Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

In tribute to @mjrrgr‘s “True Path” for Rachel in the Love is Strange visual novel. You can download the game here.

I cannot explain how free I feel.

Most days, I am a solid, quietly vibrating in place, barely touching the things around me.

Some days, beautiful days, I am liquid, flowing in the world, taking in its beauty with my camera, bathed in warmth.

But right now, with the high wind whipping Rachel’s golden hair against my face while we kiss, I am gaseous. I fill the world. There is an electricity that jumps from her skin and from her laughter as she clears holds her hair back to keep it out of our mouths that sets me free.

I know she can feel it too. Freedom in this moment, as if the lighthouse reached up to the sky.

For once, I’m the one who doesn’t want to leave yet. There’s too much time left to wait for the golden hour, but the wind and the heat and the vast ocean are too much for me to give up just yet. “Not just yet. A few more minutes, okay?”

Rachel’s eyes sparkle like ocean water, and she nods.

As we descend the steps of the light house, we finally break apart as Rachel all but runs down the steps - she stops halfway to look up at me, carefully trudging down one step at a time. She cackles a little as I shoot her a withering look - “Hey, come on now,” I plead.

“Oh, sorry, I got the breadsticks from our date and I have to go,” she gestures at shoving apparently dozens of breadsticks into an invisible purse with a look of fear on her face. Once apparently all of the breadsticks have been taken, though, she cracks a smile, winks at me, and dashes down the stairs before I can catch up to her.

She’s waiting with her back to the door, hand covering the steel handle while I’m coming down the last few steps. I feel my phone vibrate and slow even further on the steps as I draw it from my pocket. It vibrates again as I do, apparently the beginning of a small barrage of messages from Chloe.

Chloe: yo
Chloe: where did you and rachel go?

There is a very short pause before the next message.

Chloe: smoochin?
Chloe: well, wherever you are, get to my house by dinner
Chloe: make it snappy

I look up at Rachel as I reach the bottom of the steps and ask, “Did you get a text from Chloe?”

Rachel’s extremely expressive eyebrows tip me an incredulous look. “Just the standard 500 a day proclaiming her undying friendship and loyalty, you know - oh,” she cuts off, interrupted by the somewhat loud buzzing from her high-waisted jeans.

“Yo,” she says, in a deep, rugged voice, clearly in imitation of Chloe. “News team, assemble.” A short pause, and then, “I’ve got some news, and I need you and Max here for it.” Pause, “ASAP.”

Rachel’s eyes slip away from the phone and over to me, a pensive look forming on her face. As I approach the door and her, I do my best to imitate it, as if I understand what’s provoking that level of intensity. Is she just worried that Chloe’s calling us in? I begin to worry almost immediately, and open my mouth to ask, “Do you th-”

“What do you t-”

Rachel and I both pause, and I gesture that she should go first.

She smiles, “What do you think we should send back?”

I grin in respond as her smile turns mischievous, and take another step towards her, breaking the barrier of arm’s length just enough just enough for a smolder to emerge in her eyes. “I’ve got an idea,” I say, a little too loudly, and finally her grin matches mine as she leans back against the door, pushing it open in one swift move. I step forward, as if to catch her, but then she has her hand on my arm and is guiding me back out into the light.

A few minutes later, a photograph is sent from both Rachel and I’s phones:

Rachel and I sit on the bench over the cliff face. Rachel’s arm is wrapped around my shoulder, and the other sits on an invisible steering wheel with a totally serious ‘cool guy’ face. One arm of mine holds up the camera off to the side, hiding the fact that Rachel’s steering wheel hand grasps nothing, but the other forms faux sun glasses over my eyes.
A caption is included,

Max: Cruisin’ with the bae.
Max: Back in the bay for burritos?
Rachel: “Cruisin’ down the street in my ‘64.”

Chloe shoots back a text, but only to Max:

Chloe: hell yeah

Rachel manages to snag us a ride into town with some dude setting up a bonfire on the beach for a party that night. As we drive back, Rachel rolls down her window and her hair whips around, blue feather earring fluttering rapidly, like she’s a goddess flying over the freeway.

“Oh, honey . . .” Rachel trails off in abject horror as she notices that the water is nearly boiling over the pot, and moves into the kitchen for assistance.

I move after her, but quickly notice the crowding, and then the staining. Pasta has clearly spurt repeatedly over the stove and counters, but it looks like Chloe has done little to mitigate the disaster.

“Now, I know this doesn’t look great, but guys, I swear, this spaghetti is going to be great, trust me.” Chloe’s voice is higher than normal, though, and Rachel takes this into very little consideration as she pushes Chloe off to the side, immediately decreasing the heat on everything and picking up the spoon to stir the noodles around.

“How long have those been in there?” she asks, pointing to the noodles in the large pot.

Chloe scratches the back of her head, thinking, while leaning against the side counter. “I don’t know, like fifteen, twenty minutes? They’ve probably almost ready, I don’t exactly have a recipe.”
“Oh god,” Rachel groans, shutting off the heat.

Having successfully pushed the work onto someone else, Chloe tiptoes past Rachel and descends on me, pulling me into a tight hug over the shoulders. “Oh man, it’s Max the Great, photographic legend, gracing the humble Price residence with her presence.” She lets go a little, just enough to start pulling me to the other side of the kitchen so that Rachel can’t rope her back into things. “Now, I know I agreed to the burritos thing, but it turns out we don’t have beans. Or tortillas. We got a shit ton of pasta and Famous Amos, as it turns out, though.”

I roll my eyes and sit up on the kitchen counter, futzing a little with my bracelets. “You know, normally when you say you’re gonna cook something for us, I expect Joyce to do it. As in, you know, I expect to eat.”

