#allhallowes

his hands are sweating in a way they haven't since baseball camp. the lack of confidence, he supposes, is similar . . . but worse. way worse. it's about dani. & he guesses, now and more than a little inconveniently, the swarms of kids in the streets that he definitely does not want to hit. he'd tried his best to shout at them to get out of the street, gave up on that. moved onto honking in an attempt to jostle them, but that was also pointless. he's agitated : with the sandersons, with how stupid he was to leave dani alone. it's a feeling with a loud presenece in his throat, in his ears, all the while beneath it, in his gut , it's remorse that eats at him. it makes it hard to focus.

irritation bites at the back of his neck as max navigates around charlie & his angels, car at a creep in his caution. there's no time for all of this, hardly the space left to worry about anything but his sister. he's supposed to take care of her, but all he's managed to do tonight is put her in danger. it's so crummy of him, & man, does he feel it. as they depart from the busier streets & hit a side road, he wants to speed, wants to slam his foot on the pedal and not let off, & thank god for allison speaking up, reminding him of what more is at risk besides what's already been lost in his shortsightedness.

for her to say it outloud, what he knows must have been the case all night even if they've both been playing pretend for dani . . . ' there's nothing to be scared of, ' bravado! he's been putting it on all night, only now does it feel like a bold faced lie rather than protection. ' those old crones will fall for it. ' he hopes. truly, sincerely, hopes that their tricks will work this one last time, just long enough to get dani & binx safe ; if even just them. max reaches a hand over — not before wiping it dry on his pants — squeezes just above her knee, ' we've got this. '

there's all those gross books & whatnot in his parent's bedroom : the one's with the couple on an unrealistic scenescape, the titles something max would never say outloud. he used to think it was sorta lame, and sort of . . . phoned in? what little he dared to read on the backs of them, at least, while helping pack his mom's stuff. but now, in brisk winter air under clouds that should sour his mood, used to sunny l.a as he is, he thinks he gets it. allison has got her arm looped through his, head on his shoulder, & max thinks he's never felt warmth deeper in his core than with her, when they're like this, just sort of chilling.

he thinks about how one of those writers would describe this, her : autmnal, he thinks. the beggining, the weird part where it sorta heats up again & fends off the cold just a little longer. false fall, his dad calls it, but there's nothing about her that feels fake, almost feels offensive to make the comparison. he wonders if it's any consolation were he to say he can't imagine longing for any other season anymore? he probably should just think of something better. not that he's gotta woo her or anything, already bound as they are, but it's like if he doesn't let something out, his heart will jump right out his chest. it's just so full ( close to feeling whole again . . .? )

max must not be looking too closely at where he's walking, too busy looking at her, always it seems, ever since he's been here -- her free hand comes across and lays firm on his chest to stop him from becoming a victim of bikehicular manslaughter, & his hand finds her's there, holds it firm as he turns into her fully. her voice is warm, like steam from a warm drink. that's probably something they'd say in one of those books. or in a sixth graders notebook. ' oh, uh, ' he laughs ( unphased by close calls ) & to share it with her feels freeing. he shrugs casually, against the pounding of his heart, against the boyish instinct to hide away the red creeping onto his face, ' yeah. guess i'm having a good time. '