It's a Max Phoebe Thing
Chapter Five
While talking about the odds and ends of life as the opposite gender, the twins were forced to think about exactly what all that entailed. Max supposed it had been in the back of his mind the whole time, something he pushed away because it was really not fun to think about. But the reality had fully set in. Switching back would take time, and they were still living humans. They had to bathe and use the bathroom. This was beyond awkward. It was downright uncomfortable.
Phoebe didn't seem to like the idea any better. Several times, Max had to snap at his sister to stop biting his body's fingernails.
"I think we've covered all of that... stuff," he said, finally, ready to focus on something that wasn't extremely creepy. "Um, what about school schedules?" He used telekinesis to get his backpack and started rummaging through it, eventually pulling out a binder and a pen. The binder was full of loose paper and he leafed through notes that seemed to be comprised of a bunch of different subjects before finally reaching a blank page.
Quickly, he scribbled down his schedule. When he finished, he ripped the sheet out - rather than opening the binder rings and taking it out nicely - and slid it into Phoebe's lap. She took the pen from him and began writing her own schedule down, writing neatly and numbering the classes one through eight, and taking the page out properly.
Max rolled his eyes as he snatched the paper from her and skimmed it. Half of their classes were the same, so it would be pretty easy to memorize. "Right," he muttered. That hadn't taken long, and he hadn't thought of anything else they needed to cover. "What next?"
"Um..." She thought, setting Max's schedule down next to her. "Oh! After-school stuff."
"Well, you're grounded, so that kinda takes care of that."
"Yeah. But you have ballet." Max's face must have been pretty funny because Phoebe chuckled to herself a bit when she looked up at him. "I'll send an email to the instructor saying you twisted your ankle badly, and can't dance until further notice."
"Right," he agreed. "And we can really sell it by bringing in a doctor's excuse."
Phoebe's brow furrowed in confusion. "Where are you going to get a doctor's excuse?" He smirked and used telekinesis once more, this time bringing a slip of paper from his desk over. He handed it to her. "Really Max? Phony doctor's notes? Do you know how much trouble you could get in if you get caught with a fake?"
"Have you even met me?" he asked. Something about his biting tone was off when it came from Phoebe's voice. "I'm a super villain."
"Whatever you say."
"Ugh," he groaned, standing up. "I should have figured."
"What?" she asked, eyeing him carefully.
"You're never going to pull off being me," he told her, leaning against his desk. "But, I guess that's to be expected from a goody-goody like you."
She stood this time. The faces she made just didn't work right on Max's face; it was actually slightly cringe-worthy, he decided. "I bet I'm a better you than you are me."
He laughed. "Good one, Pheebs." She crossed her arms. "Oh, you were serious?"
"Yeah. I am. I'm certain I'll be better at being you than you will at being me." He stepped forward, looking her dead in the eye. There was something unsettling about looking in his own face - almost like looking at a reflection brought to life.
"Please," he scoffed. "Anyone can be a do-gooder dork like you. It takes actual talent to be an evil genius like me." He waited and... there it was. The ever-so-slight glint of hurt in her eyes. Of course, he knew it wasn't something that would really hurt her. Fifteen years of being together taught Max exactly how far he could push her before an unspoken line was crossed. Granted, he did tend to cross that line a lot, but he at least had the decency to feel bad about it and try and make it up to her, in the end.
"Oh, yeah, pulling little school pranks and sitting in your lair all day with your pet bunny rabbit. Real difficult." The expression he gave her was withering.
He took another step closer, leaving just a couple inches between them (what personal space?). "What do you say we make this interesting?"
"I'm listening."
"Loser does the winners chores for two weeks."
She thought about this for a moment. "How do we decide who wins?"
He looked away for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip as he thought. "How about we keep a tally of how many times someone says something like we don't seem like ourselves, or we're acting weird, or asks if we're feeling alright." He could see a faint gleam in her eyes.
""You expect me to believe you'll be honest?"
He laughed. She knew him well. "Just this once," he said, raising his hands before him. "I swear I'll be one hundred percent honest."
"Pinkie swear?"
He held up his right pinkie. "Pinkie swear."
"Deal," she said. And they shook on it.
Ya know, because things just needed to be more interesting than they already were.