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She dips when those two’s argument gets loud enough to hear over the music even from a couple feet away. She’d tried to help the both of them, she really had, but there was only so much dishonesty more dishonesty could cover. It was exhausting. She missed when she was a friend to the two of them instead of the string in their stupid game of tin can telephone.
That came out… a bit harsher than she really felt deep down, but right now she was just so sick of the whole slagging situation, because Terry was right that Dana should be kept out of this but Dana was right that she should be told and everyone was right which meant everyone was at an impasse because all of the options were wrong and Max was stuck in the middle of that big confusing intersection. It sucked. And at times like these she missed the days before she’d figured out any secrets so she could’ve at least taken one of their sides with confidence.
The air outside the club is much fresher. Not actually, but it isn’t nearly as stuffed up with sweat and breath, so it smells just as bad in a different way. It’s colder too, which makes the wave of hot blood that surges when she’s called out to unexpectedly all the more noticeable.
“Had to get away?”
She jerks to the side more than turns, but the blonde that she comes face to face with doesn’t comment on it. Instead they nod towards the window, where Terry and Dana can still be seen going at it and goes, “I was watching.”
Max works it over in her head, the merits of dumping everything on a random beautiful stranger, and decides it’s exactly what she needs.
“More than they are, clearly,” she sighs.
The stranger hums in sympathy, and Max would be the first to admit that they don’t mind eliciting some of that from someone all leaned up against the building with them curves and that skirt with those legs coming out from under the hem. She abandons her original trajectory in favor of a closer look.
“They do this often?” They peek back towards the dance floor. Strobing lights illuminate their face in a beautiful ever-changing array of colors.
“It’s a recent thing, but the rest of the world is dead to them when they do.”
“Including you?” Keen eyes cut to her. She squirms a little.
“Not like they mean to,” she defends weakly.
A hard look crosses their face. Turns their whole vibe from ‘bored teenager’ to ‘ice monarch’ for just a second. They say, “But they still do.” Then it goes away with a shake of their head and they’re amending it with an, “I get the feeling,” that lands as less lighthearted than she thinks they meant to.
“Oh yeah?” she prompts, scooting closer by settling a hand on the windowsill beside theirs. A low-key gesture that’s quickly ruined when she has to grab their arm and drag them around the corner of the building.
“Hey, not that I don’t appreciate the initiative, but what–?”
“He’s coming our way and I really don’t wanna be stuck playing support for either of them right now,” Mas hisses apologetically, glancing around in time to see Terry storm off into the night and promising herself she’ll make it up to him later.
“Ah, understandable,” the stranger says, voice much closer than before. It’s now Max realizes that there hadn’t been any attempts made at reinstating the previous distance since they’d stopped.
She turns around to confirm that, yep, their face is much closer than before.
“Wanna get out of here?” she blurts.
“If it’s with you? Sure.” They’re grinning. Max wasn’t one for the black lipstick trend herself, but it looked great on this person.
They leave, take it down a few levs, smiling the whole way. Max tugs them into a convenience store to grab a quick slushie pink as her hair and then they’re off, switching who got to hold the cup every so often.
“So that thing back at the bar, are you three in a relationship or…?”
“Nah, I’m on the lookout for my own girl--it’s just those two. That’s where the problem comes from, really. Tonight was supposed to be a them thing, but Terry wasn’t picking up so I said I’d go to keep her company, but then obviously he got there all late again and Dana was upset that he’s not making time for us, especially her, and it all blew up with me in the blast zone.”
“No offense, but he sounds like kind of a dreg,” they say, swinging around a support pole for the building above them so they could lean on it while facing her, hips jutting out in a way she couldn’t help but find her eyes drawn to.
“He’s not! Really, he cares about her a lot, it’s just that he’s got this job now but doesn’t want to–” she waves her hand in erratic circles, hoping to convey visually the details she never could. “It’s complicated. The type of thing that could be solved if they just communicated properly but it’s not like I can make them.”
The person laughs good-naturedly, sinking more of their weight onto the pole. From most people Max would’ve found it grating, but in this instance she finds that she likes the attention. “Isn’t that the truth,” they say.
