chapter fifteen
blue and green
📼
Max Mayfield is, whether she'd admit it or not, a silent observer. She watches people from afar while tucked in the corner of the room, keeping to herself. Max watches them talk, how they express themselves in a conversation, and the reactions of the people they're talking to. She learns things about people without having to speak a word to them, down to the fragments of their personalities, their little tells when they're honest or when they lie.
Max wishes she couldn't tell anyone about this. She wishes she couldn't tell the way her dad's left eyebrow slightly twitched when he said she would always be his daughter after his new wife gave birth to a little girl. Max wishes she couldn't tell Neil Hargrove would do anything in his power so she wouldn't become the same fuckup as his son.
But she doesn't know the little things about anyone. Maxine doesn't bother learning the things about people she swears she doesn't give a damn about, about people she doesn't want to know about, about people she knows she won't give a damn about.
This is why she never gave much attention to Dustin Henderson or Lucas Sinclair, even if the two of them had practically thrown themselves into her life. She never gave a damn about them or their friends until that Halloween night.
Max noticed, then, how Dustin and Lucas spoke to each other with mere glances, how they'd turn to Mike Wheeler and Will Byers, and how all four of them already knew what the others were thinking. It was the little things; how they stuck together; how none of them let Will Byers stray off alone; how there was always someone at his side. They did it in a way that didn't make Will feel suffocated or like a freak. And Will Byers did feel that way-- he had a great way of hiding it.
But she noticed how they all came together when shit went down: when they found Will Byers crying and shaking behind a house, Mike took charge, and none of them did anything to stop that because everyone knew their place, and when it went silent, they all argued with their eyes, speaking to each other without having to say a word.
There are a lot of things they do that Max pays attention to.
And it isn't just the boys; it's also Rue Newby.
There are a lot of things about Rue Newby that Max has noticed. And there are things she doesn't call attention to.
Rue always carries a Walkman. It's a sad old thing where the labels on the buttons were just about rubbing off from how many times they'd been pressed. It's decorated with gemstones and sparkly stars and planet stickers, and honestly, Max thinks it looks stupid, like it was owned by a five-year-old. It doesn't bother her -- she just finds it odd. Max doesn't own a Walkman herself, but she had a friend in San Diego who did; she remembers buying dozens of cassettes with him. He never used it every day, though. Max wonders if Rue probably slept with it.
For someone who loves to cook and bake, Rue barely eats. Max always thought that if she was good enough in the kitchen-- if she made a recipe off the top of her head and it turned out to be the best meal she'd ever eaten-- she'd never stop eating, growing so fat that she'd have to roll around to get places. Rue sometimes eats a couple of fruits (strawberries, kiwis, and cherries are her favourites) unless she's splitting a cafeteria cookie with Lucas or Lilah. Other than that, she doesn't eat a lot, maybe a few bites of her food until she offers the rest to Will who takes it happily.
Rue loves being held. Whenever an arm is around her, she leans into it; as if she were a flower turning towards the sun in the morning. Lucas loves throwing his arm over her shoulder; he loves staying close to Rue; a moth to a flame. Rue doesn't seem to mind it, in fact, Max is sure Rue loves it as much as Lucas does. That Halloween night, when the three of them walked home, Max noticed how Rue lingered close to Lucas's side and leaned her head on his shoulder once his arm was around her. How they hugged at his doorstep. Rue can never turn down a warm embrace - it makes her feel loved. Max knows that.
But then, there are other things that she does call attention to. She can't help but call attention because it's like someone breathing down her neck.
Like Rue being so gentle. Max thinks of her as a flower, a delicate thing that can wilt at any given moment; too much water, too much sun, not enough water, not enough sun. It's like walking on eggshells; one wrong move, and suddenly everything is ruined. Max tried to be softer, she tried to be nice; but holy shit, Rue Newby has got to be the most sensitive person Max has ever met in her entire life.
Right now, still dressed in her Scooby Doo costume, Rue's chewing on her lower lip to stop herself from crying. She's turned away from Max, dragging her candy bag on the sidewalk as she leads the way home, quick with her steps so Max wouldn't see her cry.