“Pff,” Chloe snorts dismissively, leaning back against her fridge. “Nah, Max, I got this dinner thing on lock and we’re gonna have a hella fine meal, just you wait and see.”

“The noodles are mush,” Rachel protests, pulling out some noodles with the spoon and holding them up for Chloe and I to see. They just look like noodles to me, and as Chloe looks to me for confirmation, we shrug. Neither of us have much cooking experience. Nobody was a fan of us in the Two Whales kitchens when we were kids, and especially now that we’re teenagers.

“Where is Joyce anyway?” I ask, watching Rachel as she tries to bring back the culinary dead.

Chloe shrugs, but immediately adds the answer, “Got called into Two Whales - apparently there’s some sort of soccer party going on and they didn’t call in ahead of time? Anyway, apparently it’s hell, so we’ve got the place to ourselves.”

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe is apologetically pouring almond milk into Rachel and I’s bowls of cereal. I always cringe a little at breakfast with Rachel, as she eats this weird organic maple pecan stuff in a milk container and I have my Tastee’s Froasted Rounds in a neon box as tall as my forearm. Not that the maple stuff is bad, it just looks so . . . plain. It’s such an inversion of how I normally feel comparing something of mine to something of Rachel’s that I feel overindulgent.

Once Rachel and I are situated, Chloe pulls a chair out for herself and grabs my box of cereal, filling her bowl nearly halfway with milk before adding the cereal to it. Typically, Rachel winces and lets out a sound of disgust at seeing Chloe pour cereal onto milk. 

“You barbarian,” she whines, but Chloe only grins as she begins shoving the rounds down below the milk’s surface. “It’s good you have so many other lovable qualities, because I swear the lord tests me every time we have cereal.”

Chloe winks, but doesn’t speak again until she’s pouring her third bowl of cereal. And when she does, she sets her spoon down on the floating rings, leaning onto her hands, elbows on the table. I barely notice the intent look she’s giving us before she says it:

"Guys. I’m leaving.”

I immediately turn to look at Chloe, but it takes Rachel a second longer before her eyebrows pinch down, giving Chloe a slitted look. Her spoon is in her mouth for a second before she realizes she has to finish swallowing.

“What? What do you mean?” Rachel asks, waving her spoon around as if casting an incantation.

The expression on Chloe’s face is hesitant, and it’s clear each phrase is effort to push past her teeth, but when it comes, it’s in a rush: “I’m leaving Arcadia Bay. Tomorrow, actually.”

I give Rachel a side eye to see if she knew anything about this, but I only see her returning the same look to me. Then, our looks focus back on the blue haired girl whose look has dropped down to her cereal, pushing it back into the shallow pool of milk.

“I . . . wait, for how long? Like, will you be back in time for classes Monday or . . .?” Even as I form the question I doubt it, know that that’s not what she’s saying. She shakes her head, and I feel like my heart is falling into my stomach.

She takes a bite of cereal, chewing far more deliberately than usual. “Nah. I mean, maybe, I guess, but I don’t think so. I need some days, man, or weeks, I dunno. But I need out for a while.”

A strange wave of guilt floods over me, warm like shame in my cheeks. While I had been prying off my ethereal cage of doubt, the walls had been closing in around Chloe. It’s not like I had no idea - this sort of talk wasn’t new to her. I just hadn’t realized how close the deadline was. Not for either of them.

Rachel responds while I feel familiar doubt wrapping around me.

“Chlo, why didn’t you say anything? I know you wanted to leave, I get it, but I just didn’t think you’d . . .” Rachel gestures with a sweeping hand, indicating Chloe’s quick departure. “Just like that, you know?”

Chloe sounds defensive, “What, leave? I can, you know - I always could. I just haven’t had the guts. Until now.”

I can see how much this is catching Rachel off guard, like it is me. I would have thought her expression unreadable if I had not seen it just a few days before, when we talked about how Chloe would respond when she found out about the modeling contract. I don’t think Rachel ever expected to be on this end of things.

“No, I get that,” Rachel begins, and I hear her voice catch. Evidently, so does Chloe.

Chloe is quick to interrupt, but her tone is quiet, shaky - “Babe, it’s okay. I promise, this won’t fuck up our plans for LA, I’m not using our money or anything. It’s just like - like, you know, a spirit quest. Or a coming of age thing. I’ve never been outside of Arcadia Bay, not like you guys have.” She lowers her spoon while she talks, and reaches a hand out, managing to get a few of her long fingers around Rachel’s down the length of the table.

I understand that what she’s proposing isn’t forever. In the scheme of things, it isn’t even particularly long. But I’ve been with Chloe almost every day since I came back to Arcadia Bay. She has been my best friend my entire life. I don’t know what this place even is without her.

I see that this is hard for her, but that she means it.

“I get it,” I say more firmly than I imagined I would. I nod, as if convincing myself. “It’s kind of like a right of passage. And you wouldn’t be the first Blackwell student to go soul searching during the school year.”
\

To my surprise, Rachel backs me up with a nod and, “I mean, Evan’s soul searching is like an annual thing . . . plus, if you come back with some sweet tattoos, it’ll probably add a sexy layer of mystery and everything.”

Chloe’s eyes are a bit distant, but she nods to that. “I mean, I’m already one hot motherfucker with this one,” she says, indicating her right arm, “But I might have to step it up a notch to pick up all your model friends when we’re down in LA.”

“Pull-ups too,” I add. They both look at me expectantly for an explanation. “Uh, I mean, everyone likes hot girls doing pull-ups, right?”
They murmur agreement.

