Abuela Knows Best Shrunken First Semester: Abuela 101 chapter 2 by maximally

Max barely had time to process that before the door to 214 flew open. No knock.

 

Izzy Vasquez-Calhoun swaggered in like the princess of chaos she was: 5'3" and 180 pounds of mall-goth menace. Straight black hair in its emo curtain, eyeliner and glossy lipstick caked on thick. By Vasquez standards she was practically a beanpole. Compared to any regular girl her age, she still had the kind of curves that could stop traffic, and she knew it. Black tank top over a soft belly and ample chest. Cut-off jean shorts barely containing pale thigh and generous booty. Muddy Converse. That shit-eating grin spread the second her eyes landed on her favorite chew toy.

 

“No. Fucking. Way.” Delighted laughter. “Maxie? Is that actually you down there? Holy shit. You’re microscopic.”

 

She kicked the door shut and dropped into a crouch. Hot breath blasted him—cheap mint gum and mango vape. Black lips peeled back. All teeth. Zero mercy.

 

“Sup, big bro. Or should I say lil bro?” She poked him with one black-nailed finger, nearly pushing him deeper into Lupe’s cleavage. “Look at you. Naked and three inches tall. I bet this is your worst nightmare, huh? Big bad Izzy, ten times your size and ready to play.”

 

Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose. The corner of her mouth twitched. “Izzy, be nice. And don’t poke your brother like that.”

 

“Oh, come on, Mom.” Izzy bounced on her heels. “This is hilarious. So I get to look after him now, right? I’ve got that old hamster cage in my room. I’ll even let him ride around in my shorts sometimes. Bet he’d love that, the little perv.” A wicked grin down at him. “Right, Maxie? You’ve been staring at my ass since we moved in.”

 

Lupe’s hand cupped tighter. She straightened to her full height and towered over her granddaughter.

 

“Absolutely not, mija.” Firm. Final. “If Max is going home with anyone other than his mamá today, it should be me.” A pointed once-over. “You are far too wild and irresponsible for this. What he needs is a firm hand. Not a hamster cage and whatever nonsense you’d get up to with those little outfits.”

 

Izzy’s grin widened. She crossed her arms, tank top riding higher on her belly. “Aw, come on, Abuela. I know he’s your favorite. But I know him way better than you—and I know he’d rather go up my ass than yours. Right, lil bro?” She scoffed at her mother. “Plus, once I’ve got him hooked up with a full-time job huffing my farts, maybe Mom will stop hovering over him for two minutes and remember she has a daughter again.”

 

Lupe’s eyes narrowed, shifting to Victoria as well. “That is enough, Isabella. Max has always been a good boy deep down. Much better than you.”

 

His heart was a hummingbird. Naked, sweaty, mashed into Lupe’s cleavage, her breasts a furnace at his back. Three Vasquez women loomed: Victoria blotting out the ceiling lights, Lupe radiating grandma discipline, Izzy’s goth ass practically vibrating with the urge to squash him. He swallowed and scraped together whatever courage hadn’t already leaked out.

 

“W-wait. If you and Mom and Abuela are all here… is Aunt Fanny here too? She lives in LA now, right?”

 

“Your aunt was supposed to be here.” Victoria rubbed the back of her neck. “But…”

 

Izzy never let anything awkward go unsaid. “She texted Mom like an hour ago. Woke up hungover as hell. Couldn’t even get her fat ass out of bed.” Loud gum smack. “You know Aunt Fanny. Probably out all night at some dive bar letting some girl buy her drinks, then crashed hard.”

 

Lupe clicked her tongue. Her thumb kept stroking Max’s back. “That girl never changes. Always running wild while the rest of us clean up the mess.”

 

His shoulders slumped. “Oh.”

 

Victoria sighed like she could flatten a freshman. She stood to her full six-foot-one, both hands landing on her hips with a smack that made the shorts groan.

 

“That’s enough. Mamá. Izzy. Stop it. He’s not a toy. He’s my son, your grandson, your brother. He’s scared and three inches tall. We are not turning this into a custody match.” She looked down at him, then at her mother. “And for the record, if he had to go home with anyone right now, it would obviously be me.” One manicured fingertip stroked his chest. “He’s still my responsibility. But after everything he’s been through today, he deserves at least one real choice.”

 

Lupe gave a single reluctant nod. Her fingers stayed curled around him.

 

“Ugh. Fine.” Izzy rolled her eyes. “But you know I’d be way more fun than Abuela’s whole ‘real discipline’ routine.”

 

Victoria ignored her and crouched again, face level with Lupe’s palm.

