Not-so-little Stepsister Shrunken First Semester: (S)Mothered chapter 7 by maximally

BBBBRRRRAAAAAAAPPPPPPPP

 

Max woke to the smell of the burritos from Bea’s office, still doing laps. He hoped Victoria would eat lighter today. He knew better.

 

“Mmm.” Victoria clenched, pleased. “Morning, sweetie. How’d you sleep back there?”

 

“Fine,” he grumbled, going limp when her hand came back and peeled him out of her ass. “H-how about you?”

 

“Marvelously.” A grin. A lip-bite. “Best I’ve slept in years.”

 

“Oh. Good.” He tried not to put that sentence anywhere. “Listen. Sorry if I gave you the wrong idea yesterday, but—”

 

The nightstand buzzed. He saw the preview and went white.

 

“Hold that thought.” She set him down and rolled for the phone. “I think that’s Izzy. I’m sure she’s almost here.”

 

“Izzy?” He ducked a thigh the size of a couch cushion. Half the reason he had said yes to chaperone was not going home to her. “W-what’s she doing here?”

 

“Just dropping off some stuff. I told her what happened. She decided to drive down this morning.”

 

“From Sunnyvale? That’s, like. A six-hour drive.”

 

“It is.” She looked at the screen. “But it’s eleven.”

 

“Oh.” The morning tilted. “So she’s here.”

 

“Almost. What’s the matter? Don’t tell me you’re scared of your own little sister seeing you like this.”

 

“She’s not my— never mind.” Five days younger. Baby of the family anyway. “I just—”

 

“One second, sweetie.” Phone to her ear. The voice changed on contact — warmer than it ever got for him. “Hello, honey! Have you parked yet? Yeah? Perfect. Room 201. Just knock. Alright. Love you too. Mwah.”

 

“Fuck,” he muttered.

 

“What was that? Did you say something?”

 

“Nothing.” Window closing. If he was going to get the crack off the table, it had to be now. “What I was saying before—”

 

“MOM?”

 

He grimaced. “That was fast.”

 

“No kidding.” She was already off the bed and into last night’s tank and booty shorts, still damp at the seams. “Always a smart one, that little sister of yours.”

 

Watching her force the same curves into the same too-small kit did not help him form a sentence. She caught him looking and smiled like she’d expected it.

 

“Eyes are up here, sweetie.” A hip shake for punctuation. “Right?”

 

“Huh? Oh. Yeah. Listen. Would you mind if I, uh. Maybe, like—”

 

“What is it? You wanna hitch a ride in Mama’s boobs again?”

 

“No. It’s just—”

 

“HELLO???”

 

“Coming, sweetie!” She left him on the sheet and unlocked the door.

 

Izzy filled it the way she always had, just shorter. Five-three, two hundred pounds, every bit her mother’s daughter. Straight black hair in the emo fringe. Brown eyes and a full mouth under too much liner and lipstick. Piercings. Cute round face. Black tank, black cutoff shorts, black Converse, a constellation of vague stains. Mall goth since the day they’d met. Boys liked it. Employers did not, except the 7-Eleven by their house in Sunnyvale.

 

“Hey, Mom.” Scan of the room. Landing on the naked three-inch kid on the bed. Wicked grin. “Sup, big bro. Or should I say lil bro?”

 

They laughed together. His face went hot. He already hated the direction.

 

“Easy now, honey.” Victoria padded back to the bed. “I think we’re embarrassing him.”

 

“Good.” The grin grew. “God. What a little perv. I’m sure he’s loving this.”

 

“Don’t be so hard on him.” A finger on his head, patting. “You know he’s never been good at standing up for himself. Especially with you.”

 

He grimaced again. Smothering was one thing. Undercutting him in front of Izzy was the other half of why the power dynamic between them had calcified in high school.

 

“True that.” Izzy loomed like a bottom-heavy goth Godzilla. “I’m sure this is, like, your worst nightmare, huh? Big bad Izzy, ten times your size.”

 

“More than that, honey. If you’re five-three and he’s three inches, that’s—”

 

“Ah, whatever. You know I hate math. Point is, I’m big, he’s small, and he can’t do shit about it.”

 

Victoria beamed. “Well. I suppose I can’t argue with you there.”

 

“Damn.” Izzy crouched to his eye line. “This is fuckin’ trippy. So you’re just gonna, like, take care of him from now on?”

 

“That’s the plan. I’m his new campus chaperone.”

 

“Jeez, lil bro.” Closer. “I always knew you were a loser, but this is next level. You can’t even go to college without mommy.”

 

He stayed frozen.

 

She had been the argument for leaving Sunnyvale. Not Victoria, not entirely. Victoria smothered. Izzy hunted.

 

Mornings: she would kick his door open on the way to the hall bathroom, already working on a gas-station breakfast burrito, and let one go at face height while he was still in bed. She never used the purifier. That was Mom’s toy. Izzy just stood in the frame, waited for him to gag, said you’re welcome, and left the door open so it would follow him to first period.

