by Ally B
“Two girls in one day? My man.” Jackson chuckles.
“I hate you all.” He sighs as he turns toward Jackson and Violet’s street.
“You love us, and you know it.” Vi grins.
“I’m not as good of an actor as you two, clearly, but I will say pretending to like you guys for my entire life has been one of my greatest performances.” He jokes. The speed limit changes from forty-five to thirty as we turn into a more residential area, but Max sees the sign.
“Ava? Really?” Vi asks, shaking her head. “I always figured it would be St. Paul.”
“You taking her to homecoming?” Jackson asks.
“You taking Vi?” He shoots back.
“Phoebe taking Graham?” Vi chimes in.
“No one has any clue?” I ask, earning matching head-shakes from everyone in the vehicle.
“Eight days, people. Time to start making some moves.” Violet claps.
“Vi, you could literally ask Jackson right now.” Max looks in his rearview mirror.
“I’m waiting to see how close he cuts it. Maybe someone better will ask.” She glares at Jackson, but he ignores her.
“Remember when you two made out tonight? I feel like you should talk about that.” Max changes the topic.
“We didn’t make out.” Violet defends.
“We’ve already covered this, Sanchez. It was acting.” Jackson huffs.
“I think she would’ve bought your story regardless.”
“I’m a method actor,” he jokes as we pull into his driveway.
“Well, method, thank you for joining us on the Max Sanchez transportation system. Now get your stuff out of my car, you smell.”
“Have a good date tomorrow!” Jackson shouts before slamming the car door.
“What the fuck,” Violet asks as Max pulls out of his driveway.
“Vi, I just want you to know that I have to report anything you say about that kiss to Jackson. I was sworn in,” Max says as he drives up the hill and parks in front of her house.
“I’m going to die,” she says as she flings her bag over her shoulder, gently closing the car door and walking toward her front door slowly.
Max puts the car in gear.
“Just wait,” I tell him.
“For what?”
“Shh.” I turn the music all the way down.
Then there’s a violent scream from inside of the house.
“That.” I point.
“Is she okay? Should we go help her—”
“She’s fine. Just dramatic.” I say as he drives slowly through the gated community. The fifteen mile-per-hour speed limit is slightly less painful when I’m not worried about my car making a weird noise.
“So, Ava, huh?” I ask.
“Not talking about this,” he says resolutely.
“She’s nice! You’ve had a crush on her for forever.”
“You called her morally grey.” He raises an eyebrow.
“There’s nothing wrong with being morally grey.” I try to redeem myself, but I know the second I say it that it’s stupid. “She’s really sweet. It’ll be good for you to finally spend time with someone who’s not so high strung.” I take a jab at myself.
“Has Graham asked you to homecoming yet?” He asks.
“No, why?”
“Just wondering.” He shakes his head. “I think I’m going to ask her tomorrow.”
“Good.” I give him a reassuring smile.
“Do you want to get your car?” He asks.
“I can just go get it in the morning.” I wave it away. “It’s already 9:44.”
“Is your mom home?”
“No.”
“Wanna watch a movie or something?”
“Why, is ten too early for you on a Friday night?”
“Oh, stop.” He huffs. “Mom and Mimi are at some overnight Girl Scout thing, and I don’t want to deal with my dad’s game critiques. I’m using you,” he says as he turns into his driveway, putting the car in park.
“Fine. But I get to pick.” I unbuckle my seatbelt.
“See you in a sec,” he says as he gets out of his car.
Scutum
The Shield
I unlock the side door and throw the keys in the bowl. The second I turn on the kitchen light, one of the bulbs flickers out. We’re down to just one fluorescent white light, meaning I might actually be able to convince mom to get the golden ones instead of the bright white. I pick up a pen and add ‘lightbulbs’ to the ever-growing list on the fridge, adjusting the little blue ‘New York City’ magnet mom had bought when we moved Jack in for the first time.