 

“Sweetie. I know this is a lot. Obviously you can’t stay here like this. So. Do you want to come home with me and Izzy tonight, or go back to LA with your abuela for a couple days?”

 

His tiny heart pounded. Him. Decide.

 

Lupe’s eyes promised slow-motion smothering from a woman with thighs like sofa cushions. She’d scold him for hours. She wouldn’t break him on purpose. Hopefully.

 

Izzy was vibrating. Flashbacks stacked up without asking: morning face-farts, crusty socks, truth-or-dare with her friends, Snapchat watching him kiss her feet. He didn’t have to imagine what she’d do with a hamster cage. She’d already said it.

 

Victoria was more predictable. If he picked her, she would carry him like a purse dog and call it love. She had never been able to say no to Izzy. He’d end up in that cage anyway, with extra steps and a bedtime.

 

Strategy. Not surrender. The devil who already knew him and would not share.

 

“L-Lupe.” It came out as a high-pitched squeak. “I… I choose Lupe.”

 

He heard how it sounded. Small. Pathetic. Like he was asking to be packed into her purse. He still meant it.

 

The words hung. Then Izzy burst out laughing and clapped.

 

“Oh my God, lil bro. You’re actually picking Abuela over me? That’s hilarious. What, you think she’s gonna go easy on you? Newsflash—you’re gonna spend another weekend getting smothered in old-lady tits and empanada farts while she tells you how porn ruined your brain.”

 

Lupe’s lips twitched. Satisfied. “That’s my good boy.” Warm. Rich. “I think you’ve had more than enough excitement for one day, mijo. Abuela’s going to take you home now. A nice quiet ride, a hot meal, some proper rest. How does that sound?”

 

He was too dazed to want anything except distance from Izzy. He nodded. “Y-yeah. That sounds nice. Thanks, Lupe.”

 

Victoria studied him, full lips pressed together in reluctant acceptance. She would have preferred him under her own roof. Lupe had always been the only person she trusted to look after him when she couldn’t. That hadn’t changed.

 

“Alright.” Soft. “I guess that settles it.” She straightened. “Izzy and I will head to admin and start tying up the loose ends. Pull you out of classes, get whatever paperwork they make us sign. We’ll call you later once we know what we’re dealing with.”

 

“Sure.” Small. “See you later, I guess.”

 

Victoria leaned in. Vanilla-spiced breath washed over him. She kissed one manicured fingertip and pressed the warm pad of it against his chest and face.

 

“Bye for now, sweetie. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—you call me right away. I’m still your mom. I’ll always be here, no matter how small you get.” One last stroke. “And Mamá… go easy on him, okay?”

 

“No promises.” Lupe winked.

 

Izzy gave him a wicked little finger-wave. “Bye-bye, lil bro. Don’t have too much fun with Abuela.” She blew a mocking kiss and followed her mother toward the door, thick ass and thighs jiggling with every step.

 

The door clicked shut.

 

He was alone with his step-grandmother.

 

“You made the right choice picking Abuela, mijo.” Proud. “I love your mamá with all my heart. Izzy too, whether she realizes it or not. But I don’t trust either of those two with you like this. Not for a single minute. Your mamá would baby you until you forgot how to think for yourself, and that sister of yours…” She shook her head, amusement leaking through. “Well. You’re welcome.”

 

In spite of everything, the corner of his mouth twitched. Next to Aunt Fanny, Lupe was the only person he’d ever really been able to vent to about Victoria and Izzy. She came with her own quirks. Right now, he could work with that.

 

She lifted him level with her eyes. A teacher looking at the perfect broken student.

 

“When I found you back there, I thought, ay, Dios mío. He’s finally hit rock bottom. All those years hiding in your room, filling your mind with internet mierda. Now you can’t. You are right here, where I can finally keep you safe.”

 

He swallowed. “I don’t feel very safe.”

 

Her chuckle vibrated through her whole body. “You will. A big boy like you always needed a strong woman to look after him. Now you have no choice but to let Abuela do her job. It’s a blessing, Max. A second chance to start you over. And I don’t waste second chances.”

 

She brought him to her face and pressed her full red lips against his entire naked body. Soft flesh engulfed him from chest to knees. Three long seconds. A hum. A satisfied smack.

 

“Now. Anything you want to take from your room before we go?”

 

He smiled weakly. The Steam library flickered again, stupid and loud. “My… my laptop?”

 

The no-BS glare sharpened. Same look she used to give him when she found him still awake at two in the morning with the headphones on.

