Chapter Text
“Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition in black and white?” Mr. Jefferson looks at his students with a hopeful expression, which turns into disappointment. “Anybody?” He adds a bit desperately.
Max is biting her lips. I know the answer. But … what if … it is not correct? Will everybody laugh about me? Especially … She turns her head into Victoria’s direction. Even though she types something into her phone, her one hand is raised. Her.
Mr. Jefferson sighs, visibly relieved. “Yes, Ms. Chase?”
Without even looking up, Victoria answers: “Diane Arbus.”
Max curses inwardly. If I could just stand up for myself, then –
Mr. Jefferson claps is hands enthusiastically. “There you go, Victoria! Why Arbus?”
Victoria finally puts her phone away and looks at the teacher. “Because of her images of hopeless faces. You feel like totally haunted by the eyes of those sad mothers and children.”
Max takes her pen out of her pencil case and draws a silly cartoon on her paper. Everything Victoria said is straight out of their books, she didn’t even care about putting the facts into her own words.
But I guess, I can’t complain, because I should have answered first.
With an energetic movement, Max draws a downward line into the still faceless cartoon figure.
“She saw humanity as tortured, right? And frankly, it's bullshit …”
I should really get my shit together, if I want to survive here at Blackwell. It seems like everybody found friends already. Max raises her head and looks into the direction of Kate, a fellow student of hers. Kate recognises, that she is been looked at and smiles at Max. Max smiles back, but looks down at her paper again. Yeah, I mean … I found one friend. But … She sighs.
But she is not Chloe.
Chloe …
Max takes a deep breath and looks out of the window. Mr. Jefferson’s voice turns into some background noise, she is not really taking in. He could read the telephone book to them; it wouldn’t bother her – she wouldn’t even recognise it.
I wanted to go back to Arcadia Bay so badly. Not just because of Blackwell, learning more about photography and being taught by Mr. Jefferson. No. It had always been about Chloe. About being home.
With her.
Max grabs into her pencil case and gets a small polaroid out of it. It is crumpled and worn out from the endless amounts of time, Max took the picture in her hand and smoothed the edges.
Once, it had been a happy memory. Now … it is just … painful to look at.
A younger version of herself smiles directly into the camera. At this time, she had worn her hair into a ponytail, which looks pathetic nowadays. But the happiness she experienced is so vivid, that you can feel it just by looking at the picture. Next to her stands another girl, about the same age. Hair blonde, a huge smile in her face and radiant blue eyes. Her arm is slung around the shoulder of the brown-haired girl. It almost looks, as if it belongs there.
This had been us. Max and Chloe. Long Max Silver and Captain Bluebeard, ready to conquer the seas and take every obstacle, the world threw at us.
But the pirates retired at land. And the person, who took the picture is dead.
Max folds the picture back together and puts it back into the pencil case.
Another day, where I can’t bring myself to talk to Chloe. To apologise to her. To … let her know, that I regret each of the almost 2000 days without contacting her. She would laugh at me, because I cared about counting the days but didn’t care to get in touch with her.
…
and it all comes down to me not being able to raise my voice. Here in class or
…
with Chloe.
Or in general.
Just one of the reasons, why her parents thought, it wasn’t a good idea to move back to Arcadia Bay.
Max returns her view to the empty notepad in front of her. It’s not, that she didn’t want to see Chloe again. Being back in Arcadia Bay … seeing her again, it was maybe even more important than going to Blackwell and being taught by one of the best photographers in the world. It had cost her so much to convince her parents to let her go back; to leave Seattle and start to become independent. It had cost her so much to put her portfolio together and receive the scholarship. All just because she wanted to be reunited with her best friend and to be back home.
It's not, that Seattle sucked … it was just not the city she belonged to.
“Now, contrast Frank's stark Americana, with Salvador Dali's surrealist photographs. Like Cocteau, he was a true renaissance man, and his famous self-portraits are famous –“
Mr. Jefferson is interrupted by the sound of an alarm. Max flinches and then everything happens at once: students gasp loudly for air; Mr. Jefferson’s voice is soundless compared to the deafening sound the alarm makes. Some students start to scream, other to laugh. Hayden does a high five with another student, Max doesn’t know the name of. They are happy, because the lesson is cut short. Kate seems to be worried and gets out of her chair, looking around, as if she wants to know, if someone needs help. There is the commotion from chairs being moved backwards, people packing their stuff together, even though everybody learns since grade one, that you have to leave your stuff behind in case of an emergency. Helplessly, Mr. Jefferson tries to calm the nerves, but to no avail.
