Tuesday & Max

1

LOWKEY, NO PRESSURE

JUST HANG WITH ME

AND MY WEATHER

The metal is cold between her lips and, as she removes it to pin through duck egg blue fabric, she wonders if it's what a lip piercing would feel like. The sun casts the room alight in a warm glow as it shines through half-opened sheer red curtains, and glints off the pin as it wriggles through her fingers and the material. It sends a brief star show of light across the wall.

"Tuesday!"

Tuesday doesn't answer, glances at the time on her phone. 9:09. Her eyes wander to the album cover of the song playing, a tinny whining, through its speakers. She presses next with a quick tap, ups the volume.

The dress. She refocuses her attention on it, tugging at the hem slightly to get a good look. Eventually, it will be pretty; not something she'll ever wear, of course, but maybe nice enough that someone else will. She bought the fabric from a local market with her birthday money, practised with a few patterns before she settled on this: a sweetheart neckline, a pulled in waist, fluttery sleeves. At least, it's supposed to have fluttery sleeves. Right now, it has no sleeves, and she thinks the mannequin's shoulders are probably cold. If she can only figure out how to-

"Tuesday!" her aunt yells again.

"Yeah, I know!"

"Well, come on then!" Julia opens the door with the most cursory of knocks and bustles in.

"We're fine-Just let me-"

"I thought you were trying to get that washed out of your hair before the induction?" she interrupts, crossing her arms and wincing.

"I was."

"When did you dye it again?"

"Last night."

"Oh-Tuesday-well, that's not trying very hard, is it?"

"It wasn't going to fade anymore. It just went green. How is it better to make a first impression with green hair than it is with blue?"

"I just wish you hadn't started dying it at all. Your mother-" Julia stops, swallows. Looks awkward.

The air hangs heavy between Tuesday and her aunt, Tuesday with her eyebrows raised, lips pursed, as if to say: my mother what?

"Have you got your bag packed, then? Have you got everything you need?" Julia says, cheeks red.

It's the equivalent of a never mind.

Tuesday sighs, relinquishing her mannequin at last and moving to the bed. She digs through satin pillows and fur throws until she finds her purse, and flings it into the black backpack that sits on her pillow. "I don't know," she says. "It's just the induction. I don't think you really need anything."

"Have you got pens? A notepad? Tissues? Your keys?"

"Oh my God, Julia."

"Okay, okay, alright." Julia lifts her hands. "You'll be fine." Drops them and grins. "Nervous?"

"No."

A lie.

Tuesday rips the one curtain covering the window open and stands in front of her mirror, squinting at herself. Her hair has made streaks of deep, steely-toned blue across the shoulders of her white t-shirt. Shit.