore yesterday. Max stopped at her seat, looked at the pile (where were her schoolbooks?) and sat down, careful as ever.
'Thank you,' Max said quietly, 'but I can't take this.'
'It's fine, I made it for you. It's got all your wishlist songs on it.'
Max pushed the tape back into Chloe's hands.
'I don't need it.' Chloe said, almost angrily.
'No,' Max said. It was almost loud enough for other people to hear. 'I mean I can't… listen to it. I don't have any way to. Just take it.' Max looked down at her lap.
Chloe took it. Then, she reached into her bag, popped the tape out of her walkman, and slid Max's tape in. After a second's hesitation, she put the headphones over Max's ears, scowling at the boy across the aisle, who was watching. Chloe didn't breathe the whole entire time.
When she pressed play, she could actually hear the start of the first song. I am the son, and the heir… she hummed along. Max didn't move her hands from her face, but she did lift her head a little. When they arrived, Max gave the headphones back. Was that a smile?
They got off the bus together. And then they stayed together. Chloe wasn't sure how they managed to separate each day, because their lockers were on opposite sides of the same corridor. She kind of liked this new… talking thing. She kept trying to think of something to say, but every time she opened her mouth the words got all tangled up in her throat, or they sounded stupid in her head, so she settled for walking beside Max until they reached her locker.
'Well,' Chloe said finally, when it was time for them to go to class, 'now you've heard the Smiths.'
And Max…
Max laughed.