I dig through the pantry, pulling out an unopened box of Reese’s Puffs and tucking them under my arm before leaving through the side door.
I knock twice before opening Max’s door.
“Hey, Phoebe,” Bill shouts from the living room.
“Hey,” I shout back, kicking off my shoes and arranging them nicely next to Max’s pristine sneakers.
“He’s upstairs. He told me to send you up.”
“Are you his receptionist now?” I ask, knowing it’s something he’ll find funny.
“Apparently,” he chuckles as I make my way up the stairs, walking down the hallway and into Max’s room. I pull my coat off and set it carefully on his desk chair before grabbing the remote off of his nightstand and sit on his bed. I lean against his headboard as I search through the apps on his smart TV. I grab the folded blanket from the foot of his bed, pulling it over my shoulders. He insists on keeping his room ten degrees colder than the rest of the house, which is ridiculous.
I click through a million movies before finally settling on a New Hope, knowing this is the only Star Wars movie Max will let me get away with.
“We’re not watching Star Wars!” He shouts from the bathroom as the intro music blares.
“We decided I get to pick!”
“You decided you get to pick!”
The bathroom door flings open, and he flicks off the light, diving onto his bed and allowing the TV screen and lamp on his nightstand to illuminate the room.
“What are we watching then?”
“Captain America?” He gives his best ‘pretty-please’ smile.
I sigh before reluctantly exiting my movie and moving to Max’s. “You’re lucky I’m nice.” I throw the box of cereal at him as the movie begins.
“You got this contraband past Bill?” He raises his eyebrows in genuine surprise.
“He was in the living room.”
“Ahh, you snuck in through the side door.” He shoves some of the cereal into his mouth.
“Were your notes from tonight good enough?” I ask him.
“Nothing I didn’t already know except the ankle thing.” He shakes his head, watching the movie intently.
“I don’t know how you’re against Iron Man,” I say, as the movie progresses. “He’s obviously right.”
“He’s trying to save his friend.” Max defends.
“His friend killed people.”
“You don’t get it.” He shakes his head. “He was brainwashed. Controlled by these dudes.”
“I get that, but they destroyed like half of the world. Someone has to be in charge.”
“And what if the people in charge are the bad guys?”
He’s got a point, but I know I can’t let him win. “Then someone will stop them.”
“Who’s gonna stop them if not earth’s mightiest heroes?”
“You’re a massive nerd.” I shake my head.
“Whatever, Star Wars.”
Twenty minutes in, and I’m exhausted.
“I should go,” I tell him softly as he dozes off.
“Not allowed,” he says groggily, grabbing my arm.
“I’ll leave the cereal.”
“Just stay until the movie’s over. The end’s the best part.” His words are slurred, and his eyes are barely open.
“You’re going to Ava’s tomorrow, remember?”
“No
excuses.” He yawns, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. “My movie.”
“Max, we’ve seen this movie like a million times.”
“Ages like fine wine. Or cheese.”
“I’m lactose intolerant.”
“Your lactose intolerant ass can stick around for twenty more minutes to see the best part of the movie.”
“The best part of the movie is the airport scene, quit lying to yourself.”
He doesn’t bother answering as he shoves more cereal into his mouth, his eyes sleep-heavy as he attempts to stay awake. I hit the power button on the remote, turning the TV off before climbing out of his bed. I throw the grey fuzzy blanket off of my shoulders and over his head.
“I’ll see you tomorrow night?” He asks as I open his bedroom door.
“Eleven-thirty sharp.” I remind him before closing the big white door behind me, walking down the stairs carefully in an attempt not to wake Bill.
“Goodnight, Phoebe!” He shouts from the living room.
“Goodnight, Bill!” I shout as I slide my sneakers on, closing the sliding glass door behind me before stepping into the frigid October air.
