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When Eliza volunteered to cover the Snow Ball this year, she didn’t think it’d be like this. Maybe it’s naive of her, but she honestly didn’t expect any problems. It’s middle school, not high school. There won’t be spiked punch, or people storming the dance already drunk. And while she might rack up a proto-horny prepubescent leave room for Jesus or two, nobody will be sneaking off tonfuck in a classroom. The Wilsons are a family of teachers, generations back, over a variety of grades and subjects. She’s heard stories about high schoolers.
More than anything, the volunteer hours are an excuse to chum up to Max Mayfield. She’s a great teacher. kind, without putting up with shit, and able to relay information in an engaging way. And she’s gorgeous. Her thick glasses frame her face and make her freckles pop, and her red hair is nearly waist length when it’s not done up in a braid. What she’s not, is open. Eliza’s been infatuated for months now, and she barely knows anything about her.
And instead of talking to her, Eliza’s been stuck patrolling the halls, doing her duty. Apparently it’s better for the Hawkins High volunteers to be situated in the gymnasium, under their own watchful eye. It’s boring nothing-work, but at least it’ll only be another two hours of wasted time. All the thirteen year olds need to be home by nine thirty, after all.
“Ms Watson! Cassidy won’t stop bleeding!” Nicole Dietz shouts, turning the corner with a swaying dress and a red face like she’s been sprinting for help.
There are a whole gamut of questions to be asked. Who- there are a few Cassidys at Hawkins Middle, it being a common name. Why is she bleeding is an obvious one. What body part, exactly? And when did it start might be important, if she has to call an ambulance.
Eliza lands on the interrogative where. She can’t help this Cassidy if she doesn’t know where she is. Nicole Dietz narrows it down some with the answer of the bathroom, and then completely by taking her to the correct one.
It’s Cassidy Wheeler. It’s easy to place her. She’s tall and rail thin, with gender appropriate long black hair, unlike her father’s weirdly long locks circa Parent Teacher Night. Her mouth and chin are covered in blood, and there are drops on her dress as well as a streak up her forearm. No doubt from being a gross kid wiping her nose without a Kleenex only to realise the issue when it came away red.
“Okay, girls. It’s nothing to be scared of, it’s just a nosebleed.” Eliza doesn’t even need to send Nicole to get the nearest first aid kit. A wad of toilet paper as she pinches Cassidy’s bridge will do.
Fifteen minutes later, Eliza isn’t so sure. The nosebleed is still going strong, crimson soaking through the white tp in seconds. The garbage bin is full of bloody wet clumps of one ply. Eliza’s dealt with her fair share over the years, though not as much as cousin Riley, the kindergarten teacher. She’s never had a nosebleed gush like this before. There are only a few over the counter solutions Eliza has before she has to call for greater help. Given the minimal danger she doesn’t have the right to call for an ambulance, Cassidy Wheeler having an extended nosebleed is hardly Greg Zelensky suffering through anaphylaxis, but if the blood flow doesn’t stop, she’ll have to call the Wheelers. Before that though, she needs ice from the staff room. A cold wet cloth would do wonders too.
Unfortunately, they’re alone. Nicole is long gone, her and Cassidy not being friends whatsoever, Nicole just a helpful bystander. Cassidy’s not in physical danger if Eliza darts off to get some ice, but she’s a scared little girl and Eliza doesn’t want to traumatize her more by leaving her alone. Better to slowly guide her down the hall, while helping her pinch her nose.
As happenstance would have it, they’re a corridor away from the staff room when they come across Max. She looks gorgeous as ever in a black cardigan and wintery blue slacks, a strand of miniature dollhouse sized Christmas lights strung around her neck like a necklace. It’s more festive than Eliza thought Max would be, but what does she know? It’s entirely possible Max is one of those people who decorate every room in her home the day after Thanksgiving.
“Mama,” Cassidy cries, much to Eliza’s extreme shock, the girl ripping out of Eliza’s grasp to cross to her. “It won’t stop!”
“Did you do anything?”
It’s such a strange question, and Cassidy’s answer is no better, completely irrelevant to the oddly accusatory thing Max has asked.
“My stockings wouldn’t stay up.”
Max sighs. Eliza’s seen her fair share of disappointed parents over her years teaching, and the way Cassidy flinches does a lot to force her to believe the Mama title is accurate, despite not making any sense.
“Let Ms Wilson help you. I’ll be right back.”
“We’ll be in the staff room,” Eliza informs her. Familal confusion or not, Cassidy still needs ice on her nose, and a compress on her neck.
True to her word, Max is only gone for a few minutes. When she joins them in the teacher’s lounge Eliza’s only just wrapped the filled ziploc bag ina tea towel to place on the nape of Cassidy’s neck, just over the zipper of her fancy dress.
“I have to stay here, but Dustin is coming.”
“Okay,” Cassidy says. The interference of her sinuses makes her voice sound odd, but Eliza’s pretty sure it’s more than that that’s making her sound miserable. At this age a lot of kids are sensitive to upsetting their parents, struggling with the integrity of their own identity while still in the childlike mold of pleasing Mom and Dad. Eliza isn’t sure how Cassidy got herself in trouble through having droopy stockings -truly beyond her control, considering her stick thin limbs- but Max is standoffish and Cassidy is mournful.