From outside, noises of talking people are filling the hallway and then the door bursts open. The security guard, a tall man with a grim face and a huge mustache glares at the students and Mr. Jefferson.
“Nobody moves. You will lock the door and hide underneath your tables.”
“What is –“ Mr. Jefferson starts, but is interrupted by the security guard in a harsh way.
“Code Lemon.”
“What is that?!” Victoria exclaims loudly.
“Is this some joke?” Taylor asks.
But Mr. Jefferson runs to the door, closes and locks it and Evan does the same with the other door, as if he knows, what Code Lemon means. One thing is for sure: it can’t be a fire.
Mr. Jefferson looks at the students. “Do, what Mr. Madsen has told you. He was in war, he knows, what to do. Hide underneath your tables and wait.”
And then realisation hits Max. This is not an alarm for fire. It is an alarm for a shooting. Someone must be walking around carrying a gun in their hands. That’s why they are not allowed to leave the room.
Code Lemon means school shooting.
Max’s heart is pumping in an almost painfully rhythm. With shaking legs and a heart full of fear, she lowers herself underneath the table. It had been easier, when she had been smaller. She used to hide out together with Chloe all the same. But this is not a game. This is not childhood.
This is real.
And unlike their childhood games, this one can end fatally.
A gun. Someone with a gun walks through Blackwell.
Sure, school shootings happen – all around the country. But not in a small town like Arcadia Bay where everybody knows everybody.
Max looks to her right, when she hears a tiny sob. It's Victoria, huddled under the table, a single tear running down her cheek. “I don’t want to die,” she whispers. “I am only eighteen.”
Should I comfort her? She clearly needs it. But … she will push me away, won’t she? Shit, why am I so helpless all the time? Why can’t I know, what to do?!
Max shuts her eyes, presses them inwards almost, and puts the hands on her ears to quieten the noise of the alarm. But as this doesn’t do anything, she looks to the other side. Kate huddles underneath her table, eyes closed, hands clasped around the cross-necklace. She silently whispers a prayer and suddenly, Max wished, she could believe in something, too. It would take the fear and pain away from her.
Underneath the loud noise from the alarm, Max can hear some people quietly talking and when she turns around, she recognises the girl with the violet hair strains … what is her name …? … Alyssa?, talking into her phone. She must have called somebody, who is important to her. Maybe her parents? Or … siblings? Her partner?
Should I call my parents? Max closes her eyes and tries to imagine, how that conversation would go. Her mother would definitely let her know, that she always knew, going to Blackwell meant trouble. And no matter, how this event would end, they would take her home.
… and still, she hadn’t talk to Chloe yet.
Max opens her eyes. I need to survive this. I don’t care, how. But I need to survive this thing. And if apologising to Chloe is the last thing I can and will do. I can’t die here. Not without talking to her again.
In the middle of her thoughts the alarm becomes silent. First, it feels like as if it is still on, because the loud noise echoes in Max’s ears. But … there is nothing.
“Is … is it over?” Someone asks.
“I don’t know. Let’s wait for further instructions by the security staff,” Mr. Jefferson answers, but he crawls upwards from underneath his desk and walks to the door.
“Go away!” Taylor says and forgets, that she talks to her teacher. “The door has glass! If you can see moving shadows, the shooter still knows, we are here!”
… she has a point.
Mr. Jefferson jumps backwards, when somebody knocks violently at the door. Max hears Victoria scream and some of the guys cursing.
“Mr. Jefferson?” A voice barks.
“Who’s there?”
“Mr. Madsen.”
“Identify yourself!”
The guy at the other side of the door says the word yellow cake and Mr. Jefferson walks back to the door and unlocks it under the protest of his students. Someone must have been hungry while inventing all these code-names.
Outside of the room, Mr. Madsen stands, guarded with two police officers. He looks clearly shaken up. His eyes are red and puffy and … is there blood on his uniform?!