I don’t pay much attention to the sky as I cross the lawn, but it’s clear tonight. I lock my side door behind me, walking through the house and making sure everything is locked before retreating to my room and changing into a big T-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts.
I send a text to my mom and set an alarm for 9:30 the next morning before beginning to count the stars on my ceiling. I stop at Ursa Major, staring at the bright green stars. One of them has some weird blue shimmer on it, the product of a whim I had when I was younger, and in a glitter-glue phase.
My father hated glitter when I was younger. It covered everything in the arts and crafts bin I kept in my room, sinking into the carpet around the Ikea shelving unit that housed it. Jack helped me put the glitter on Ursa Major as some form of defiance because it was our father’s favorite constellation.
What a badass duo we glitter glue vandals were.
Exhausted, I still hit 137 before giving up, turning in my bed, and staring out of my bedroom window until I fall asleep.
Pictor
The Painter’s Easel
“Get in loser. We’re going shopping!” Violet shouts through her car window as I slam the side door. Her tiny hot-pink sunglasses are purely aesthetic, balanced on the bridge of her nose, and perfectly matching her puffy pink coat.
“So, we’re living in the early 2000s now?” I ask as I slide into her backseat.
“I wish.” She groans as she backs out of my driveway.
“You were like two.” Kendall chimes in.
“Exactly. The good old days,” Violet sighs dramatically, as she speeds down the near-empty roads.
“What do you want to listen to?” Kendall asks, searching through Violet’s playlists.
I stare out of the window as Violet zooms onto the highway. I often fear for my life when Violet drives, and I can tell Kendall does too as she grabs the handle above her window. “Hey Vi, how many times did it take you to actually get your license?” I ask her.
“Third time’s the charm, baby.” She laughs as she speeds up again.
“The speed limit isn’t a suggestion, Vi.” Kendall sing-songs as she turns up the music she’d chosen, Estelle’s American Boy blaring through the car’s speakers.
Violet rolls down her window and scream-sings the song, and Kendall follows suit. I roll down mine and allow the warm, October breeze to enter the car. The scent of the tropical air freshener dangling from Violet’s rearview mirror finally dulling and being overtaken by that of the freshly-paved roads. It’s not any better, but at least it’s different.
I know Violet isn’t the best driver, but her parents paid for very expensive driving lessons after she failed her test the first two times, so at least she’s a defensive driver.
“Where are we even going?” I ask them, realizing I never asked.
“Homecoming dress shopping.” Kendall turns from her spot in the passenger seat.
“Yay,” I say sarcastically.
“Listen, we know deep down you secretly love dress shopping. It’s okay to admit it.” Violet says, changing lanes.
I’ve ordered my homecoming dress online for the last two years to avoid this exact thing, but I don’t tell her that.
“Don’t deny it.” She adds.
“This is me denying it,” I tell her.
“Well, too bad!” She turns up the volume on her music as the song changes to an unfamiliar country one.
“Vi, I think I might throw up.” Kendall jokes.
“Deal with it!” Violet shouts, scream-singing along to the song.
Kendall and I exchange a glance, and I can’t help but laugh.
Thankfully, the song ends and is replaced by a Frank Ocean song I can actually stand.
Violet takes the exit toward the mall, cutting off traffic.
“So, has Graham asked you yet?” Kendall asks, referring to the dance.
“Nope,” I answer. Of course he hasn’t asked me, we’re not even a thing, right?
“I’m going to kill him.” Violet groans.
“Maybe you should ask,” Kendall suggests. “That’s what I did.”
“You’ve been dating Tommy forever. It’s different.” I tell her. “I don’t even know if we’re dating.”
“You’ve been on dates. You’re dating. You just don’t know if you’re together, together.” Violet says as she searches for a parking spot.
“What about you, Vi?” I change the topic.
“I’m not asking,” she says defiantly.
“Oh my God, just ask! He kissed you.” Kendall groans.