Mama, though. Mr and Mrs Wheeler must have divorced, sometime between Parent Teacher Night and now. Parents are supposed to report to the school about things like that, in case there are emotional outbursts, but they don’t always. Mike Wheeler must have started dating Max while El Wheeler-no-longer is with the guy Max called. Once Eliza gets home tonight she’s going to process missing her shot with Max with a bottle of wine and some extra butter popcorn, but she can remain professional until then.
Dustin must live close. He’s calling out Max’s name while entering without confirmation less than ten minutes later. Lucky him, she’s just come back after checking in with some of the more responsible teenagers. She’s helping her stepdaughter wipe off her face, nosebleed tentatively defeated. Eliza doesn’t think she should head back to the gym quite yet, in case a clot dislodges and the blood starts torrenting again, but they can at least tidy up some of the dried streaks before it starts flaking off.
“In here,” Max answers superfluously.
El clearly has a specific taste in men. Much like Mike Wheeler, this man has hair entirely too long for society to respect him. His is even longer than Mike’s, in fact, reaching the middle of his back. It’s curly brown, nearly ringletted. It’s a hell of a look, the oddness of it underscored by the purple button up with a rubber duck print he’s wearing. Eliza doesn’t know where you even find something like that.
Cassidy looks up at the man, face wet. “Hi, atar! Thanks, but the nosebleed stopped, you can go back home now.”
“I’m glad to hear it. And I will be. With you,” Dustin replies.
“What? Why! I can just go back to the dance, my dress is barely even stained. I bet Craig’s already spilled a way bigger punch stain than these few drops.” Cassidy says, throwing a friend of hers under the bus.
“Public Messiness is not why you’re not going back. Like we play that kind of respectability politics. Uncle Steve would kill us,” Dustin chastises. “Your mom will want to talk to you about inappropriate use of abilities.”
“Awww. But atar-” It’s the second time Cassidy’s said that. Whatever that is, it’s not English.
“Do you really want me telling your mom you protested?”
“Fine!” Cassidy shouts, stomping her foot. She whirls and stalks out of the room like only a teenager could. Eliza understands Riley sometimes, sticking with four year olds. Or at least she thinks she does, until Riley tells another story about being peed or puked or snotted on, or about how she has yet another cold. Give Eliza dramatics over bodily fluids any day.
“We’ll get through this,” Dustin promises, before shaking his ridiculously overstuffed keychain at Max and taking off after his stepdaughter, presumably to tuck her into the car and deliver her to a lecture over something Eliza doesn’t understand.
“Nights like this really make you wish you still smoked, huh,” Max chuckles sardonically into the empty room.
Eliz doesn’t much like smoking, but she imagines it must be stressful, being the stepmom of a thirteen year old. “I won’t tell if you want to run out.”
“I don’t have anything on me,” Max replies, ignoring that she could easily go find Mr Creeves, John, and bum a smoke. Eliza can respect that, craving without acknowledging the chance to actually give in.
“I don’t carry cigarettes either,” Eliza responds, which is so not the point, but in a way helpful to Max’s line of action.
“I just need a minute, then I’ll get back out there,” Max continues, massaging her eyebrows with her thumb and middle finger.
Eliza could go now, back to monitoring the dance like she volunteered to do. But the truth is, she’s interested. This is more information on Max in an evening than she’s gathered in three semesters of knowing her.
“You know, it’s okay if you’re not up for the stepmom thing. Some people aren’t meant for it. It’s okay to want a different kind of life. Even with a different kind of person.”
It’s a secret code. Words only women who grew up with a large carabiner on their belt loop would pick up. Eliza had been so sure Max was one of them.
Max soghs, and crosses her arms over her chest. “Look, Eliza. You’re beautiful. But you’re asking so much more than you think you are.”
“So tell me.” If Max understands she could be with a woman instead of what’s happening now, if she feels it enough to call her beautiful in a way not parroted by straight women complimenting their friends at a boutique, Eliza wants to know what’s stopping her.
“I like my job. I don’t want to jeopardize it.”
“I would never!” Eliza is fine with being closeted at work, if it makes Max feel safer.
“We’re still not having the same conversation.”
“Tell me what we’re talking about, then!” Eliza needs to know Max’s reasons for refusing sapphic love. Surely another woman has to be better than Mike Wheeler. He was so sarcastic at Parent Teacher, and not in a funny way.
“My family’s not exactly conventional. Whatever you’re thinking, more than that.”
Eliza rolls her eyes. “I’m a lesbian who wants to have kids one day. I know about unconventional families.”
Max rolls her eyes. “I said, more than that. But fine. I think there’s enough mutual destruction here that we can talk about this.”
Eliza crosses her arms across her chest. And to think she once daydreamed about Max liking her back. Max just seems hostile, now. But Eliza’s too deep into this to not gain knowledge now. “Or you could believe that I don’t want to do any destruction.”