Nevertheless, Chloe can’t stay detracted for too long. She scratches the back of her head, knowing her cereal’s going soggy but wanting to finish up. “I just mean . . . Max, Rachel. You two are my best friends in the whole world. This is some written-in-the-stars level shit, I know that. But I gotta do this for me. Just for a little while, I promise. What I really want is . . .” she trails off a bit, face pinched in a look of familiar embarrassment. 

We give her the moment that she needs to get over it. “I want your blessing. I want to know that you guys get it. And, I mean, I need to make sure you two aren’t going to do too much interesting shit while I’m gone, because this trip is really supposed to make me the hella cool one and make you two look like the townies.” By the end of this, she’s in a flat out grin.

Rachel sticks out her tongue and I roll my eyes.

But there, in the silence, we’re left with a moment to say what we think. Chloe would probably stay if we asked, if we really asked. She is nothing if not loyal to her friends.
But she doesn’t have a copyright on loyalty.

“You should do it,” Rachel concludes aloud, sitting up straight and flipping her hair almost dismissively behind her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Chloe, you’ve got it. My blessing - so long as you send us lots of photos of all the cool shit you’re seeing without us townies.”

Chloe’s face is soft, and her bright eyes are warm. All the sarcasm and bullshit is drained away for a few seconds. Her voice breaks as she says, “Thanks, guys.”

It feels strange to feel numb next to Rachel.

As we reach the steps though, she grasps onto my arm as if to guide me, despite the fact that we both know well where we’re going. The disconnect between my feelings and my recollection of the day feel so weird, that as we pass the Blackwell fountain I ask, “Was today real? Did all of that happen?”

A smile plays on her lips, as if she knows exactly what I’m asking. She pulls me a little closer, bringing her arm off of mine and instead wrapping it around my shoulders. There’s a firm kiss in my hair for a second, and I want to relax, but it still isn’t working. “Yeah, it was real. I promise.”

I open my messages to Rachel.

Max: Promise?

The reply is back faster than I thought possible.

Rachel: Promise ;)
Rachel: goodnight!

I lay my phone down on my chest, wondering if the phone will vibrate with another text dump like I can usually expect from her, but it doesn’t come.

Today, I saw her for the first time. But I’m not sure I can see her right now.

I can wait. It’s worth it.

Chapter Text

In tribute to @mjrrgr and the @loveisstrange-vn

It is Saturday morning and I did not set an alarm. Instead, it’s knocking at the door that wakes me up, and I get the feeling that it has been going for longer than usual, because there’s a voice behind it.
“Max, are you in there? It’s Juliet. I know Mx. Dog told you you’d be in the Totem.”

“Juliet?” I grumble aloud, but it isn’t loud enough, and there’s another round of knocking. I roll to my side and grab blindly for my alarm clock, but I’m quickly forced to open my eyes to find it. I see that the time is 11:15.

Oh, fudgeballs.

“Juliet!” I call out this time, hoping to overpower the dryness of my throat. It sounds low and raspy, which is one of the many reasons why I keep a water bottle next to my bed, so nobody has to encounter the mummified voice of Max Caulfield between here and the bathroom.

“Max? Oh, hey, Max, are you asleep? It’s after 11 - we were supposed to meet up in my room at 11?”

I give the slightest glance to my mirror, confirm that I look as zombie-like as I feel, pat down my hair where it’s sticking out perpendicular to my head, and open the door. Juliet gives me a quick one-over and understands.

“Rough night?” she asks. Juliet is probably the only person at this school nosier than I am, but at least she always manages to mask it with half-convincing concern.

I nod, looking down at her borderline professional attire for a Saturday in the dorms. “Yeah, I guess I was out kinda late. Not in like, a drinking way, I was just with Chloe and Rachel. Hanging out, you know.”

“Yeah.”

I look out in the hallway, expecting Rachel to be with her, according to plan, but I do not see her. “Rachel in your room or …?” I ask, pointing down the hall.

Juliet shakes her head, and her shoulders drop a little. She has a notebook in the crook of her arm and one corner of her mouth turns down. “No, she’s not in her room, I haven’t seen her all morning. I thought you might know if she slept over at Chloe’s or something.”

Now I’m the one to shake my head, confused. “No, she got dropped off with me last night. I don’t know where she is.”

“Weird,” Juliet mutters, clearly frustrated, giving up.

It’s a little early in the morning for this much guilt, and I wasn’t looking to partake of the hair of the dog that bit me. “Look, Juliet, I’m really sorry we messed up your interview, we just got kinda distracted - Chloe’s leaving town for a little while and we wanted to give her a proper sendoff.”

Now her face reads concern, but we are both pretty aware of the distance between us. “Oh … yeah, I mean, it’s not that big of a thing, don’t worry about it. Do you think you can rope Rachel back here sometime today? I won’t be here tomorrow, but I’m supposed to have the interview edited and everything by the time they put up your piece Monday.”

“Yeah, no, totally, I’ll …” I trail off, realizing that I had no guarantee that Rachel will be available today. Now that the competition was over, I don’t have nearly such a monopoly of her time, and without Chloe around, I have no regular method of spending time with her. “ … uh, I’ll get her, okay? No problem.”

Juliet looks nervous about my response, and I don’t blame her. “Cool, thanks,” she responds, and turns to leave.

Something inside me kicks me. I think about what I’ve been learning about these situations, with so much uncertainty. I try to think about what I’ve been learning with Rachel.

“Hey, wait, Juliet,” I say, stepping outside of my door.

She turns to face me with a short, “Hm?”

“Thanks for this. Especially on a weekend. You’re a one-woman army, and it’s totally cool what you do for this school, and what you’re doing for Rachel and me.”