 

“Your laptop? That thing is half the reason you’re in this mess in the first place. All those hours in the dark, filling your head with internet mierda instead of talking to a real girl. You think Abuela is going to let you hide in a screen now that you can’t even lift the thing?”

 

He opened his mouth. The argument died on the way out. Three inches tall, he couldn’t even plug the charger in. “Okay. I’m ready to go.”

 

“Good boy.” She nestled him deeper into the soft, sweaty crease between her breasts until only his head peeked from the blouse. One hand cupped over him like a seatbelt. “Let’s get you home.”

 

She stepped out of 214 and let the door fall shut on the weed and the unmade bunk and the life that had lasted four weeks. USD was still a lazy Saturday afternoon. Girls in hoodies and leggings shuffled back from the dining hall. A couple of guys argued over a game in the common room. Lupe moved through them like a battleship. No one gave the towering sixty-four-year-old grandmother more than a polite nod. To them she was a visiting relative. To Max, pressed between the pillows of her breasts, she was the entire world.

 

Each step sent a rolling shake through her body. He bounced in the damp valley. Salt on her skin, rosewater, old perfume, warm sweat from the long drive up that morning. Her heartbeat thudded around him, slow and powerful. A couple of girls passed and gave her a double-take. Lupe nodded back, cool as ever, fingers adjusting the blouse so he stayed hidden and squished.

 

She kept him there all the way to the parking lot. Fall heat turned the walk into a sauna. By the time the visitor lot came into view, his skin was slick with her and the last of his own panic sweat.

 

No more dorm. No more college. No more girls his age looking through him in the dining hall. Well. Except Abuela. That thought made his tiny stomach flip in a way he did not want to name.

 

*

 

The aging silver minivan waited like it had been parked there all morning. Faded Virgen sticker. Hot vinyl. She eased her massive body into the driver’s seat with a grunt. The suspension creaked. She shut the door, and the campus noise cut off like someone had put a lid on the world.

 

She peeled the blouse back just enough to let him breathe. Afternoon light slashed across his face. Through the windshield, undergrads crossed the lawns with iced coffee and backpacks, heading toward whatever Saturday was supposed to look like.

 

His last look at Ventus. He sighed.

 

The engine rumbled. She did not turn on the A/C.

 

“Ay, mijo. I know this probably feels like a raw deal. Cute girls. New friends. Parties.” She shifted in the seat, and the motion pressed him tighter into the warm damp valley. “Be honest with Abuela. How did you actually spend your first month at that fancy university?”

 

“I mostly just stayed in my room. Classes. Gaming. Anime. That’s about it.”

 

She clicked her tongue. The smirk was playful anyway. “Of course you did. All that time surrounded by thousands of pretty girls, and even that wasn’t enough to get you off that stupid computer.” A pat on her cleavage that mashed him deeper. “I saw how you froze the second Izzy walked in. Your own stepsister. That’s what happens when you waste all your time in the dark.”

 

Ventus slid past the window and then fell behind them. Palm trees. The freeway on-ramp. The campus shrank in the side mirror until it was just another cluster of buildings he would never walk through again.

 

“When I was your age—ay, Dios mío—I was out there living. Real boys. Real parties. Real fun. Making mistakes I still laugh about.” A long breath that lifted him and set him down again. “I’m sorry you’re never going to get to enjoy all of that, mijo.”

 

His face went nuclear. He wanted to tell her college hadn’t even started, not really. The words stuck.

 

Before he could stammer anything, her stomach let out a deep, wet grumble that rattled through her chest and straight into his spine.

 

BBBBBRRRRRRRAAAAAPPPPPPP

 

Long. Heavy. Unapologetic. The seat muffled the sound and did nothing for the rest of it.

 

“Oh. Excuse Abuela.” She did not sound particularly sorry.

 

The smell followed in a thick rolling wave and filled the closed minivan in seconds: heavy, eggy, bean-and-empanada, that lingering sweetness only her gut produced, dense enough to make his eyes water on contact. Years of home-cooked Mexican meals and no apologies. It clung to the hot vinyl, to the blouse, to the insides of his nose.

 

She didn’t crack a window. Didn’t fan it away. Just kept driving, one hand on the wheel, the other absently cupping her chest so he couldn’t squirm out of the worst of it.

 

He pressed his face harder into the side of her left breast and tried to breathe through fabric that already smelled like her. Out of all the Vasquez women he could have picked, he’d landed the one whose gas had weight. It soaked into clothes and skin and air like it planned to stay for the whole six hours.

 

The drive suddenly felt like a slow-motion sentence.

 

There was no going back now.