It didn't take a genius to know that Mike Wheeler had no idea how to talk to girls, especially a girl like Rue. Max never wanted to be caught in the middle of their catfight, but it was Rue who insisted on following Will back to Mike's house; it was Rue who promised Max that it would take five minutes or less. But the moment the two of them stepped into the basement, Mike Wheeler just about exploded, as if he were at his final straw, and the sight of them drove him to the edge.
He swore and cursed, pointed his finger, and shoved Rue's shoulders, yelling until his face got so red they couldn't see his freckles. And Rue shoved back and yelled back at him. Will Byers had to step between them. But everything had already been said by then, and Mike had already sworn that Will's life and everyone else's would be so much better if Rue never stepped foot into it.
Rue never cried in front of Mike, and she held back her tears as she ran into Jonathan Byers while she tried to leave the house in her frenzy. He stopped her, holding onto her shoulders and frowning, and asked if she was okay. Jonathan Byers had a strange way with words, a comforting rasp in his voice, and deer eyes that saw into your soul. Max thought it was terrifying to have someone care so much; to see through you to the point you're so exposed; to actually treat you like a little sister.
If only Rue had known how lucky she was to have Jonathan in her life. But instead, she looked away from him, refusing to meet his pleading eyes, and shrugged his arms off her shoulders like a brat.
Rue told him she was fine; she had a headache and wanted to go home. Max realized at the moment how easily lying came to Rue. She was a master at it; not one tick, stutter, flinch, or tell told anyone that she wasn't honest.
Jonathan offered to take her home.
Rue said she'd rather walk; her house was two blocks away anyway.
Rue didn't know that Jonathan meant to take her to another home. His home. A home where Joyce Byers and Bob Newby waited for their kids to return so they could watch the dumb movies Bob picked and eat so much candy that they'd feel sick.
She started to cry the second she stepped off Mike Wheeler's street. Turning the corner, she shut her eyes tightly and stopped moving, dropping her head to stare at her feet as tears started to roll down her cheeks.
Max was silent the entire time, following Rue like a shadow, not knowing what to say. Her voice never came to her until she was on the steps of Rue's house, watching her unlock the front door. It was impulsive; Max never knew what to do whenever someone cried.
"Christ, that guy's got a stick up his ass, huh?"
A soft puff of air comes out of Rue's mouth: the saddest excuse of a laugh Max has ever heard. She tries again because that breath of air is something, and if Rue was about to sulk the entire night, she might as well go home.
"I'm serious," she says, stepping into the house once Rue swings the door open and flicks on the lights. "I'm so sick of his whining and moaning. For fuck's sake. He's literally the most annoying guy I've ever met in my entire life. I bet his little sister has fewer trantrums than he does."
It's another joke thrown into the air. Rue doesn't laugh at it, though. She probably didn't even hear it, dropping her bag on the kitchen island and wiping her face with the bell sleeves of her dress. Rue lets out another low sigh, her lower lip quivering and frowning as if she's about to start crying all over again.
Max considers going home.
The sound of the fridge slamming shut tears Max away from her thoughts. She watches Rue move around the kitchen, tossing a bowl of strawberries on the counter carelessly.
Max furrows her brows, hesitantly stepping closer. "You... you don't actually believe anything Mike said, right?"
Rue glances at her. Well, she actually doesn't even look up from the strawberries, Max only wishes Rue would look at her. But instead, she grumbled something, picking at the stem of the fruit. "It's... whatever... don't care."
"You sure?"
There's a beat, then she grumbles again, lazily nodding. "Hmm."
Max makes a noise of disbelief as she inches her way closer to the counter. She leans on it, her weight on her elbows. She's about to argue. "Maybe you do."
"I don't.
She is aware she shouldn't do this. Max should stop trying to step into territories she's never entered before. After considering it, Max purses her lips, nodding slowly. She reaches across the counter, takes a strawberry, and throws caution to the wind.
"It looks like you care."
Rue puts down the fruit, sighing. She looks up at Max, finally. "What makes you think I care?"
Max almost laughs, "You literally cried the whole way here."
"Did I? I don't remember that." She mutters, "Maybe you're hallucinating, Max."
She rolls her eyes. "Just admit it."
"Admit what?"
"That you took it to heart."
"Took what to heart?"
"What Mike said."
"What did Mike say?"
"Rue, c'mon. Don't be a dick about it."