Juliet smiles at me, and I think I see her hips sway a little at the praise. “Thanks for saying that, Max. It’s a really cool picture, by the way. She’s beautiful.”

She lingers with a look on me after saying this before turning to leave.

It’s not until I close the door that I catch her meaning, and my face feels hot.

Can everyone see it now? Was Avedon right? Did that portrait of Rachel show more of me than it did of her?

Max: Hey, Rachel? Where were you this morning? We were supposed to do that interview with Juliet this morning for the totem.

Again, I’m surprised at how quickly she manages to text back.

Rachel: oh my god
Rachel: i’m so sorry
Rachel: did you guys do it without me? :(
Rachel: i’m really sorry, i totally forgot. justin invited me to go skating this morning and we’ve been in the hills north of town

How does anyone text this fast? She gets all of that in before I manage a pretty simple response, and I can see the “…” the whole while

Max: No, we didn’t do it without you, of course not!

Rachel: oh, that’s cool
Rachel: I’m really sorry though, okay?
Rachel: can we still do it?

Max: Yeah, we can, if you’re back sometime today.

I pause for a second to open up the microwave in case anyone else needs to use it and let my noodles sit on the counter while I text.

Rachel: awesome!
Rachel: i’m super sorry

Max: Don’t be. I slept late and missed it too - I actually just got up.

Rachel: cute
Rachel: what time should i be back

Max: How is that cute?

Rachel: idk, just is! deal with it!

Max: And pretty soon, I think, she needs to edit it and be ready by Monday.
Max: =^.^=

Rachel: ahhh, okay.
Rachel: i’ll be back in like an hour

Max: Cool, see you then! ^_^

Rachel sends a photo attachment.

It shows a brightly lit, steep street with tall, but dying grass on either side. It winds in such a way that I know I’d be sick driving up it. There are no lane markings. Just the tip of a board in present at the bottom of the frame, and from the look of things, Rachel is about to plunge right down the hill.

This girl is crazy, I think. I stir my noodles as I walk away, and I find Kate Marsh sitting with Warren by themselves at one of the long tables.

“Hey guys,” I announce, more quietly than intended, and sit down next to Kate, who immediately scoots over a little to give me more leg room.

“Hey Max!”

“Suuuuup Max - heard you crushed it yesterday with that photo competition.”

I smile awkwardly as my phone vibrates in my pocket. “Yeah, I mean, it was really fun getting to work with Rachel like that.”

Rachel has sent me another photo. She’s in the frame, and the whole picture is tilted up to show the hill from the bottom, now. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, leaving her earring in sharp focus next to her skin. She’s grinning.

Rachel: shredded. bbs.

Now I’m really smiling. I think Kate sees, but Warren is talking about some film at the drive-in. He has a new car, and he wants to take us out with it, and, apparently, Princess Mononoke is just the film worthy enough of driving the sixty miles out to the drive-in showing it.

We both agree.

“Um, yeah, is there anything more you need?” I ask, glancing over at Rachel. She has her hands crossed on her knees, where her harshly ripped jeans reveal foam pads underneath. It seems not even skating safety can get in the way of her fashion. Apparently, crop tops don’t work for skating either, so she’s wearing her lavender button-up (minus a few buttons), which I think is her only one that doesn’t have any purposeful slashes or holes in it.

“Yeah, no, that’s everything. Thanks for making it back so quickly, Rachel.”

Rachel looks a little pink, but I can’t tell if that’s from embarrassment or just the heat. She’s quick to stand after that comment, though. “Thank you so much for doing this, J, and I’m really, really sorry about this morning. You are cool, temperate like the ocean, and thanks.”

“Yeah, thanks Juliet.” And I follow her outside.

As soon as I close the door behind me, Rachel spins around sharply, snapping her fingers at the same time. “So, what are you doing today?”

I answer quickly, crossing one arm over my chest to grasp my other arm, “Not much, you?”

She pops her shirt, as if showing me more of the tank top underneath will impress me. It does. “Well, me ‘n the skater bros were going to go on a hike high this evening, but I ditched out for the getting high and lunch part. We’ll probably be skating around town tonight. I know you’ve never picked up skating, but after the hike maybe me and some of the guys could show you.” She nearly lunged for my arm as we made it out of the dorms, grasping onto it to keep us close as we walked. She spoke more quietly now, “And I know skaters are your type so there’d be this whole subtextual sexual tension, you know?

“Hmmm...” I pause a moment, trying to hide the look I can feel creeping up on my face as she talks so close to my ear. “I guess that sounds . . . pretty nice.”
She gets it though, and lets go of my arm to jump in front of me, now placing hands on each of my shoulders. “Yes!” she yells in triumph, and I crack into small laughter.

And that’s when I remember, and groan “Oooooh, crap.”

Rachel immediately pouts, dropping both of her hands to her hips now, denied her way just as she was getting it.  “What? What is it?”

I swipe a hand under my nose then press my fingers to my temple, cradling my shame. “I already promised Warren and Kate I’d go see a movie with them at the drive-in tonight. And, I don’t know, after Chloe and everything, I feel like-”

“Like you shouldn’t neglect your friends, no, yeah, I get it, that’s good.” Her face doesn’t read that it was good, at least for a moment where the corner of her mouth turned down.

But that expression doesn’t last long, as a bright smile quickly replaces it. “You’re a great friend, Max, and a total babe, and I appreciate the double whammy.” She makes little finger guns and fires twice at my stomach.

She’s flirting.

She’s flirting with you, dolt, flirt back.

“You’re not so bad yourself.”

She makes a deliberately intense cringy face before loudly announcing in WWA style, “AND THIS ROUND OF BANTER GOES TO RACHEL - DAWN - AMBER,” followed by a quieter, “Ding ding!”