“And you?” their eyes find hers. “Ditching anyone too?” she clarifies.
“Got no one to ditch,” they say with a shrug.
“New to these parts?”
“New to every parts,” they sigh, full lips in a pout that’s much more attractive than is appropriate for this situation. “My parents keep us moving. Perpetually. Work always comes before play--like your friend, I guess.”
Knowing what kind of work kept Terry busy made that seem even bleaker.
“You at least got any friends online?”
“I’ve tried, but my parents take away my electronics from time to time and it’s just not the same. For me, anyways.”
“Yeah, and I get that feeling,” she says, thinking of her worst phases of isolation as she puts her shoulder against cold metal and pretty blue eyes blink up at her.
“Melanie Walker, she/her.” Harsh blue light lines her pale curls but she still looks so soft.
“Maxine Gibson, also she/her. But my friends call me Mmm–!”
Well. Max would be a liar if she said she hated excitement.
“They call you what now?” Melanie says, slipping closer.
“Max,” she pants, out of breath. “They call me Max.”
“Sounds good to me.” She was smiling again. Max was starting to get an idea of how lucky she was to be seeing it at all. Melanie takes a long sip from the slushie, the one that Max could’ve sworn she’d been holding just a moment ago. Exciting. “So,” her lips come off the straw with a small pop. Max wishes for another taste of strawberry, and not from the drink. “As the resident expert, do you know of any more places we can ditch at?”
The phone in her jacket pocket buzzes with another notification. It’s been blowing up for a few minutes now, but she’s ignored all of it in favor of something much tastier. She finally pulls it out long enough to tell Dana to leave without her and Terry to slag off, then hits ‘do not disturb’ and fixes Melanie with a grin of her own.
“All the best.”
–
The next few hours were great. Max couldn’t remember a time when every second felt this fun--dominating at the newest vid game in the arcade didn’t even come close. They hit up a couple of great late-night snack spots, watched some street performances, and even found a fallen steel lev-beam that was perfect for a favorite activity of Neo Gotham teens--rubble sledding. It was like normal sledding but instead of a hill it was a random city surface with enough of an incline to sled down and instead of a sled it was a piece of cardboard to stick under your butt. Plus, it came with the added bonus of Melanie clinging tight to her middle as they whooped and hollered their way down. At the bottom someone started yelling at them, so Melanie grabbed her hand took off, weaving through the cramped buildings and streets with enviable agility, Max stumbling along after her until they stopped under the light of a neon blue sign and burst out laughing.
“You’re too much, Maxine Gibson,” Melanie says, shaking her head and not really meaning it at all.
“I think I’m just enough,” she replies cheekily, relishing the way they still haven’t let go of each other.
Melanie hums, glances up, then down again to meet her eyes.
“So,” she says, “Same thing tomorrow night?”
“Absolutely,” she agrees in the span of one very loud heartbeat.
“Schway. Meet me here at midnight?” the girl starts to pull away.
“Sure but, hey, how will I reach you?” Max can’t let this go.
“Oh, actually my…” she glances away, digging her fingernails into the meat of her palm like Max keeps noticing her doing. “My parents wouldn’t be happy about me getting calls from an unknown number, and I’m not allowed to have socials.”
Max frowns as she contemplates that situation, feeling a solution forming lighting fast--opening her mouth to speak before it’s fully formed but finding that the right words spill out anyway. Slag yeah, that was the Gibson Genius coming through.
“Are your parents familiar with tech stuff?” she asks.
“Not really, they leave that up to me and my brother,” Melanie responds, peeking back upwards through long lashes and even longer bangs.
“Then they won’t be able to track this super secret contact line I’m about to give you?” she’s already fishing out her phone. Melanie retrieves hers and with hesitant, muted, terrified hopefulness (Max knows the kind well) follows her directions as she guides her through downloading a custom software that will let her access a special messaging app that only appears after the right button sequence is triggered, followed by a code. It pinged notifications too, but did so through a decoy app that looked just like a million generic phone games. Pretty schway work, if she did say so herself.