 

Afternoons: she came home from the 7-Eleven shift with her feet cooked in the Converse and dropped them in his lap on the couch. Rub. Not a question. If he hesitated she put a heel on his chest and waited. Victoria, passing through, called it sibling bonding. Izzy called it rent for existing in her house.

 

His room was her laundry hamper. Black tanks, shorts that had been worn two days, bras she flicked at his head. He would find a sock in his backpack. She would find his hoodie and stretch it. Once he locked the door. She picked the lock with a bobby pin and dumped a basket on his bed and dared him to tell Mom.

 

Weekends: truth or dare with whoever she had brought home. He was never a player. He was the dare. Kiss this. Smell this. Tell my friend what you do in here when we’re gone. If he refused, she told the story anyway. Her friends laughed like he was a bit. He was a bit.

 

Twenty times bigger, she was not going to get kinder. The smile on her now was the doorway smile. Same girl. New math.

 

“Not anymore,” Victoria said, amused and failing to hide it. “Want to hold him?”

 

Izzy’s eyes lit. “Absolutely.”

 

“Oh, uh.” Max found a voice. “I don’t know if that’s a good—”

 

“Relax, bro. I’ll be gentle.” Her hand came out, already the size of his old desk chair. Then her stomach gurgled — the same warning she used to give from the hallway — and she paused. “Ooh. Actually. Better idea.”

 

She stood, turned, and presented the shorts. Black denim. Same view as the bedroom door, close enough to touch this time.

 

PPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTTTTTTTT

 

After a night in Victoria’s crack, Izzy’s still landed different. Same family weapon, worse intent. Victoria’s gas was careless. Izzy’s was aimed. In Sunnyvale she had never needed a machine. She had the doorway. Never close enough to touch. Close enough that he spent first period smelling her breakfast. At three inches it was a weather event with a return address. Gas-station snacks and microwave taquitos, unchanged, concentrated, personal. The blast hit his chest and face together and shoved him back on the sheet. His eyes ran. He knew this smell the way he knew her laugh.

 

It was not new. It was just allowed to finish the job.

 

“Whew.” She watched him fold. “That was a good one.”

 

“Isabella.” Victoria tried for outrage and leaked pride. She had spent her own teens unlearning shame about this exact thing. “Who raised you?”

 

“Who do you think?” Grin back at her mom. “C’mon. You know he likes it.”

 

The pretense dropped. Victoria grinned too. “You don’t know the half of it. Yesterday— well. We were just talking about that before you came in.” Down at Max. “Since you said you don’t want to ride in my boobs again.” A wink. A gesture at her own shorts. “Does that mean you’d rather go back in Mama’s panties?”

 

“Back?” Izzy lost it. “Wait. You had him in your ass?”

 

“Mmhmm. A couple of hours, believe it or not. Bad case of Taco Butt. Worked like a charm.”

 

“You mean—” Izzy wiped her eyes. “Oh my god. That’s fuckin’ wild. And he liked it?”

 

“Well, actually,” Max said, finally pushing a sentence out. “Not really.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, sweetie. You don’t have to be embarrassed. No judgment here.”

 

“I dunno about that.” Izzy was thrilled to have her favorite outlet back. “I’m not gonna pretend like he’s not a little perv.”

 

“What I mean is.” Victoria turned and shook the winning cheeks at him. “You know how big my booty is. It’s not like anyone’s gonna see you down there.”

 

“Hang on.” Izzy shoved her own chest into the negotiation. “I think what Maxie was trying to say is he doesn’t want to ride in your boobs because he’d rather ride in mine.”

 

He met her eyes. The sadistic twinkle was the same one from every dare in high school. He had no reason to trust the offer. After a night on Victoria’s hole, the idea of a face that was not currently touching an asshole was still a kind of air.

 

“Well.” Victoria could not help smiling at the bit. “I suppose that could work too. Max. What do you think?”

 

Two of them. Waiting. If he froze, they would pick for him. He knew that from every family movie night he had ever lost.

 

He pointed, barely, at Izzy’s tank.

 

“There,” he said. “Not— not the other thing. Just. Shirt. For a minute.”

 

Izzy’s grin went nuclear.

 

“Called it.” She scooped him before Victoria could argue the details. The black cotton closed around him, cheaper and tighter than Victoria’s bra, already warm from the drive, smelling like body spray fighting a six-hour car and last night’s whatever. “Lil bro picked me. Don’t act shocked, Mom.”

 

Victoria’s smile thinned and then came back, proud of her daughter and not of the scoreboard. “Don’t get used to it, honey. He’s still my responsibility.”

 

“Yeah, yeah.” Izzy gave the tank a bounce that knocked his teeth together. “I’m just borrowing the loser. You can have him back when I’m bored.”

 

From inside the shirt he could already tell bored would not take long, and that he had paid for the escape with a worse audience. He had picked. That was the part he was going to have to live with.