Max gasps for air and her heart rate goes straight up. This can’t … it just can’t! If that is blood, it means, that somebody got seriously hurt. But … there hadn’t been a gun shot heard, right? So … how? But … would you hear the gunshot? Underneath the alarm? The school is big, it doesn’t have to be in the area, where noise travels … maybe Warren would have a better explanation for that.
Slowly, Max gets up and recognises the flashing blue light coming from the street, that leads up to Blackwell and the parking lot. There are many police cars parked behind each other, some emergency ambulances and people in medical uniforms rushing to school.
Oh, no.
“Is everything alright here?” Mr. Madsen asks and he sounds exhausted and tired.
Mr. Jefferson nods. “We are safe and nobody is harmed.”
Mr. Madsen nods, but he seems to be very far away. “Good. Then I need to go and …” His voice trails off and he just shakes his head. “Officer Berry and Anderson will take over from now on. I need to go.”
Mr. Jefferson frowns at this, but doesn’t ask any questions.
“How do we proceed from here?” Mr. Jefferson asks.
“Wait.” Victoria is now standing. “I want to know, what happened here.”
“There is no need to worry right now. We took care. The shooter is under control,” Officer Berry says.
“Who was it?” Alyssa asks.
“It doesn’t matter, does it?” Officer Berry replies.
“To us, it does.” Victoria states. “If that person is somebody, we went to school with every single day, I would like to know. And also, why you,” now she looks at Mr. Jefferson, “put us in a such a dangerous situation. We are supposed to learn here. Not fight for our lives.”
“True,” Hayden agrees.
And with that a huge discussion breaks out, which is only stopped by the harsh comment of Mr. Jefferson.
“Students!” He glares at them. “I can understand, that this situation is really hard to understand and I promise, that we will deal with it. We will take care of your safety and also your psychological well-being. But right now, it is way too early to jump for conclusions. So, I ask you two things: do you need immediate help? Then please let me know and I will take care of it. Otherwise, please sit down quietly and let us sort this situation out.”
For a few seconds, nobody says a word. Then someone asks: “Can we call home?”
Mr. Jefferson’s face softens. “Of course. You can do, whatever you need to and please be sure about this: we will help you, if you need something.”
Something in the corner of Max’s eye catches her attention. She sees the medical staff running to their car, in the middle a gurney and it looks like, that somebody lies on it. Behind them, Mr. Madsen is running.
Shit. Somebody must have got shot. And it looks critic. But why does Mr. Madsen accompany this student? Is that his job as a security guard?
“Max, are you okay?”
She turns her head to the soft voice. Kate stands in front of her, looking worried. Her hair is tousled from huddling underneath the table and her skirt is a bit twisted. But apart from that, she looks as nice as always.
“I …” Max looks back to the medical staff. “I seriously don’t know.”
Kate points to the table next to Max and together they sit down.
“I can’t believe, that … something like this happened here.” Max shakes her head.
“You are from here, right?” Kate asks.
Max nods. “I grew up here and lived here until five years ago. I always wanted to go to Blackwell, because …”
Kate doesn’t make her continue the sentence, she just looks at Max with an open and friendly expression.
“My best friend used to go here.”
“And now she doesn’t?”
Max shrugs. “I don’t know. We … haven’t talked to each other since I moved. And so far I haven’t seen her on school grounds.”
“Oh.”
Sometimes, it is weird how life plays. Sure, Max thought about calling her parents during the shooting. But the more important thought had been wandered straight to Chloe.
“It must be really hard for you to … experience something like this in your home town.”
Max nods. “It is. Blackwell always seemed so … mighty and … safe.”
“I wish, somebody could have helped this troubled soul before it does something drastic as this,” Kate says lost in thoughts. “People don’t turn into shooters for no reason.”
“Do you … have a feeling, who could have done that?”
Kate shakes her head. “No. And I don’t want to think about it. It’s not worth it. We need to wait and see. I just … wish, that people get help before they …” She doesn’t finish her sentence.
“I understand.”
Kate looks surprised. “You do?”
Max nods. “But it doesn’t mean, that I am okay with this.”
Kate looks around the room. “Come on, let’s see, if we can help somebody.”
Before Max closes up to Kate, she looks out of the window, when the sirens of the emergency ambulance starts to howl.
Whoever it is … I hope, he or she makes it.