Rue shrugs, pretending not to know what Max is talking about. She wipes her face again with her sleeves before turning around to face the stove. "Do you want something to eat?"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Rue."
"Max," she hums, spinning around again. "I don't know what you're talking about. So just drop it, okay? Do you want dinner or not? I can make you something to eat. I've been thinking about trying my mom's old casserole recipe, but I don't have the stomach for it--"
"I'm good," Max cuts in. "I'm not going to ask you to make me a whole casserole."
Rue rolled her eyes and walked around the kitchen island, saying, "It'll be good. You'll love it, I promise. I'm an amazing chef."
"And I believe you; I just..." Max furrowed her eyebrows, and her eyes trailed to the stain of blood on Rue's clothes. She held her breath for a second, "Are you okay?"
Rue shot Max a glance, "I said I didn't want to talk about it--"
"I mean, with the whole nosebleed thing," she explained, frowning as she remembered the pale colour seeping into Rue's skin and how the dark red painted her lips. "I know you said not to worry and how it's a gene thing, but I read somewhere that it can be as serious as anemia. I have no idea what that is, but I want to make sure you're okay."
"I... okay," Rue's voice was stiff, and her hands balled into fists at her sides.
This time, Max kept quiet, letting Rue have the space to think of an answer or change the conversation. It seemed that Max was doing that a lot with Rue—finding ways to listen to her talk. Whether it be an honest confession, listening to her ramble, or getting pissed off at Max for being an asshole.
When Rue slowly approaches her, Max almost steps away.
"You're worried," she whispers, the ghost of a tight smile growing on her lips. "That's really sweet. You shouldn't worry though; I'm fine."
There's a beat of silence, and then: "You can stay over if you want," Rue says, "It's late."
"What, like a sleepover?"
"Yeah, you've never had one of those before, Maxine?"
Max rolls her eyes and says, "Of course I have."
That was a lie. Max has never slept in a house that wasn't her own. She's seen it in the movies; the slumber parties; the pillow fights; the gossiping; the snacks. Max would rather die than admit how badly she wanted to experience it.
And so Max stayed. And Rue led her upstairs, promising she could shower and share her clothes. After she had showered and dressed in what was possibly the softest set of light green pyjamas she had ever worn, Max found herself wandering around Rue's bedroom.
The room wasn't exactly how Max had imagined it, but it was close enough. Every inch and corner of it screamed "Rue Newby," if that had even made sense. All the pastel colours of pink, purple, and green with white, the mess on her desk of jewellery and cassettes and shelves filled with plants, books, and trophies, and her walls decorated with vinyl covers rather than movie posters like Max's room.
Max wanders to Rue's desk; she pushes around lipgloss, hair clips, and jewelry; rings; beaded necklaces; and colourful earrings. She judges Rue's music taste and spots a drawer on the desk. Max glances towards the open door, looking down the hall to the bathroom, before opening the drawer.
She finds notebooks and sticker packets. Max rolls her eyes, realizing how predictable that is. But then, tucked inside a pink binder adorned with gems and boyish stickers: there's a stack of paper sticking out. Max glances at the door again, tucking her wet hair behind her ears as she pulls out the small stack.
They are photos. Some are recent, of Rue, Will, and Jonathan over the summer and at school, as well as her father and a lady Max assumed to be Will's mother. There's one of Rue sitting with Lucas and Will on a couch. The three of them are smiling widely, teeth and all, while there's a mess of popcorn all around. Lucas blinked at the flash while Rue leaned on Will's shoulder.
Max never realizes she's smiling until she feels it fall from her face as she shuffles the pictures. She finds one that's older, where a much younger Rue Newby is held in the arms of her father, reaching towards a woman standing next to them.
As she looks through more of them, Max finds this woman in more and more images. One photo that made her stop was one of Rue and another girl her age. They were a little older. Maybe this was taken a year ago or something. They are both in matching green and white baseball jerseys, squinting at the sun with green caps on their heads.
The sound of footsteps makes Max jump, dropping the photos on the desk and forcing space between herself and the desk until she stumbles onto the window seat. She tries to play it off, sitting as casually as she can.
"Oh," Rue's voice seems surprised once she walks in, her sleeping dress askew, and Max quickly looks away. "Sorry, I didn't mean to keep you waiting. I used my dad's bathroom while you were in the other one."