After a moment of laughter, Rachel pulls out her phone to check the time. “Oh, shit, I’ve got to make the bus to get to Justin’s, like, right now.” She puts her phone away and looks up at me, eyes wide from the sudden rush she finds herself in, “I’ll meet up with you tonight if you’re up to Facetime Chloe, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Awesome, Max,” she replies, as if nothing excites her more, and lunges forward to scoop me up in a tight hug, pressing her warm lips for a short second against my cheek.

“Yeah, tonight.”

She turns, waving behind her after taking a few steps before picking up the pace towards the bus stop.

I raise my hand to my cheek, smitten. 

Wow, popcorn is way cheaper at the drive in than at the movies - six for a jumbo! And from what I could see of them, they were bigger, too!

After I have the tub, I make an about-face and take a step forward, promptly smacking right into someone and spilling the top hundred kernels of popcorn all over someone and the phone they were staring at.

I’m horrified, and take a quick step back with my apologies, “Oh, god, I’m so sorry, are you all-”

And then I look up, and my horror is replaced with dread. Victoria Chase’s lips twist into a sneer but her voice is like a growl as she holds her phone off to one side: “Look where the fuck you’re going, Caulfield.”

“I’m so so so sorry Victoria, shit, I didn’t even know you were-”

“Oh, save it,” she spits, stepping around me to get to the counter. “You just better hope you didn’t stain my clothes - your whole room couldn’t pay for them.”

Then she turns away from me to the person on the other side of the counter, “Can I get a large popcorn, a medium pepsi and a medium lemonade?” Then, as the person on the other side just gave a ‘yeah’, she replied curtly, “Thanks.”

God, I do not need any more antagonism from Victoria after the shit about me pairing up with Rachel. “Look, Victoria, can I buy your food, maybe, or something, and we call it even? I’m really sorry, I was just clumsy.”

She makes a point to make her face visible before rolling her eyes. “Chill, Max, I’m not going to steal the two pairs of jeans you own to make up for mine.”

She leans back against the wall of the concession building, and I just stand there for a moment amidst all of my spilled popcorn. Victoria takes a moment to scroll down something on her phone until she notices that I haven’t left. “Yes?” she asks, barely sounding irate. She must be in a good mood about something.

“I . . . just . . .” really want to pry into why you’re in such a good mood. That’s probably not the thing to say, though, so I say, “I saw that you didn’t enter anything in the photo competition - I was really looking forward to what you’d enter. I thought you’d be my biggest fight.”

Victoria scoffs, tossing her head to the side a little too dramatically, but her tone, despite its venom, seems pleased, “Oh, that wouldn’t be a fight, Max, that would be like, well, that guy,” she says, pointing out a guy on the screen who just had his arm shot off from a ludicrously powerful arrow.

Holy shit, this is a lot more violent than Spirited Away.

“Besides,” she follows up, “I’ve had bigger fish to fry. It doesn’t leave me a lot of time for school competitions.”

I pop a piece of popcorn in my mouth. “Why, what’s up?”

She crosses her arms in front of her chest, though the hand with a phone in it sits out in front of her, making the entire stance pedantic. “Well, if you must know, I’ve been refining my portfolio recently, and I just submitted it this morning to an art studio. My mother knows the owner, so I know they haven’t been very excited about submissions from the community recently, so it’s an excellent opportunity for exposure.”

I blink. That’s really cool. “Wow,” is all I really manage aloud.

She raises an eyebrow, and as I have no quick follow-up, she gives a small ejection of disgust. “Whatever, Max.”

God, talking to Victoria is always like a punch in the gut, but I don’t want it to. Early in my junior year at Blackwell, I thought we might even be friends, we were so invested in photography, but every conversation with her feels so volatile, like I can only grasp it for a second before it blows up.

I can feel my head and shoulders stooping. “I mean, that’s really cool. It’s really hard to put your work out there, but you don’t even hesitate. You’re going to kill it before I even get going.”

“Hmph.”

From the sound she made in response, I figured I’d only pissed her off enough to get her to stop talking to me. Instead, though, I think I see the corners of her mouth fighting down a smile.

I look for a different conversation before I dig myself a hole I can’t dig myself out of. “So, um, you actually like Studio Ghibli?” I ask, gesturing to the screen with my bucket.

“Except for Tales from Earthsea, yeah. Is there any reason I shouldn’t?”

I can sense a loaded question. That doesn’t mean I’m great at avoiding it, “Well, no, I just didn’t think you’d be someone who . . .” I trail off, not sure how to end that question without being insulting.
Again, an eyeroll far too emphasized to be entirely natural plays across her face. “I recognize things of quality wherever they exist, Max, I'm not so petty as you’d like to think.”

The guy behind the counter pushes her drinks and bucket of popcorn forward, and she turns around, putting her phone away to pay. Once she has them in hand (vaguely, as one can with three cylindrical objects too big to properly grasp), she begins to walk away, but she does pause for just a second. “You should think about things beyond school too, Max. Don’t fuck it up for yourself.”

And then she leaves me there.

As I make my way back to Warren’s car, I still can’t figure out if that was an insult or a compliment.

We’re not looking much cheerier by the time we shuffle out into the quad, so much so that after a glance at my face, Rachel drags me over to the fountain by the hand and sits me down.

“Max . . . everything feels wrong.”

I nod. “I know what you mean. I feel drained.”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s like . . . Chloe and I are each other’s staple food. Sometimes we didn’t just click, and sometimes we weren’t great for each other, but we’re always there for each other, and now I’m like . . .”

“A little lost?” I conclude.

“Yeah.”