“Yeah. We’ll see.”
Eliza follows as Max leads her to her classroom. Every classroom down the main corridor of Hawkins Middle is identical to begin with. It’s up to the teachers to arrange their desks and posterize the walls as they like. Eliza isn’t sure she’d ever commit to the quads of desks placed to promote conversation during group work, it seems like it’d devolve to too much chatting, or bullying if the quartets didn’t like each other, but she likes that Max has coloured chalk for the board. It’s a cute touch, and good for the visual learners.
From a drawer in her desk Max pulls out what Eliza can only assume is a day planner, up until the first page opens to a significantly longer emergency contact list than most have. Instead of the standard one every staff member is required to register with, there’s at least a dozen names listed. Enough that she can’t subitize the lines, and would have to count.
Another flip of a page, and there’s a picture pasted in. It’s a shot of six adults, including Dustin, and who she until now assumed were Cassidy’s married parents.
“This is us, for the most part.”
“Us, what?” Eliza is delighted to learn about Max’s found family, queer people so often depend on developing them. She just doesn’t understand the specifics yet.
“I’m married to Lucas,” Max begins, pointing to the only African American in the photo. “He’s tall, with truly great hair.”
“You don’t wear a ring.” Eliza would have denied herself her feelings much harder, if there’d been that sort of clue available. She’s no homewrecker.
“No,” Max agrees. She goes on to explain, “wouldn’t have been fair. Because I love El just as much. Cassidy’s biomom, as anyone could guess. She takes after her in almost every way, trust me.”
“So you are bisexual, then.” Loving her husband and a woman isn’t quite the secret lesbian ideal Eliza was hoping for, but it’s still a woman who belongs to her community.
Max nods. “Gender doesn’t really matter to me.”
“So how does Dustin fit in, then?” It’s obviously nothing as simple as being a divorced mom’s new love interest.
Max chuckles, just enough grimness in her tone to remind Eliza Max thinks she might run to Principal Sheiner with the sordid details. “Everywhere, really. Lucas and I together will play with Dustin, but neither of us alone with him. Mike and El too. And on occasion it’s just been all the guys having a guys night, but that’s not too common. It’d be kinda weird if they excluded me and El from a group hang too often.”
Eliza doesn’t know what the hell to say. Only four of them at a time having sex is the weird thing?
“Who’s that,” Eliza asks with far more diplomacy, pointing to the only unnamed man in the photo.
“Will. Exclusively gay. He has relationships with Dustin, and Lucas, and Mike, but not me or El. Plus he’s got Rubio and Aoki, this lovely older couple. We do dinner with them sometimes but none of the other guys are into them.”
“That all sounds really complicated.”
“It isn’t,” Max immediately denies. “Not really. It’s just how things work. And we grew up together, during some actually complicated times. We know what each other needs. More importantly, we know that you don’t have to get every single thing you need to thrive from the same person. Some people can genuinely do that, but most people are miserable. Unfulfilled in one way or another. The six of us don’t want that. We’ve been through enough to be unhappy adults.”
Statements like that raise many questions as have been answered thus far. Eliza contents herself with the belief that if she proves she’s cool about this outlandish but apparently loving sextuplet, Max might continue sharing her life as they bond. Dating her is probably off the table, if not from Max’s perspective than at least from Eliza’s, unless she decides she wants to share her girlfriend with a volleyball team’s worth of people. But she can accept the shuttering of a daydreamed relationship to open the door to a queer friend with really wild stories. It’s what she’s wanted since she was in high school, a raunchy community to reject purity centric heterosexual ideals with.
“Thank you. For being honest with me. I know that must be scary. I could be a traditionalist or something,” Eliza says.
Max scoffs. “You have Am I Blue on your spinning rack of books. You’re not a traditionalist.”
That’s not the all of it, though. Max was justified in being hesitant, Eliza knows that now. Some gays and lesbians don’t even accept bisexuality, never mind multiple times over bigamy. If she was a bitch, she could have totally declared Max a deviant worthy of reporting to higher ups. More the the shady respectability politics Dustin was talking about, though this more about ‘how alt is too alt’ over the class issues of having pristine clothing.
“I know you’ve got to head straight home after the dance. Support what your girlfriend? Wife? Lover? Is reprimanding your daughter over. But do you want to maybe get a coffee tomorrow? You can tell me about how you met them all. How you fell in love.”
“Again, that is a bigger question than you think you’re asking. And this time I really can’t answer it all. There are NDAs,” Max says cryptically. “But we can talk about the pain of getting Christmas presents for five people who are all getting presents for each other. The amount of times we’ve doubled up, it’s so aggravating.”
Eliza keeps her mouth closed over her initial suggestion of doing a White Elephant. It’s the sort of thing you do for coworkers, not decades long lovers. She has a feeling she’s going to be shutting up and just listening a lot in the future, whenever secretive, aloof Max deigns to tell her something.
“It’s in the planner,” Eliza confirms. They won’t have much more time to talk now, they need to go save the twelve year olds from themselves. But tomorrow, she’ll be on the route to finally having a queer best friend. Who could want more?