A Day with Lupe Shrunken First Semester: Abuela 101 chapter 5 by maximally

She dressed right there in front of him. The shiny pink leotard came first—retro 80s style, the stretchy fabric hugging her full breasts and rounded belly before cutting high along her hips. She added leg warmers and slipped into her old white sneakers.

Max swallowed, puzzled. “Abuela… what’s the outfit for?”

Lupe stretched, grinning. “Zumba at the rec center. Keeps me young. Keeps me moving.” She patted her hip.

“Oh, uh… cool.” He hesitated, then tried again. “Could I… maybe stay here at the house while you’re gone? I’ll be okay, I swear.”

She let out a warm laugh and shook her head, already reaching for him. “Ay, mijo, that’s not happening. Abuela’s not leaving her little man behind.”

Lupe couldn’t resist teasing. A playful glint entered her eyes. “But I’ll make it worth your while.” She turned slowly, presenting her broad backside, and rolled her hips in a smooth, rhythmic motion that sent her cheeks bouncing and clapping softly. “How’s my twerking, mijo? Am I doing it the way your Tía Fanny said?” She glanced back over her shoulder, still moving. “You could ride back there during class if you like. Plenty of room, nice and cozy.”

“Very funny,” Max grumbled, feeling his body reacting before his mind could catch up. Years of touch-starved isolation had left him defenseless against the constant flood of sensation Lupe provided—her warmth, her scent, her effortless dominance. The sight of her thick ass swaying so close made heat surge through him; he hardened instantly, his small frame tensing as blood rushed to his face.

Lupe noticed the change—of course she did—but she said nothing, simply holding the pose a beat longer with a soft, knowing hum. Then, without warning, a short puff of gas slipped out, warm and pungent, rolling over him.

prrrrrrrtttttttt

She burst into laughter, waving a hand behind her. “Oops! Sorry, mijo.”

"It's... fine." Max squirmed in humiliation and finally mumbled, “Are you… Taking a purse or anything?”

She patted the smooth leotard. “Nope.”

“Does the outfit have pockets?”

“Uh-uh. Sorry, mijo.”

He swallowed, voice dropping to a whisper. “Can I… just go back in your cleavage, then?”

Lupe’s expression warmed with affection. “Of course you can.” She picked him up and nestled him securely into the deep valley between her breasts. The leotard’s neckline held him snug against her skin. “There we go. Safe and sound. Let’s get Abuela moving.”

The walk to the rec center turned into a constant, rolling jostle. Sunlight heated the pink fabric, and every step sent him sliding through a growing layer of moisture. What unsettled him most was how ordinary the morning appeared to everyone else—neighbors waving, people walking dogs, couples sipping coffee on their porches. No one suspected that a former college student was tucked inside Lupe’s workout clothes like a secret. The normalcy twisted something deep in his chest; his old life felt more like a fading memory with each passing block.

At the rec center, Lupe made straight for her usual group of equally curvaceous, strong-willed Latina GILFs in colorful gear. Their faces brightened the moment they spotted her.

“¡Mira esto, chicas!” Lupe announced, lifting Max from her cleavage and presenting him on her open palm. “My little Max is joining us today.”

The women crowded closer. The silver-streaked one with the green headband cooed first. “Ooh, Lupe, what does your husband think about all this?” Another winked. “He’s adorable—look at him!”

Lupe brushed it off with a hearty laugh. “No, no—this is my grandson, Max. The shrunken one I told you about. He’s staying with Abuela full-time now.” The correction only fueled their amusement. “Even better!” the silver-haired woman declared. “Such a devoted grandson, tagging along to Zumba with his abuela. You’re spoiling her rotten, mijo.”

They fussed over him briefly before the instructor called the class to order. Lupe claimed her usual spot up front and tucked Max back into her cleavage with a quick wink. Marco, the fit young instructor in his late twenties, flashed an easy smile the moment he saw her in the front row.

“Lupe! Always a pleasure,” he called, his gaze lingering appreciatively. “You’re looking fantastic today.”

“Hola, mijo.” Lupe laughed warmly and patted the bulge in her neckline. “My grandson. Medical thing. He’s tagging along today.” That was as much as Marco was getting.