Rachel and I’s hands are still woven together, and I swing them about a little as I think. For once, the contact isn’t making it harder to think, but maybe a little easier - like I’m running too slowly and it energizes me.

At first I think, this is nice.

But then also, I have no idea what I’m doing.

“I know it’s wrong,” Rachel begins again, “to feel like this, especially after accepting that modeling deal. If Chloe didn’t leave first, I was going to. But we’ve been so entangled for so long it’s just weird.”

“I know what you mean,” I reply. She looks at me, waiting for more of an explanation. I tuck a bit of hair behind my ear. “When I moved up to Seattle, nothing felt right for a long time. I’m not sure it ever felt right without Chloe; I’m not sure if that’s because I moved or because we didn’t stay in contact, but Chloe’s always been my best friend, and I’m not sure I’m full-me without her.”

It is such a stupid feeling. Whether or not it had been the right thing for us, both of us had chosen to leave Chloe whether she liked it or not at some point. Chloe had given us a say and she had promised she wouldn’t be gone all that long. But here we were, moping around without her.

We’d encouraged Chloe to go soul-searching, but we’d failed to do that ourselves ahead of time.

Rachel looks like she’s getting frustrated in the vortex of her own feelings, and I don’t blame her. “It’s like . . . do you think your fate can be tied to someone else’s, Max? Like star-crossed, kinda?”

My head tilts, looking at Rachel’s cheek and her curtain of golden hair and her bright earring. My thumb rubs along the crease of her palm. “Yeah, I think so,” I reply.

Rachel leans against me, and I find myself in the very new position of having my arm wrapped around her, like she always does to me. She lays her head in the crook of my neck and shoulder. “Being the mature friend sucks. Giving her my blessing ‘n stuff. Stupid.” Her voice is petulant and childish, and I think deliberately so.

It’s so cute.

I press a kiss into her hair, and I can smell lavender.

“The worst,” I agree.

She sighs, and I can feel her breath across my body.

My heart almost hurts.

That’s when I have the idea.

I don’t know why I feel out of breath as I knock on Rachel’s door. It’s about 9:40, and Light’s Out is fast approaching. Nevertheless, Rachel is still dressed, her makeup still neat when she answers the door. She just blinks down at me for a second, probably confused by whatever expression I wear on my face.

“We’ve gotta go,” I say, tone urgent, but not as urgent as I feel.

“Huh? What? What do you mean?”

“We’ve got to go after her.”

“Max, what? What are you talking about. Chloe? She’s okay, right?”

I nod, trying to explain, needing more words. “Yeah, Chloe. We’ve got to go catch up with her, like, now. We can’t let her see any more without us.”

Rachel looks so confused, taken aback even. “But, how can we? We don’t know when she’ll be back, we don’t have a car, and I . . .” she looks embarrassed, speaking quieter as she adds, “I really need to maintain my grades if I want to get scholarships.”

“I’m not saying we’ll have every detail down, but we can take a train to catch up with her, we can come back when she comes back or take a train or bus back if we have to. But I . . . yeah, I hadn’t thought about your scholarships. I’m not really counting on my grades getting me anywhere but maybe a community college so that’s . . .”

Rachel reaches out, gentle as she grasps my hand, her thumb rubbing my palm in a small circle, consoling as she watches me deflate. “Max, what brought this on?”

My other arm crosses my chest to grab my arm, shutting myself off a little. “I . . . I don’t know. I guess I was just thinking. Thinking about how much bigger we could be, how much bigger we are. About how I need to think about things beyond this school. Thinking about how Chloe and I feel star-crossed, like you said - not like lovers, but just . . . together. And about how much I need Chloe, and I think you need Chloe, and I think maybe Chloe needs us. Maybe that’s where we need to be, more than here. More than Arcadia Bay.”

It’s another expression that I don’t recognize on Rachel’s face. Her eyes are shining, her lips forming neither a frown nor a smile. Her look is so deep and long that for a second I feel like she’s looking right through me, and I grow nervous until I stop talking.

That’s when she pulls me in, wrapping an arm around my waist, and brings my face into a kiss with such momentum it’s a miracle my lips don’t miss hers entirely. I have to tilt my head up to kiss her properly, but that’s easy with her hand around my waist and I’m so close to her body. I keep my hands on my hips, and there’s no laughter in this kiss, but it’s warm, warmer than I’ve ever felt her or me.

When we part, Rachel still does not open her eyes, but leans her forehead against mine, letting out a ragged breath.

After a moment, she says, “I’m going to talk to my teachers tomorrow morning. I’m going to find out all of my major assignments, and when we get back, I won’t have dropped below a 3.8.”

My breath catches. My eyes must sparkle as hers open, and ours are so, so close together. “We’re going? Really?”

Rachel nods against me. “Max Caulfield, you’re amazing, and I love Chloe with all of my heart. I am not going to miss out on an adventure with you two for the world.”

There are too many thoughts racing through my head, all too excitable, jumping around before I can voice them. Only one makes it to my mouth. “Can I kiss you more?”

As the door closes, I discover that I am very confused by kissing with tongue, but very willing to learn.

Chapter Text

“Grow up and blow away.”

I jerk awake suddenly as the voice speaks from somewhere off to my left. It immediately descends into a mid-tempo rock song, and I hear Rachel groan, her face thoroughly burrowed into her pillow. Without even looking up, her arm reaches out and gropes about at her bedside table until she finds her phone on a stand and pulls it off, immediately shifting the song from the stand’s speakers to the phone’s. She manages to swipe the screen and drop the phone next to her face without ever having looked up, but a heavy breath in her pillow lets me know that she’s awake.