"You're good. It's fine, I'm fast at... showering," Max looks out the window, cringing as she realizes what she had said. She felt very aware of every movement Rue made behind her, the sound of her fixing her blue nightgown and the quiet patter of her feet against the carpet floor as she moved around her room.
"Hey... Max?"
Max had nearly snapped her neck when she turned to look at Rue, "What?" she squeaked, her eyes wide as Rue stood by her white vanity, photos in her hands. "I... uh..."
"Don't worry. I'm not mad."
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay."
Rue seems to have calmed down after taking her shower. With the stack of photos in her hands, she steps towards Max and nods to the seat next to her, saying, "Move over."
Max shakes her head, scrambling to move. The moonlight shines into Rue's bedroom, blending with the dim lamp on her bedside table. Rue sits in front of Max, mirroring her and crossing her legs. She shuffles through the photos, strands of hair falling over her face before she picks one up and looks at Max.
"This is my mom." She holds it up for Max to see.
It was a woman smiling at the photo, her face pressed against Rue's cheek. From up close, Max can see the resemblance, how the shape of their noses is the same, and the curves of their lips.
"She's pretty," Max says.
Rue bites her lip, putting the photo back into the stack. "Yeah, she was."
There's a long silence as Rue shuffles through the pictures again. Max holds her breath and looks out the window, and she watches the sway of the tree branches and the sparkling stars. She can still see kids walking up and down the street in their costumes and carrying bags full of candy.
"This is Angie," Rue says excitedly.
Max turns to her again to find the picture she was looking at earlier held up to her face.
"She lived across the hall from my apartment. I've known her all my life. We were practically cousins. Maybe even sisters."
"Are you guys still in touch?"
Rue lets out a defeated chuckle, scratching her head. "Uh, ha... no. Not really."
"I get it," Max says. "In California, I had my own Angie. His name was Nate Walker, and he had been my best friend since we were six. We used to be field trip buddies and science partners, and we would play street hockey at my house—"
"Street hockey?" Rue asked, tilting her head at Max with an amused grin.
Max rolled her eyes playfully and said, "Yeah, I play street hockey. So what? Anyways, I told him we were moving about a month ago, and he said we should probably stop being friends since I'm moving across the country and long-distance friendships don't work out."
Rue scoffs, "What a fuckin' dick."
Max's eyes widened. "Did you just curse?"
There's a cheeky grin on her lips. "You'll get over it."
Before Max could respond, Rue jumped up from her spot, putting her photos back where they were before clapping her hands and spinning to face Max. "Do you want to watch a movie? My dad has The Shining on VHS. Unless you're too sissy to watch a scary movie."
Max stood up and scoffed, "Me? A coward," She knocked on Rue's shoulder as she made her way towards the door, "Please, if anyone's a coward, I'd say it's you."
Rue reaches for Max's hand, stopping her before she gets out of the bedroom. Max spins around, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips, as Rue holds her hand up to her face, inspecting it.
She's frowning before she says, "Let me do your nails. It should be a crime to walk around like this."
Max pulls her hand out of Rue's grasp. She looks at her nails, offended. "What's wrong with 'em?"
Rue walks to her closet and laughs when she hears Max exclaim She reaches for a cute box and turns, saying, "You've got so much dirt under them it looks like you can grow plants in there."
"Asshole."
Rue shrugs as she walks past Max, smiling softly at her. "I'm just saying. Besides, a little makeover never hurt anyone."
Max sputters, following Rue down the stairs. "Makeover?"
"Nothing you don't wanna do, Max." She reassures. "It'll be fun. I promise."
────────────
Max finds herself sitting on what she believes is the softest carpet in the world. She could lay on it and sleep for hours on it if she could, but she forced herself not to once Shelley Duvall's hysterical screams rang in her ears. She's suddenly snapped back to reality, and her eyes find the girl sitting in front of her.
Rue Newby has her head low, her chin resting on her knee as she brushes the mint green colour onto Max's nails, careful not to smudge the edges. Her hair was still wet, damping the sky-blue silk of her nightgown, and her eyes were relaxed, something tender hidden behind the lashes.
Max cannot help herself but watch Rue do such a thing. Her nails are painted, and Max loves it. Fuck, she's never felt like such a girl before. Sharing night clothes, eating gummies and chocolate, and watching movies, all make her stomach bubble. For the first time, Max loves being a girl.