Marco’s grin widened as he leaned in closer, eyes flicking between Lupe and the tiny figure. “Well, one lucky guy, getting to tag along with Lupe like this.” He gave her a playful wink before straightening up. “Ready to lead the way?”

Lupe answered with a warm, playful laugh of her own. “You know I am. Try to keep up with these hips.” She gave her chest a pat as the music surged—loud, driving Latin rhythms that thrummed through her frame.

Marco gave her extra attention throughout the session, using her as the example for several combinations and praising her execution loudly. “Watch how Lupe moves—strong, smooth, powerful. That’s the energy we want!” Whenever she corrected his timing or added extra flair to a step, he grinned and bantered right back, their easy chemistry drawing smiles from the rest of the class. Lupe clearly enjoyed the interaction; her laughter rang brighter and her movements grew bolder in response.

That extra spark translated into more vigorous motion for Max. Every hip roll sent him tumbling through slick warmth. Every deep squat pressed him firmly into the rising heat of her skin. Sweat gathered quickly, turning the space between her breasts into a humid, slippery trap. The relentless rhythm left him drenched and disoriented, the world reduced to pulsing music, shifting flesh, and the overpowering presence of Lupe’s body at work.

The last notes of the final salsa track faded, and the rec center echoed with scattered applause and breathless chatter. Lupe stood at the front, chest rising and falling in deep, satisfied heaves, her pink leotard dark with fresh sweat along the collar and under her arms. A thin sheen glistened across the deep valley of her cleavage where Max had spent the entire hour bouncing and sliding like a forgotten sock in a dryer. The older women in her usual circle converged on her immediately, fanning themselves with their hands and laughing about how Marco had singled her out again.

“¡Ay, Lupe, you still got it!” called the silver-haired woman with the green headband. “Come on, we’re all heading to that little taqueria on the corner. You in? My treat this time.”

Lupe wiped her forehead with the back of her wrist and gave them a warm, regretful smile. She glanced down at the faint bulge in her cleavage and patted it gently with two fingers. “Sorry, chicas. Not today. I don’t think Max can be out in the sun that long… last thing I need is him turning into a raisin before lunch.”

The group let out a chorus of understanding coos and teasing groans, but they didn’t push. Lupe waved them off with a promise to join next week, then slipped Max back down into the darkness between her breasts for the walk home. The leotard’s stretched neckline sealed him in snugly against her still-pounding heartbeat.

Outside, the sidewalks were empty except for the occasional stray cat and the oppressive, late-morning heat. Every step Lupe took sent a slow-motion earthquake through her body, mashing Max deeper into the sticky, slippery trench of her cleavage. Every time he tried to push himself up, his hands just slid right off her skin.

After a couple of blocks, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. “That instructor… Marco,” he muttered, voice half-muffled against her skin. “He was really giving you the full spotlight today. All those extra compliments, picking you out for every demo.”

Lupe’s laugh rumbled through her chest, warm and genuinely amused. She didn’t break stride. “Oh? You noticed that, did you?” Another soft chuckle. “Mijo, are you getting jealous?”

Max’s face burned hotter than the sun overhead. He squirmed, trying to find a less humiliating angle. “I’m not— I just… he was laying it on kind of thick, that’s all.”

She hummed, the sound playful. “He’s a nice boy. Good energy. But don’t worry your tiny head about it. Abuela’s got her hands full enough with one young man already.” The way she said it made his stomach flip in that now-familiar mix of embarrassment and something he refused to name.

By the time they reached her bungalow, the morning sun had climbed higher, and Lupe’s skin had gone from workout-warm to outright steamy. She didn’t bother with the living room or kitchen. The moment the front door clicked shut behind her, she headed straight for the bathroom, kicking the door open with her sneaker.

Without ceremony, she plucked Max from her cleavage and set him down on the sink. “Stay right there a second, pequeño,” she said, already hooking her thumbs into the waistband of her leotard. She peeled the damp fabric down in one smooth motion, letting her heavy breasts spill free, and her thick belly settle with a soft jiggle. Then she lowered herself onto the seat.