I sit up a little, trying to blink the sleep from my eyes. Rachel seems to respond to this much more than anything, as she finally makes the effort to roll around, swiping a bunch of her hair off to the side so that she can see properly. This proves to be too little, and she takes a few seconds to blow more of it away.

With her eyes properly clear, she greets me, “Good morning,” and pushes her arms out to stretch, as virtually everything below her chin is covered with blanket.

I take a look down at my feet, and discover that I’ve kicked her blanket off almost my entire body. I’m lucky that I didn’t kick her off.

That’s when it finally dawns on me. “Oh my god.” I bring my hands up to my face, burying it in my palms. “I fell asleep.”

Rachel and I had stayed up for a few hours past Lights Out last night, wanting to get as much as possible in order. We had purchased our train tickets down towards where we’d expect Chloe to be tomorrow evening and texted Joyce about our plan. Rachel had sat and texted friends of hers she could pull small favors from, although we needed fewer than I had imagined. It turned out that Rachel’s family was adequately stocked in at least two areas, and that was camping supplies and vinyl records. Other than that, we had to have some food to take with us to reduce the cost of the trip, so she’d gotten in contact with Trevor, who worked at the local Sav-Mart, and we’d be able to get a steep discount if we got him a shopping list today.

That, and, of course, we had needed our own Instagram to make the trip official.

“Yup,” Rachel replies, lacing her fingers together and making herself a hand pillow to lay on. I finally recognize that she’s wearing a white shirt with the logo of Dark Side of the Moon, which she most certainly wasn’t wearing last night.

I fell asleep . . . and she just left me here.

“And then you . . . changed, cleaned off your makeup, and put me under the covers?” I would really like my voice to sound more surprised, but I’ve got that flat-dead raspy sound to my voice instead.
She doesn’t seem to mind too much, as I see her feet wiggle a little underneath the cover. “Mmhmm! Well, I tried to get you under the covers - I guess I finally get why you sleep over them now.”

I slide my hands up my face, using them to push my hair back and try to get it flat. I find this somewhat uncomfortably easy, as my hair is a little greasy from failing to take a shower two days in a row.
I might have to get used to that.

“So that’s . . . cool?” I rasp. It’s not like Rachel and I have never slept together, it’s just that it’s always been an organized, planned thing. That might matter more to me than to her, but, still, I’m not sure how I’d feel about someone just falling asleep in my bed, no matter who they were.

Rachel perks up a single eyebrow. “It’s more than cool, Max.” She pauses, surprisingly flat-toned. “It’s hella cool.” Now her face splits into a grin, and she rolls once under the covers so that her new pillow is my thigh. “Good morning!”

I’ve got this, I’ve got this. The urge to kiss or touch Rachel is always like a little jolt in my stomach, but it’s always made sense to push it back. But I get the distinct feeling right now that it’s okay, so I try to lean down and get my lips down to hers.

I am not flexible enough. My body hangs up, hovering about halfway down to Rachel’s face, and I give a bit of a grunt as I hit my limit. Nevertheless, her lips push together into a little smirk from her grin, and she pushes herself up on one arm, awkwardly, trying to get our faces to meet. I manage to get a kiss on her nose before she makes one tiny last lunge, and we get a very quick peck on the lips.

She giggles, rolling back off of me, but that kiss was enough for me to taste it. I raise my hands to my mouth and breathe.

“Oh god,” I groan again. “I’m rank. I haven’t brushed my teeth since yesterday morning!”

“Oh, psssh,” she waves it off, standing on the bed for a second before stepping off. She’s wearing plaid-patterned boxers, like Chloe used to when we were younger. “Weird tastes come with the territory, and prime kisses don’t wait around for the golden opportunity, you know.”

I’m still mortified. “I haven’t missed brushing since . . .” I try to think of a single instance. “Ever! Never!” I breathe again into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut in dramatic pain. “This is awful.”

Rachel pulls open a drawer of her dresser and apparently is dissatisfied with the result. “Damn! All out of muffins.” She turns around, leaning up against it, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she thought. I drag myself to the edge of the bed, sitting until she says whatever she’s trying to figure out.

After a few seconds, “Okay, so, we don’t have much to do for the trip until after school, so we can chill out a little until then. Wanna go to the Two Whales for breakfast? See Joyce?”

That sounds really nice, actually. It would be awesome if Joyce actually approves of what we’re doing, although I doubt it - she wasn’t exactly psyched that Chloe was going. “Yeah, definitely, I could go for waffles two days in a row. Just let me . . . you know, shower and brush my teeth and stuff.”

“Bah,” she dismissed, stepping over to her closet and swiping the clothes apart with an almost slashing force. Then, she seemed to think of something, and turned around, “C’mon, girl, don’t you know you gotta love your natural beauty? All women are beautiful, especially if they got six hours of sleep and haven’t showered in a few days.” She raises her hands above her head and clasps her wrist, shimmying for a moment to highlight the natural beauty of the girl with too little sleep.

I laugh as I finally get out of the bed, patting around for a second to find my phone amidst the sheets. “Maybe if they look like you, but the rest of us aren’t Aphrodite without a shower and maybe some eyeliner, you know.”

“Not true!” she insisted, turning back to her closet. “All girls are goddesses. Especially if they’ve got freckles. Adorable freckles.”

And finally, she’s got me, and my face is red and I have no more good comebacks. She can hear the silence of her victory.

I never knew crushes could be so much fun.

“Hey there Joyce,” I say with a little wave.

“Hey Mom,” Rachel adds, reaching out of the booth well enough to get Joyce in a loose, sitting, sideways hug.