 

They did not stay in 201. Fifteen minutes after the last of Izzy’s boxes hit the closet, Victoria took him back — still my responsibility — stuffed him into the green shorts because her hands were about to be full of trays, and let Izzy lead them to the main dining hall.

 

Sunday lunch at Ventus was a contact sport. Izzy treated it like one. She picked out the weakest-looking knot of guys at a four-top, said two sentences, and watched them vacate. Victoria felt nothing but pride. Extra-cheese pizza arrived in heaps. Max rode the chair-back inside the shorts, face in the leftover dark of last night, and listened to his family eat.

 

“So.” Victoria went at the pizza with both hands. “What do you think?”

 

“Of Ventus?” Izzy shrugged around a bite. “Nice enough. I can see why Max wanted to go here.”

 

“Oh? And why’s that?”

 

“There’s like three girls for every guy. And they’re all stupid hot.” A look at her mother. “Makes it even funnier that he ended up with you.”

 

“You’re saying I’m not stupid hot?” Victoria faked the pout. “I think your brother would disagree.”

 

“Stepbrother. And yeah. Knowing him.” A giggle. “I mean. Remember our graduation party?”

 

“How could I forget.”

 

A few weeks after they’d graduated, Victoria had thrown the whole class a pool party. The swimsuit had been a choice. Max had taken one look and spent the rest of the day upstairs. Funny thing was, Victoria said, she didn’t think a single one of Izzy’s friends had noticed he was gone.

 

“Probably because I told them he was jacking off.”

 

“Izzy.” Victoria laughed anyway. “No wonder he never made any friends at that school.”

 

“Can you blame me? Look at him now.” The grin went sharp. “I still can’t believe he asked to go up your ass.”

 

“Yeah. That’s a new one for me too. Although I’m sure it’s pretty overwhelming being that small.”

 

“True. Poor little perv. Just when he was about to get away from you, too.”

 

“Right? Talk about a close call.” Victoria leaned forward over the tray. The shorts closed. He went deeper against the hole whether he had asked or not. “So. Have you thought any more about applying here? I saw Bea yesterday. Her offer still stands.”

 

“That’s nice of her.” Izzy pulled a string of cheese. “I’m not trying to do the college thing right now. Streaming takes time.”

 

“You’re not making any money yet.”

 

“I only started like three months ago. This stuff takes time.”

 

“If you say so.” The sigh of someone who had met this wall before. “Maybe we should talk about something else.”

 

They did. Old neighbors. The 7-Eleven manager. Dad’s latest postcard. Max drifted in the shorts toward something like sleep and did not get there. No breakfast. No water except what the fold provided. He was still glad to be on this side of the table instead of in Izzy’s hand.

 

BRRRRTTTTTTTT

 

Silent. Mean. The kind that meant the tacos were done being gas and had somewhere else to be. He grimaced into the cotton and hoped she would take him out before that became a bathroom problem in a dining hall.

 

“Whew.” Victoria wrinkled her nose. “Sorry about that.”

 

“It’s fine. I’m used to—” Izzy looked past her mother’s shoulder and actually gasped. “Holy shit. Is that Crystal West?”

 

A few tables back, pink-and-white, recovered from last night like makeup was a medical device. Crystal saw them looking and lit up.

 

“Oh, hey, Tori.” She excused herself from a knot of Fortuna and came over without waiting to be asked. “Who’s your friend?”

 

“Hey, Crystal. This is my daughter. Izzy.”

 

“Your daughter? No way. I see it, but I would’ve thought you were sisters.”

 

“You’re sweet. We get that a lot.”

 

“Hey.” Izzy’s cool-girl act took a visible hit. “I. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Nice to meet you too.” Crystal sat. “Your mom was the life of the party last night, you know that?”

 

“Oh, god. What’d she do?”

 

“Nothing crazy. Just got roped into a twerking contest with Bella Hart.”

 

“She won,” Crystal added, delighted. “Your little brother was there for the whole thing. Well. Not there there.”

 

Izzy lost it into the pizza. Victoria did not stop her. Under the table, in the shorts, Max listened to his sister meet the girl who already had his face on a phone and understood the next visit was not going to be boxes.

 

Crystal wanted a number. Izzy gave it. Crystal wanted to see “the thing from this morning.” Izzy, after a glance at Victoria, queued the face-fart clip from 201. Crystal slapped the table.

 

“This is gold. Can I—”

 

“Not the whole internet,” Victoria said, still pleasant. “Not today. She’s got a few hundred people. Let’s keep it there until I say otherwise.”

 

Crystal pouted, saved the file anyway, and went back to Fortuna with Izzy’s handle and a promise to plug the Twitch. Clock B had a sister now. Max stayed where he was and did not get lunch.

 

They walked back to USD with him still in the shorts. Izzy was buzzing. Victoria was proud. He was a smear of pizza-smell and last night, and the afternoon was not done.