Max grimaced. The sound of her piss hitting the water was loud enough to drown out his thoughts, a hissing waterfall that made him feel even smaller. A faint, warm scent drifted up—nothing overpowering after everything she’d hit him with yesterday, just the natural aftermath of an hour of dancing in the sun. Lupe sighed in relief, eyes half-closed, completely at ease. When she finished, she wiped, stood, and flushed without a second thought.

“Whew. That’s better.” She stripped the rest of the way down, kicking the leotard, leg warmers, and sneakers into a sweaty pile by the hamper. Her body was a landscape of soft curves and flushed skin, still glistening from the workout. She looked down at Max, who was doing his best not to stare and failing miserably. A knowing little smile tugged at her lips. “Look at us. All sticky and stinky after all that moving around. Time for a proper wash, don’t you think?”

Before he could answer, she scooped him up in one palm and stepped into the tub. The shower curtain rattled shut. She twisted the faucet, and warm water cascaded down, filling the stall with steam almost instantly. Lupe set Max on the built-in soap tray—a narrow porcelain ledge that sat at the level of her breasts. The spray didn’t quite reach him directly, but the rising mist wrapped around him like a warm blanket.

Lupe turned under the water, letting it soak her salt-and-pepper braid and run in rivulets down her back, over the wide shelf of her ass, and between her thighs. She grabbed a bar of soap that smelled like a tropical dessert and started working it over every inch of herself—her arms, her heavy breasts, the soft roll of her belly. Max watched in spite of himself. The way the suds slid across her skin, the way her body moved so casually under the stream— it was impossible not to react. He could feel himself getting hard again, his cock twitching against his thigh, totally obvious and impossible to hide.

Lupe noticed almost immediately. She glanced over, one eyebrow lifting, but her expression stayed gentle. “Well now. Looks like somebody’s awake.” She didn’t sound surprised or offended—just matter-of-fact. “It’s all right, mijo. I know how it is for boys your age. All that energy, all cooped up with nowhere to go… especially after everything you’ve been through the last couple of days. Go ahead if you need to. Rub one out. I won’t mind. And don’t worry— I know it’s not about me. It’s just the situation. The closeness. The… everything.”

Max’s ears burned. Again, he was overcome with the desire to melt into the walls. But his dick had other ideas. After a whole day of nonstop teasing and zero relief, he was desperate. His hand wrapped around himself before he could even think about it. The steam, the sight of Lupe’s giant, soapy curves, the fact that she’d just given him a free pass—it all smashed together in his head. He started stroking, faster and faster.

Lupe kept washing, humming softly under the spray, giving him the illusion of privacy even though she was right there. The water drummed against her skin. Max felt the pressure building, tight and urgent. His hips twitched. He was right there, right on the edge—

BRRRAAAAAPPPPPPPPPPP

A deep, wet fart ripped out of Lupe without warning, loud enough to echo off the shower walls. The curtain trapped it instantly, turning the steamy stall into a thick, heavy cloud of warm, bean-laced stench that rolled straight across the soap tray. The moisture in the air made it cling, denser, more intimate, like it had fused with the steam.

Max’s eyes went wide. The stink slammed into him right as he came, hot spurts shooting over his hand while his lungs filled with pure, uncut Lupe fart. It was too much—pleasure and shame smashing together so hard he saw stars. He gasped, shuddered, and came harder than he ever had, every second of it soaked in humiliation and the thick, nasty smell of her ass.

When Lupe turned around and realized what had happened, she burst out laughing. The sound was bright and unashamed. “¡Ay, Dios mío!” She waved a hand behind her, still chuckling. “Sorry, mijo, I didn’t mean to time it like that. I swear I’m not trying to make you fall in love with my gas or anything. It just… slipped out.” She grinned down at him with pure amusement. “Though you have to admit, that was some timing.”

Max just sat there, totally wrecked, chest heaving, cum cooling on his hand and thighs while the stink clung to him like a gross, invisible blanket. His arms flopped to his sides. Every bit of tension he’d been carrying since yesterday just leaked out of him all at once. He went limp, head drooping, too tired to even care how pathetic he looked.