She feels a smile growing as Rue gently blows on her fingers, hoping the nail polish dries faster.
"What're you smiling at?" Rue lifts her chin from its place, raising her brows at Max.
She snorts and looks away but doesn't try to hide her wide-spread grin. "Nothin'."
Rue rolls her eyes and nudges Max to give her her other hand. "Try not to smudge it," she warns, "That's my blood sweat and tears."
"Sure," She mutters, staring at her hand. Max glances at Rue again just as she starts painting again, and she suddenly bursts out, "Leave the pinky."
Rue freezes and looks at her, confused, "What? Why?"
"Because," Max says, and she reaches for the table, picking up the blue nail polish Rue plans to use for herself later. She plays with it in her hands before sliding it closer to Rue, and she says the words with a straight face, "I want it blue. I want to match you."
Rue stares at Max and blinks. She doesn't say anything, her lips are parted as if she's trying to find the words, but she can't let them out. That's when Max sees it. The corners of Rue's mouth twitched into a shy smile, and a soft red crawled from her chest to her neck and finally her cheeks. A girlish giggle slips from Rue as she takes the blue nail polish, hoping to hide her face behind the curtain of her hair. "Okay."
She doesn't say anything else as she finishes Max's nails. Every once in a while she'll look up to glance at the television, to see what part of the movie they are at, and sometimes she'll whisper the lines the characters say under her breath.
"There," Rue hums, nodding proudly.
"Thanks." Max grins again.
"First time's free of charge," Rue jokes as she starts to paint her own nails blue. "Next time we do this, you owe me five bucks."
"Next time?"
Rue doesn't look up from her hands, but she nods, "Yeah. You thought this was a one time thing?"
When Max stays silent, Rue looks up at her. She frowns when Max refuses to meet her eyes. "We're friends now, Max." Rue tells her. "That means hundreds of sleepovers and hundreds of movies. You know, because that's what friends do together. You let me in your life and now you can't get rid of me that easily."
Max feels those bubbles growing in her stomach again at the thought of having hundreds more nights like this one, even if it did start rocky. She doesn't let Rue know of that, though. Instead, she rolls her eyes, scowling. "Maybe I've made a mistake. I should've known you were bad news when I saw you wearing overalls."
Rue scoffs and mutters, "Screw off."
Max grins, shifting in her place. "You sure you don't want any help?"
"No, I don't need you messing up my nails."
"Make sure you paint the pinky green."
"Yes, yes. I know."
"So we match."
"I know."
"Because of the green and blue."
"Yeah, I get it."
"Just in case you forgot."
Rue turns to Max once she's finished. She holds her hands up to Max so she can see, smiling so Max can see her teeth. "Done!"
"They match our pajamas."
"And our eyes."
"Huh?"
"Blue for your eyes, and green for mine."
"Oh. I never noticed that."
Max cast a glance at her hands. Her nails were no longer merely green but green for Rue's eyes. Rue's nails were not simply blue but blue for Max's eyes. And the coincidence lounges like a hot spark of fireworks in Max's stomach, and she finds herself lying awake in Rue's bed, still staring at her hands.
Max had laid there, awake, listening to the soft breaths of the girl fast asleep beside her while staring at the roof littered with glowing stick-on stars. She wondered how in the world she got there. Just a few days ago, Rue Newby was a stranger, and now they were having a sleepover. Two girls who were opposites. Like shit, Rue Newby had stick-on stars on the roof of her bedroom, for fucks sake!
Max turned to her side, and she was surprised to find Rue already facing her. Her eyelashes kissed the top of her freckled cheeks, and her skin was illuminated by the soft moonlight. Max rolled her eyes and turned sullenly to her other side.
There were more things about Rue that Max had discovered that night. Rue dances to music if it comes from a vinyl player, and she is not too bad at it either. She can't sing, though, and her voice cracks too often for her to stay on beat. And when she's tired, there's a thick Chicago accent that takes over like the city native she is, and Rue chucks out slang Max doesn't understand but fuck, she wants to know. She'd never admit it, though.
happy 4 years of her mixtape!
to celebrate, here's a rewrite of a fan-favourite chapter! from max's pov!!
word count: 4418