Growth Spurt

Max is coming over today, the first time in a while since what her brother refers to as the "Molly incident." Whoever Molly is, she is not a girl, Annabelle is sure of that. What kind of girl would want to hang out around her loser brother?

Admittedly, her brother's changed. Thor no longer wears his hair in spikes. It now sweeps down over his forehead, like countless other boys his grade. He doesn't wear sleeveless shirts anymore, and he's lost the earrings. Like some of the boys in her own class, Thor almost exclusively wears sweatpants, a hoodie, and sneakers.

Which makes her all the more curious about Max.

Annabelle will never admit this to her brother, even under the pain of death, but for a while now she has found Max Newman to be dreamy. Dreamy. It's his sad eyes, his hurt puppy look. The gentle sweep of his hair. He's not too tall, which allows Annabelle to think of him as someone from her own grade. She probably shouldn't tell him that though.

She hears the door downstairs open. She listens in, tries to separate her brother's voice from what she expects to be Max's. She can't. She'll have to move directly to the next step: pretend she is getting something from the fridge. Annabelle takes a deep breath and tiptoes out of her room.

"Annabelle, what are you doing here?" is how Thor greets her as soon as he sees her.

"It's my house too, Thor," she spits back.

Then it happens: Max walks through the door. Annabelle freezes where she stands. Gone is the melancholic downward sweep of the hair: it now flows upward, a thick fountain of honey-brown, with a middle part. Max must have grown at least six inches since the last time she saw him. He's not just tall—he's elongated. Her brother in his blue hoodie and grey shorts looks stuffy next to Max in his dark blue athletic shorts and black long-sleeve shirt.

"Oh, hi, Max," is all she manages. Who cares if they don't look the same age anymore?

Max raises his too-long arm to a height he himself does not seem to be used to. "Hi, Annabelle." The voice is still within the same range, but it now rasps at the lower end. The smile is still the same warm, beguiling curve.

"Ouch." Her brother has just nudged him at his side. "The fuck are you doing, man?"

"What? I'm just saying hi to your sister."

"Yeah, it was weird!"

"Hey, I'm just trying to be fucking polite."

Thor grabs around Max's neck, and both of them fall on the floor in an impromptu wrestling match, a tangle of Max's long limbs and her brother's stouter, chubbier ones. What Annabelle does not understand is how boys never seem like they're fighting over anything. No insult, just grunts. She sidles away to the kitchen.

When she returns, Max and Thor are already on the sofa.

"Thor, Mom told me to tell you that she made you some snacks in the fridge."

Thor doesn't acknowledge her, but Max looks over his shoulder. "Thanks, Annabelle."

"Max, stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Stop hitting on my sister. She's just a kid. You're such a fucking perv."

"What? Fuck you! Take that back!"

Annabelle rolls her eyes and sighs. If Max spends too much time around her brother, he's going to get dragged down to his level of idiocy.

"Tell him he's wrong, Annabelle!" Max yells from under Thor's shoulder pin.

Thor makes a throat-clearing sound. A thick spittle hangs from his mouth over Max's face. Annabelle gags.

"Ew, Thor, get the fuck off me!" Max screams.