Lupe scooped him up in her giant, slippery hands. “Now… your turn to get washed up.” She held him under the spray, scrubbing him down with fingers that were gentle but still big enough to make him feel like a bar of soap herself. She washed away the cum, the sweat, the stink—everything. When she was done, she shut off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and plopped Max down on the bathroom counter like he was just another thing to be rinsed and set aside.

She dried herself with lazy strokes, humming again, completely comfortable in her nakedness. Max sat there, still catching his breath, the faint coconut scent of her soap now mixed with the memory of that last humid blast.

Finally, he found his voice, small and hoarse. “So… what’s next for the day?”

Lupe paused, towel draped over one shoulder, and looked down at him with that same warm, knowing smile.

“Now? It’s time to earn your keep, mijo.” Lupe winked, turned away, and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her pink housecoat, the fabric whispering over her still-flushed skin. Then, before Max could reply, she bent down, carefully slid her hand under his small figure, and scooped him up in one warm palm. She cradled him against the soft curve of her belly as she padded barefoot down the hallway, as if all this was routine.

The kitchen glowed with mid-morning sun. Copper pots gleamed. A small radio hummed ranchera music. Lupe set him on the wide tile counter beside the cutting board and tied her housecoat loosely. “Stay put. You’re on spoon duty today.”

She moved with the calm efficiency of someone who had cooked a thousand meals here. Leftover beans went into a pot with broth, chopped onion, and cumin. Thick slices of bacon hit the hissing skillet. Each of her steps sent tiny tremors through the counter. Max watched her massive form as she circled around him; each step made the counter tremble. She picked up a miniature spoon she’d clearly prepared earlier and handed it to him. For her, it was no bigger than a toothpick, but in his arms, it felt as heavy as a broom handle.

"Hold this steady while I stir," she said. Lupe placed the tip of the wooden spoon into the pot, then positioned Max's hands on the thick handle, guiding his grip with her large fingers. She waited for him to brace with both arms before she began to stir, making sure he was supporting the spoon.

Max dug his bare feet into the cool tile and threw his whole body into the job. The spoon dipped and swirled under his effort, while Lupe’s hand above steered like a benevolent god. Heat wafted up from the skillet. He was so intent on not letting the spoon slip, he almost missed the first muffled rumble.

Lupe didn’t even pause. A low, bubbling fart slipped out of her as she reached for the chili powder, warm and thick, drifting across the counter like a lazy breeze. It carried the same earthy, bean-heavy scent that was already rising from the pan, only more concentrated. She chuckled once, waved a hand behind herself, and kept stirring as if nothing had happened.

By the time the meal was ready—refried beans scooped beside fluffy scrambled eggs, warm corn tortillas, and a quick salsa she’d pulsed together—Max’s arms ached, and his skin was slick with a light sheen of steam and exertion. Lupe plated everything, then lifted him and the tiny spoon together and carried both to the kitchen table. She settled into her chair with a pleased sigh, set him on a folded napkin beside her plate, and tore off a thumbnail-sized piece of tortilla for him.

They ate in comfortable quiet, the only sounds the scrape of her fork and the low ranchera music. The food was, as always, stupidly good.

Lupe took a sip of her coffee. She set the mug down and tilted her head, studying him with that steady, open gaze. “So tell me, mijo. How are you feeling? In general, I mean.”

Max paused mid-bite, the scrap of tortilla halfway to his mouth. “Uh… good? I think?” He swallowed. “Everything’s still kind of… a lot.”

She nodded. “I get that. But are you enjoying living with your old abuela so far? No second thoughts about coming home with Victoria and Izzy instead?”

He met her eyes and felt the truth settle in his chest before he could second-guess it. “I’m glad I’m here, Abuela. Really. I mean… It’s weird. Obviously. But I don’t regret it. Not for a second.”

Lupe’s whole face softened. “Ay, mijo. That makes me happier than you know.” She took another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “And if there’s anything I can do to help you feel more comfortable here, you tell me, okay? This is your home now too. I want you to feel it.”

