Wisconsin and Wood chippers
MAX
The living room is quiet for a Sunday afternoon. Haru's at the library, Elliot's doing whatever mysterious musical-mathematical thing he does in his room, and Leo's upstairs, supposedly studying but probably staring at his textbook without reading it like he's been doing all week.
Which leaves me and JP. Perfect. I've been waiting for this conversation. Planning it. Rehearsing it in my head for like three days now.
"So," I say, flopping onto the couch next to where JP's reviewing what looks like a biomechanics journal. "Operation Social Integration."
JP doesn't look up from his reading. "Yes?"
"I want in."
Now he looks up. One eyebrow raised in that way that means he's analyzing seventeen different variables at once. "You want in?”
"Yeah. Like, I want to be next. For the dating thing." The words come out in a rush, and I force myself to slow down. "Luca found Del, and they're disgustingly happy, and I want… I want that. I want to find my person."
JP sets down his journal carefully. Gives me his full attention, which is simultaneously reassuring and terrifying because JP's full attention means he's seeing things.
"Okay," he says slowly. "What brought this on?"
"I'm twenty-one." I start ticking things off on my fingers. "I've been at this university for five years—"
"Three years," JP corrects.
"Five years if you count my first degree, which I do. And in that entire time, I haven't dated anyone. Haven't even kissed anyone. I'm a twenty-one-year-old virgin who's never had a boyfriend, and I'd like to change that."
“Sorry, I forgot you’d been here for so many years. You do know there's nothing wrong with being a virgin?”
"I know that!" I do. I really do. "But I want to not be one anymore. I want to experience things. I want someone to…” I stop. Because what I want is complicated, and I'm not sure I can explain it right.
JP waits. He's good at waiting.
"I want someone who'll be patient with me," I say finally.
"Someone who won't rush me or make me feel stupid for not knowing stuff.
Someone who thinks I'm interesting instead of weird.
Someone who—" My throat gets tight. "Someone who wants me.
Not the genius kid, the robot guy, or whatever. Just… me."
JP's expression softens. "Max."
"And I know that's a lot to ask for, but Sebastian and Luca found it, right? So maybe I can too? Maybe there's someone out there who'll want me.”
"There is," JP says firmly. "There absolutely is." The certainty in his voice makes me feel better.
"So, will you help me next? Operation Social Integration, phase two: Get Max a Boyfriend?"
JP's quiet for a long moment, reading me the way he does when he's processing seventeen variables at once.
"What?" I ask. "Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you know something I don't."
"I always know things you don't. I'm older and wiser."
"You're twenty-four, JP."
"Three very educational years." He leans back against the couch, and the teasing drops out of his voice. "Dating requires a certain level of vulnerability."
I’m about to say I know that, then my mouth closes. Because do I? I've spent five years building extremely comfortable walls around the parts of myself I don't show people. Calling that "caution" instead of "fear" doesn't make it any less of a barrier.
"I know that," I say anyway, because admitting the rest feels like too much for a Sunday afternoon.
"Do you? Because vulnerability means risk. It means trusting someone with parts of yourself you usually keep protected."
"I'm aware of how dating works, JP."
"Are you?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because from where I'm sitting, you've spent five years avoiding exactly that kind of risk."
Ouch. True, but ouch. "That's why I'm asking for help," I say. "I know I need to actually put myself out there. I don't know how."
"Why now? What changed?"
I look like a fish, mouth bobbing open and closed, while I try to figure out what to say.
Because how do I explain the weird restlessness that's been building for months?
The way I feel like I'm missing something everyone else has figured out?
The loneliness that hits at random moments, even when I'm surrounded by my friends?
"I don't know," I admit. "I just… I'm ready. I think. Maybe. Probably?"
"That's convincing."
"Okay, fine. I'm scared out of my mind, but I'm also tired of being scared. Does that make sense?"
"Yeah." JP's voice goes soft. "Yeah, it does."
We sit there for a minute. The house creaks around us. Somewhere upstairs, a door opens and closes, Leo, probably, doing the restless pacing thing he does when he can't focus. "The thing is," I say quietly, "I have trust issues."
JP snorts. "We all have trust issues. That's why we live together."
"Yeah, but mine are—" I stop. Look down at my hands. This is the part I don't talk about. The part I filed away under ‘dealt with’ even though I mostly just buried it under coursework and robotics projects and the comfortable noise of living with people I trust.