“I’ll go with him if he asks me, but I’m not asking him. He needs to grow a pair.” Violet shakes her head. “Not all of us can have perfect Tommy’s or Graham’s.” She mutters.
“Jackson is kind of perfect, though,” Kendall tells her.
“Everywhere except where it counts! He called me ‘dude’ the other day!” She parks rather poorly in a spot between a pick-up truck and a blue Prius, basically jumping out of the car to avoid the conversation.
“Was that before or after he kissed you?” I ask as Kendall and I run to catch up as we follow her to the entrance of the mall.
“You walk really fast for someone so short.” Kendall huffs.
“It’s all the condensed rage.” She huffs. “Do I really have to ask him?”
“This is your last year of high school. He could go to some college far away from yours, and you’d never get to see if things could work.” Kendall lectures as we step off of the escalator.
“But I don’t want to.” She whines as we pass a long-closed Macy’s.
The mall isn’t super busy yet, but the chatter is still loud enough not to be able to hear Violet when she’s practically running ahead of us ranting about Jackson.
We finally catch up with her when she turns into a store.
“Try four or five on here.” Kendall insists, throwing a pink dress over her arm.
I wander the racks of dresses, eventually pulling a burgundy one, staring at it for a bit before putting it back on the rack.
“You’re trying that on.” Violet nearly makes me jump, pulling the dress off of the rack and throwing it over my arm.
“Then, you’re trying this.” I pull a random dress off of the rack and hand it to her.
“No, thank you.” Violet shakes her head. “I don’t wear purple. Too ironic.” She returns the dress to its place on the rack.
“You really let your name dictate your fashion choices?” Kendall raises an eyebrow.
“Absolutely.” She nods, pulling a pink glittery dress off of the rack. “Oh my God.” She gasps. “It’s perfect.”
“It’s like a pink disco ball,” Kendall remarks.
“Exactly.” She stares at the dress in awe. “I’m going to try it on.” She walks in a shimmer-induced trance toward the dressing
rooms, claiming one as her own.
“Do you have a certain color you’re looking for?” Kendall asks after we look through the racks for a while.
“I have no idea,” I tell her honestly, pushing aside dress after dress. All of them are either size twos or too tight, not for me.
“Do you have a style in mind?” She asks me.
“Something flowy,” I tell her, she looks as though she’s going to speak, but Vi interrupts.
“Guys!” She shouts from halfway across the store, earning disapproving looks from the employees and the other shoppers.
She looks incredible in the skin-tight dress. The glitter reflects every light in the room, and I can only imagine how great it’ll look under the strobe lights at the dance.
“It’s perfect,” I tell her.
“I know!” She shrieks, staring at herself in the mirror. “I thought it was going to be too long, but it’s just the right length! And I don’t think my dad will be pissed about it!” She beams, referring to the great prom dress debacle of junior year. She bought her dress with her mom, and her dad told her it was too slutty.
She wore the dress anyway.
“That’s definitely the one.” Kendall agrees.
“You make it sound like it’s a wedding dress.” Violet rolls her eyes.
Kendall rolls her eyes back at her before continuing to flip through the rack, pulling out a light blue dress. “Try this on.” She shoves it into my hand.
“I don’t love bodycon dresses.” I put it back on the rack in its place.
She throws another dress over her arm before handing me a black one. “If I had your ass, I would only ever wear bodycons.” She shakes her head. “Try some on.”
“Fine.” I groan, digging through the rack and throwing every remotely appealing dress I see over my arm. “Happy?” I ask Kendall, who has even more dresses than I do.
“Very.” She answers as we walk into empty dressing rooms.
I pull on a forest green A-line dress made of satin first, adjusting it to try and cover more of my too-big thighs.
“Come out!” Violet shouts.
I walk out of the dressing room to find Violet sitting on a cushy white ottoman with a bag in her hand. “Cute!” She encourages, just as Kendall exits her dressing room in the light blue body con dress I’d put back on the rack.