Max nodded, the offer landing warmly. But even as he did, the one thing that had been gnawing at him since yesterday pushed its way forward. He knew he was risking another gentle lecture, especially after she had shut down the laptop idea so firmly the night before. Still, the words came out before he could stop them.

“Actually… there is something.” He set his tortilla down, nerves tightening. “I know I used to spend way too much time online. But it’s been almost two days, and I haven’t been offline this long in years. Would you maybe… be willing to let me use your phone for a bit? It would help me feel a lot more normal.”

Lupe raised an eyebrow, lips twitching with amusement. She studied him a long moment, then let out a soft, fond laugh.

“Ay, look at you, making your little case like a lawyer. Very polite—I like that.” She leaned back, chair creaking. “I’ll be honest, mijo. I use the internet too. I talk to your tía Fanny, watch church sermons, stream my novelas when the cable acts up. So I’m not completely against it.”

Max’s heart lifted.

“But,” she continued, holding up one finger, “there will be rules. You only use it when I say so, and only while I’m right there with you. No hiding. No staying on it for hours. We’ll start small and see how it goes. Understood?”

“Yes,” he said quickly. “Completely. Thank you.”

“Alright.” Lupe pulled her phone from her housecoat pocket and set the glowing screen beside him. “Go on then. Show me what you do on this thing.”

He moved to the bottom edge of the screen, feet padding across the smooth glass as if it were a dance floor. With both hands, he tapped the app store icon—awkward at his scale, but doable—and downloaded Reddit. The progress bar felt endless. When it finished, he logged in, muscle memory guiding his tiny fingers across the giant keyboard. Only then did he realize he'd have been better off staying off his old account.

The first posts to load were all from r/BokuNoHeroAcademia and r/animememes: curvy heroines in skin-tight costumes, exaggerated hips and chests bouncing across colorful panels. One in particular—a fan-art piece of a busty MHA character striking a pose—filled half the screen. Behind him, Lupe’s whole expression changed; a big, knowing smile spread across her face, slow and dangerous in the best way.

“¡Mírate, travieso!” she purred, voice husky and rich with amusement. “So this is what you were looking at instead of talking to real girls, eh?” Without warning, she shifted forward in her chair, the soft, heavy bulk of her breasts settling against the edge of the table right beside him. She reached down with both hands and gently pressed them together, the warm, yielding flesh swelling forward until Max was caught in the sudden, fragrant valley of cleavage that pressed lightly against his side. “No wonder you get so red and shy when Abuela hugs you tight. You like them with some meat on the bones… like your Abuela~.”

Max’s ears burned. He stammered something incoherent, but Lupe only laughed, the sound vibrating through her body and into him. She kept her breasts snugly pressed together a moment longer, the heat and softness overwhelming, before easing back just enough to let him breathe.

He scrolled a little longer, tension slowly loosening from his shoulders. Fortunately, the rest of his feed—a mix of gaming, anime and niche memes—was much less overtly unflattering. For the first time since shrinking, a thin thread connected him back to the outside world—even though having his giant abuela over his shoulder made for a completely new browsing experience.

After ten minutes, Lupe sighed softly and reached for the phone. “Alright, mijo. Time’s up for now.” Her tone stayed light, but the decision was final. “Maybe you can earn a little more before bed tonight—if you give Abuela’s feet a nice long rub first.”

She pocketed the phone with a wink, then stood, stacking the plates with a quiet clatter. “I’ll be right back. Going to throw on some real clothes. Probably seen enough of your abuela naked for one day, eh?” She grinned down at him, playful. “Unless you want to tag along for another look. Door’s open.”

“I’m all set.” Max managed a chuckle, the sound thin even to his own ears. “Thanks.”

She left him there on the napkin, the kitchen suddenly huge and quiet around him. For the first time since he’d woken up shrunken yesterday morning, he was alone. No warm palm, no looming body, no voice filling the air. The silence pressed in. The hum of the fridge, the distant tick of a clock, the creak of the floorboards as she moved in the next room—it all felt too loud and too empty at the same time. His chest tightened. The hollow feeling from the table talk widened into something colder, sharper. What the hell was he doing here?