JP watches me, waiting.
"When I first got here, I was sixteen. Sixteen and alone because Mom had to go home when Dad got hurt, and everyone looked at me like I was either a circus act or—" My stomach twists.
"Or what?" JP prompts gently.
"Or like I was just easy and… available."
JP goes very still. "Max."
"There was this guy." The words taste bitter. "Teaching assistant in one of my classes. He was twenty-four. Started hanging around after lectures, asking if I needed help with anything, offering to show me around campus."
"Aish." JP's expression darkens. "Shibal, Max. He was a predator."
Oh boy, he's swearing in Korean. JP's grandfather taught him the good stuff, and it only comes out when English isn't angry enough.
"I didn't realize what was happening at first. I thought he was being nice.
Friendly. But then he started—" I swallow hard.
"He started saying things about how mature I was.
How I wasn't like other kids my age. How we had this special connection.
" My hands clench into fists. "And I was lonely and stupid and I almost—"
"He was a grown man going after a sixteen-year-old," JP cuts in. "There's no 'maybe' about what he was."
"I know. I know that now. But at the time, I thought maybe…”
Russell's standing in the doorway of the lecture hall, backpack slung over one shoulder, waiting for my answer. The TA who's been so nice to me. Who actually treats me like a person instead of a novelty. Who just invited me to his apartment to "study."
Which isn't really about studying. Obviously.
My stomach does this weird flip-flop thing that might be excitement or might be terror.
Probably both. Definitely both. The fluorescent light above Russell's head is flickering at an irregular interval, every 3.
2 seconds, then 2.8, then 3.5, and I should not be thinking about faulty capacitors right now.
Say yes. Just say yes. You want this. You've wanted this for weeks.
I’m about to say something but then, "MAX!" Turning, I see my brother walking towards me with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Isaac is six-foot-two and two hundred and twenty pounds of farm-built muscle, with our dad's shoulders and our mom's protective instincts cranked up to eleven. He's also supposed to be in Wisconsin, dealing with the end of harvest season.
"Isaac?" My voice comes out squeaky. "What are you doing here?"
"Mom was worried." He's striding toward me, and his eyes have locked onto Russell like a hawk spotting a mouse. "Wanted me to check on you."
"I'm fine, I'm just—" But Isaac's already reached us. He puts one massive hand on my shoulder, gentle with me, always gentle with me, and looks at Russell.
"Who's this?"
"Russell Jenkins," Russell says smoothly, offering his hand. "I'm a TA in Max's Differential Equations class. Just offering to help him study."
Isaac doesn't shake his hand. He stares at it until Russell lowers it awkwardly. "How old are you, Russell?"
"I—what?" His eyebrows shoot up, caught off guard.
"Simple question. How old are you?"
“I’m twenty-four. "
"Uh-huh." Isaac's voice goes flat. Dangerous. "And you're inviting my sixteen-year-old brother to your apartment to 'study.'"
"It's not—I wasn't—"
"Let me explain something to you, Russell." Isaac steps forward, and even though I'm used to my brother's size, the way he moves right now is terrifying. "Back in farm country, we have a real simple way of dealing with grown men who sniff around kids."
“I’m not a kid," I protest weakly. Isaac ignores me. His eyes are locked on Russell, who's starting to look genuinely scared.
"We take them out to the back forty," Isaac continues, voice conversational, "and we have a little talk about boundaries and appropriate behavior. Sometimes those talks involve wood chippers. Sometimes they involve very deep holes that nobody asks questions about."
"Jesus—"
"Now, I'm sure California has similar solutions for this kind of problem.
" Isaac smiles, and it's the scariest thing I've ever seen.
"So here's what's going to happen. You're going to walk away from my brother.
You're going to stay away from my brother.
And if I hear that you've so much as looked at him wrong, I'm going to demonstrate exactly how well Wisconsin farming techniques translate to sunny California. We clear?"
Russell's face has gone white. "I—yes. Yes, we're clear. I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"Go."
Russell goes. Practically runs. While I stand there, frozen, as Isaac watches him disappear around the corner of the building. Then my brother turns to me, and all that terrifying intensity melts into concern.
"You okay, Max?"
"I—"
Am I okay? I'm embarrassed, confused, relieved, and angry all at once.
"He said I was mature," I say, and my voice cracks. "He said we had a connection."