“Wow,” Melanie breathes at the end of it all. “How do you know all this?”
“I’m just that good, girlie,” she says, complete with a wink. She’s duly compensated with a snort.
“I guess I’ll… talk to you later then?” there’s a new light shining in Melanie’s eyes. It’s captivating.
“As long as I get to see you too,” she replies.
“Absolutely,” she says before bestowing a parting kiss.
Max watches her go and, years later, will realize she’s unwittingly committed the image to memory.
–
The next day comes, despite her worries that it wouldn’t. Max spends the entire time jittery, jumping out of her seat to pace every now and again--unable to get in the zone of her work like she normally would because of the messages that trickle in sporadically. It’s wonderful. Even the one-word replies give her a thrill. Melanie wasn’t very punctual in her responses, but the reason for that was probably the same one as the secrecy. It didn’t matter. The privilege of talking to her was enough.
Terry and Dana, thankfully, didn’t bother her outside of making sure she’d gotten home fine. Which was for the best. Now that she had calmed down she was willing to give being a good friend another shot, but she fears she’s completely useless to all three of them right now. Dana, however, had decided to work out her emotions through hitting practice balls with sticks at very high speeds, while Terry had a new case of some criminal gang or other that was taking up his time and needed to practice fighting to counter them. She often wondered if the two of them were just too similar to ever work out in the long run, but she suspected saying as much would have both of them turning their well-tested swings towards her instead, so she kept it to herself.
The hour came closer and closer. There were so many things she wanted to do, so many things she wanted to say. Preferably to Melanie. She was trying to be a useful member of society in the meantime, but that wasn’t working out too well for her. She’d only gotten the bare minimum of class and homework done, even with all her free time. The bare minimum! Nothing extra, nothing over-the-top that took all the criteria to the max (ugh, she was going to kill Terry for using that one enough to get it stuck in her vocabulary. And after all these years she’d spent strategically removing it too) and nothing for next week--or even tomorrow! She’s well and truly fixed on this. When she’s not pacing she’s lying on her bed, caught up in recollections of the past and hopes for the future. A dozen tiny moments, visions, that would only be better if they were real. She was a little grateful the others were too busy to bother with her right now. She’s sure her friends would be calling her crazy.
Then eleven PM comes. She doesn’t need an hour to get there but she goes anyway, determined to be early. Missing any second of this is something she doesn’t think her nerves can handle.
It’s eleven-thirty and she’s arriving after a detour to grab another slushie--blue raspberry this time, as stupid as the naming concept was.
It’s eleven-fifty and she feels an excited buzz start in her toes.
It’s twelve and she’s looking both ways, the buzz having reached her ears.
It’s twelve-fifteen and she’s figuring it’s an appropriate time to text about her lateness for sure.
It’s twelve-thirty and she’s wondering if this is the right clock tower. The buzz is lowering.
It’s twelve-fifty and the buzz has completely left, replaced by something cold and sticky that had grown with every unanswered text. And also the rain that started pouring a few minutes ago. She dully questioned why she placed all her hopes on a girl who said she moved quickly. Questions why she didn’t think to ask about what. She knows why.
She wishes she’d thought to check the weather.
It’s twelve-fifty something and she only hears the footsteps because of the splashes they make. Then she’s turning around and Melanie’s right there--hot as ever with her curls plastered to her face and her lipstick hiding what was surely a cold blue tint. She can tell because she has her lips on them.
“You’re here,” Melanie says, and it’s so, so hopeful, so relieved, so earnest that she decides right then and there that the wait and worry had all been worth it.
“Said I’d be,” she smiles, but the cockiness is lost in the similarly raw quality her own voice carries. She’s considerably more soaked than Max, who’d made it to an overhang soon after the downpour had started. She doesn’t have much, but wrapping her favorite yellow jacket around surprisingly solid shoulders is something she can do.