He hugged his knees, skin still sticky with steam. The counter stretched like a desert around him. For one wild second he wondered if he could climb down and hide. The thought dissolved into embarrassment. Hide from what? From her? From the only person who actually wanted him around?

Footsteps returned. Lupe stepped back in wearing a simple yellow sundress that swayed around her knees, hair in a loose bun. She looked fresh, rested, completely at ease. Relief flooded Max so fast it embarrassed him. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Ready, mijo?” She smiled down at him, soft and knowing. “We've got errands to run.”

"We’re low on a few things," Lupe said, reaching for the canvas tote by the back door. "Milk, cilantro, maybe those little chiles I like. Nothing big, but Abuela doesn’t do empty cabinets."

She lifted her shrunken step-grandson smoothly, her whole hand wrapped around him like he was nothing, and pressed him once more into the deep, plush valley between her breasts. The yellow sundress hugged her curves, its low neckline letting him sink into soft, sun-warmed skin scented with kitchen heat and vanilla lotion. The fabric settled over him like a second skin.

"There we go," she murmured, patting the gentle swell where he now rested.

The front door clicked shut behind them. Bright Los Angeles sunlight washed over the quiet street, carrying the distant hum of traffic and the sound of kids playing a few houses down. They were only half a block out when the first familiar voice rang out.

“Lupe! ¡Mi amiga! Hold up!”

Mrs. Ramirez waved from her porch in a bright floral housecoat, watering can in hand. Lupe slowed, turning with a smile that lifted her chest.

“Elena! How’s that hip of yours treating you this week?”

As the two women fell into easy conversation, Max stayed perfectly still, praying the deep neckline would hide him. No such luck.

"And who’s this?" Mrs. Ramirez asked, curiosity narrowing her eyes. "A new friend? Or more than a friend?"

Lupe laughed, the sound vibrating straight through him. "Oh, this is my grandson Max. He’s… well, he’s had a bit of a situation." She hooked a finger into the neckline and gently tugged it outward, letting afternoon light spill down onto him. "Say hi, mijo."

Max’s face burned as he looked up at the giant face peering down—kind eyes behind thick glasses, mouth forming a perfect O. He managed a weak wave.

“¡Ay, Dios mío!” Mrs. Ramirez exclaimed, leaning closer. “He’s so tiny! Like one of those little dolls my granddaughter plays with!”

They chatted another minute, Mrs. Ramirez firing off questions while Lupe answered with easy pride. Max kept his eyes fixed on the soft skin between her breasts, cheeks flaming. When they finally said goodbye, and Lupe started walking again, he waited until they were half a block away before whispering up to her.

“Did you have to do that?”

Lupe’s chuckle rolled over him. "Mijo, it’d be weirder if I pretended you weren’t there. These are my people. They’d hear about you eventually—better they meet you properly than gossip behind my back." She patted the top of her cleavage, pressing him briefly deeper. "Besides, I’m proud of my little helper. Let the neighborhood know who’s keeping Abuela company these days."

No second stop. By the time the corner store’s faded green awning came into view, his nerves felt raw. The bodega smelled like old wood, spiced snacks, and whatever the hot-food counter was frying. Lupe pushed through the door with a cheerful jingle. A few heads turned; she was clearly a regular.

She moved down the narrow aisles with practiced ease, dropping a half-gallon of milk, cilantro, two jars of salsa, and dried chiles into her tote. Max stayed tucked away, listening to the clink of bottles and the low hum of the refrigerated cases. Each time she bent over, he got mashed deeper—an accessory to her shopping spree.

At the checkout, the usual cashier looked up from her phone. She was thick in all the right places, with jet-black hair streaked electric purple and heavy eyeliner. A black band tee stretched across her chest, and a silver septum ring glinted under the lights. Her apron bore a laminated nametag: SELENA. She looked like she’d rather be anywhere else—at least, until she saw Lupe.

"Mrs. V!" Selena exclaimed, her whole face lighting up. "I missed you last week. How you doing?"

Lupe set her tote on the counter and laughed warmly. "Better than ever, mija. You know how it is—keep moving, keep eating good. How about you? Still dealing with that boyfriend of yours?"

"Kyle?" Selena groaned, rolling her eyes as she scanned the milk. "Don’t even get me started. I found out he cheated again last week. And he flunked out of community college because he’d rather sit in his mom’s basement smoking weed and playing Fortnite all day. I keep telling myself I deserve better, but…" She shrugged, dark hair swaying. "Around here? Slim pickings for a girl like me."

Max didn’t dare move, barely breathing in the humid darkness of Lupe’s dress. He could feel her heart thumping faster, clearly plotting his next round of unintentional public embarrassment.

Selena kept scanning, her voice dropping into that familiar complaint rhythm. “I mean, he’s cute in that lazy way, but come on. I’m eighteen. I want someone who actually has their life together. Someone who can hold a conversation that isn’t just ‘bro, did you see that headshot?’

Lupe leaned one hip against the counter and smiled. "You know, mija, I might have just the guy for you. My grandson Max—he’s your age, single, and he got into Ventus earlier this year. Smart as a whip."

Selena’s eyebrows rose. "Ventus? Like, Girl Harvard? I didn’t know that place was co-ed." She laughed, scanning the last jar. "You know what? I’ve known you long enough to do you the favor of humoring you, Mrs. V. You got his number?"

Lupe’s eyes sparkled with mischief. "I’ll do you one better." She moved her hand to her neckline. Before Max could brace himself, two fingers dipped in and fished him out like he weighed nothing. Cool air hit his skin as she lifted him level with the counter, holding him gently between thumb and forefinger.

“Selena,” Lupe said, voice bright, “meet Max. Max, meet Selena.”

Max’s stomach dropped. He hung there, three inches tall and naked, face-to-face with a girl who looked like she ate guys like him for breakfast. Selena’s dark eyes widened, then softened with surprise. A small, stifled laugh escaped before she could catch it.

"Hi… Max," she managed, cheeks tinting pink. She gave a little two-finger wave. "I… wow. Nice to meet you."

He tried to think of something cool. All that came out was a strangled, “Uh… hey.”

Lupe wasn’t finished. "You two should talk sometime. Maybe you could swing by the house after your shift? Or I could drop him off here if you want—keep you company on your break."

Selena recovered quickly, glancing between him and Lupe with an awkward but kind smile. "That’s really sweet of you, Mrs. V, but… I think I’m gonna pass. You seem cool and all, Max, but you’re not really my type. No offense." She winced at her own words and added quickly, "But seriously, nice to meet you. Hope you’re settling in okay with Mrs. V."

Lupe didn’t miss a beat. She pulled Max back to her chest, nestling him snugly. "No worries at all, mija." She winked. "More for Abuela, right?"

Selena let out a genuine giggle as she finished ringing up the groceries. “You’re something else, Mrs. V. You take care now, okay?”

The walk home was quieter, tote bag heavier on Lupe’s shoulder. Max stayed buried deep. The afternoon sun had warmed her dress, turning the valley around him into a cozy, humid pocket, but he wasn’t up for more introductions after Lupe’s matchmaking attempt.

After a block, Lupe’s voice drifted down, gentle but pointed. “You could’ve been a little more outgoing back there, mijo. Selena’s a good girl under all that makeup. Pretty, hardworking, smart. Could’ve been a perfect match if you’d just smiled and said more than two words.”

“I don’t know, Lupe.” Max shifted against her skin. “Even when I was normal size, a girl like that wouldn’t have looked twice at me.”

Lupe gave a soft scoff. “Not with that attitude, she wouldn’t.”

Max sighed. He was used to these lectures from Lupe—just not while being mashed into a sweaty boob canyon. ‘Yeah, maybe…’

“It’s alright, mijo.” She patted her chest, pressing him a fraction deeper. “We’ll work on it. Plenty of time.”

The bungalow came into view up ahead. As the neighborhood sounds faded, Max let his eyes drift shut for the last few steps. Another errand done. Another day of being Lupe’s tiny shadow. While part of him was still wondering if he’d ever get used to this, another part of him already had.