The rest of the night is great. They don’t do a single thing but walk a long loop and talk. About everything and nothing. As cliche as it sounds, it’s the truth. She couldn’t detail every little topic they discuss--there’s too many. They share stories, share interests, even a couple dreams. She doesn’t have to go through the usual grace period of making quips about hating on classwork together until there was enough camaraderie to excuse deeper conversation like she would at school--they just jump straight to the good part. She’s never had a connection before, and she knows that’s why she didn’t notice how much time had passed until the first rays of morning light permeate the air to create that coating of murky pre-dawn glow.
Melanie keeps glancing towards the east, towards the harbor out of sight but right there, with deeper and deeper frowns pulling at her pretty lips.
“You doing okay?” she asks the next time she catches her doing it.
“Hmm?” Melanie rips her gaze away from the horizon with some difficulty. “Oh, no, it’s nothing. I’m fine,” she denies easily, smile almost as believable as her real ones.
Max stops them in their tracks, hands on the girl’s upper arms, standing there trying to compose the right thing to say when Melanie caves under her stare.
“It’s my family. They’re…” she sighs. “I think we’re moving again.”
Max blinks.
“So soon?” she can’t help but blurt.
Melanie looks miserable--hair dried at weird angles, dark makeup smeared in a few places that made her already pale skin look hollow, digging into her borrowed jacket like it was a shield that could keep out reality. “Sooner than not,” she mumbles, the animated girl she’d gotten to hear these past couple nights replaced by the icy drone she’d first encountered.
“But what does that mean?” Max presses, gripping tighter. “A year? A month? A week?”
“I don’t want to think that far ahead, you know?” she replies with a horrible, faux-casual laugh that breaks right down the middle. “You got to live life in the moment.”
Max tries not to let the fracturing get to her too. For Melanie’s sake.
“In that case, can I see you tonight? Same time, same place?” she asks.
Melaine turns back to the horizon. It’s the first time Max has seen her in anything but blue. She lets out a laugh that’s a little more genuine. Max presses a kiss to it.
“Absolutely,” she says.
Then she’s darting away out of range of her fingers. She doesn’t even want to ask for her jacket back.
–
She hears from Melanie all of the next day, until she doesn’t. For a couple of hours it’s dead. Radio silent. She tries not to let it get to her, tries to find a reason. Her parents again, probably. She had warned that she wouldn’t be able to respond right away, and she’d shown up last night, hadn’t she? Two hours wasn’t long enough to lose faith. Nor three. Nor four… but maybe seven was.
All faith is restored when her phone starts ringing.
She picks it up, an excited greeting already on the tip of her tongue, when–
“Max, I… I can’t see you tonight.”
–she stops short.
“What? But, Mel, you–”
“I just can’t see you again,” she rushes out, firmer this time.
“Can’t?” she hears herself echo in disbelief. “Mel, is this really coming from you?” she asks.
The girl who’d been all about freedom, about choice, about future not even twenty-four hours ago speaks a lie in the shape of a “Yes.” It makes Max’s insides boil. “It was never going to work out. I’m sorry. Bye, Maxine.”
The line goes dead and she feels like her heartbeat does too.
After that she doesn’t have the motivation to so much as boot up her computer. Even distractions are too difficult. She wishes she could talk to someone about this, but in her fever-state haste she hasn’t even told the friends who aren’t spatting with each other. No one knows about the girl who just broke her heart.
Except for, strangely, Batman.
Or at least, the computers in his HQ that she finds have accessed data on her phone the next time she busters up the energy to check it. Data concerning a certain contact.
That burns up enough of the numbness for her to dial a number of her own.
It goes through.
“Wayne or McGinnis or whoever the slag this is, I don’t care what shiv you’re working on out there but you do not just get to pop on into my phone and take whatever you please, whenever you please! You can deny my other stuff all you want but you can’t deny my very reasonable request that you ask my permission to look at my stuff! And you wonder why–”
“Gibson.”
That’s the second time she’s been cut off today. It sends her anger soaring higher, but there’s something about his tone, calm and somber, that makes her pause.
“Check the news,” he says, a lilt of sadness to his monotone.
“Check the news? What does that have to do with–”
“Just do it.”
She does.
Then she hangs up.