Joyce is giving us a bit of a glare, though, and she even stands with her arms crossed, her notepad held in the crook of her arm. “Good morning girls, what can I get for you? And, while you’re at it, why don’t you let me know why I woke up this morning to a text that the two of you are heading after my daughter?”

I open my mouth to respond, but Rachel is quicker, “I’ll have some orange juice and coffee, and for the other thing, I think Max explains it way better than me.” She gestures out to me, offering my head on a silver platter for Joyce to take her scolding out on.

Joyce raises her eyebrows at me expectantly, pulling out her notepad to write something down. Probably how to cook my eyeballs so she can serve them to Chloe for encouraging delinquent behavior. “Um . . .” I stall, trying to find a totally adult, legitimate reason for my thinking. “For the . . . artistic spirit?” Joyce clearly still wants more from me, so I add, “And coffee, please.”

Joyce writes down my drink in addition, but gives a pretty vocal sigh while she’s at it. “I should have known that this wouldn’t be some week-long trip for Chloe to get California out from under her skin. I’ll probably have three unemployable girls with no high school diplomas living in my garage come this time next year.”

Rachel and I both wince as Joyce douses us with her cold joke. Luckily, it’s hard to keep Rachel down without a comeback, so she responds, “Well, maybe - OR Max could get a bunch of nature shots, fill out her portfolio, and make tons of money; I could get scouted by no less than three agencies who all make increasingly obscene offers as I play them off against each other; and Chloe’s fresh batch of tattoos could secure her as a job as a bouncer in a club for the wealthy and famous where the tips are so good we decide to quit our new, lucrative careers to become her less-intimidating cronies and wardrobe managers.”

There’s a brief, stunned silence, which, as usual, signals that Rachel has won the banter contest. In this case, however, nobody had really fought back. Joyce and I give each other a glance as we often did in these cases to remind each other that Rachel is crazy.

“Well,” Joyce finally offers, “I sure hope she doesn’t come back with more tattoos . . .” and, after a brief moment to cast that fear out of her mind, she left us alone.

In some of these moments, where Rachel and I have no clear direction to what we’re doing, the banter slides and we’re left with a moment of quiet. It happened a lot before we’d ever hung out by ourselves, like when Chloe went to the bathroom or otherwise left us alone for a few minutes. It’s strange how easy it is to slip back into that awkwardness and distance when, at other moments, the distance between us can vanish so entirely, literally and figuratively. The easiest thing to do, usually, is just ask Rachel about her day or what’s been going on recently, but the weirder thing is that I know these things - I’ve been part of them. A big part.

But being such a big part is precisely what informs me that what she just said is off the wall - none of that had come up, even the reasonable parts, like me getting an opportunity to take nature shots. It all just came up on the spot.

“Your imagination is kind of amazing, you know that?” My head is tilted to the side, as if the adjusted angle is what helps me see Rachel in some new way.

Her smile in response is small, with a quiet, “Thanks,” but I feel some appreciation that she doesn’t cut back with some comment to distract me. She just holds my look for a second, until I grow embarrassed and look away.

She fiddles with her earring for a second, and then says so softly I can barely hear it over the din of the diner, “You don’t have to look away, you know.”
I look back to her, confused; “Huh?”

She swipes her hair behind her ear, creating an asymmetry that envelops half of her face in the light from the window. “You stare at people when you think they’re not looking, like Kate in Mx. Dog’s class. When they look at you, you pretend you weren’t staring. But I don’t mind.” She blinks so slowly that it seems deliberate. “I like it when you look at me.”

She and I hold a look there for a moment, and slowly her smile grows larger and larger until we’re both grinning at each other. It must look super dorky, I know, but the longer we hold the look, the more that I feel the tingling electricity just like when we kiss. It steals my breath and tightens my chest, and I take a deep breath trying to counteract it, just letting the electric feeling spread out into my stomach, into my fingers.

Joyce comes by with a tray, placing my coffee down in front of me and startling us out of the look. I raise a hand up to my arm, rubbing quickly in hopes of settling the goosebumps all over them.

“Thanks, Joyce.”

She sets down Rachel’s drinks as well, with Rachel actually taking the orange juice from her directly and pulling off the straw’s paper top with her teeth. However, Joyce doesn’t leave immediately to continue on with the tray, instead picking up something previously hidden on the tray and setting it down between Rachel and I. “I knew there wasn’t going to be anything I could say to convince you two this is a bad idea. So here, you should have this with you wherever you three end up.”

I can see that it’s a polaroid, so I reach out first, turning the little photo to take a look, and almost immediately crack a smile.

I stand in the middle of Rachel and Chloe, arms outstretched to take hold the polaroid as far away from myself as I can. Rachel’s head is stooped down to my shoulder, one eye closed as she stuck her tongue out at the camera. Chloe’s grin seems to stretch across her entire face, like it would take up the whole photo given the chance. I look positively thrilled - I can’t remember what the scene was, but I’m ecstatic.

I flip it over for a second, finding a handwritten note from Joyce on the back in small script.

To my girls:
take care of
yourselves.
I love you
Joyce

“God,” I swear with a sigh, and hand the photograph over to Rachel, taking the opportunity to try a sip of my coffee.

Rachel takes a moment to look at the polaroid, flip it over, and then look at it again. Then, she sighs too, setting the picture between us again. She takes sugar from the side of the table and empties a packet into her coffee before stirring it. There’s a glumness sitting between us now, the feeling that we’re abandoning Joyce when things are probably already tough for her.

“Destiny is a choice,” Rachel mutters as she stirs.

“Hmm?” I ask, not quite remembering why that sounds so familiar.

“That’s what Michel told you, remember?” Rachel lifts her coffee up near her mouth and blows over the surface. “When you got your fortune read, Michel told you that destiny was a choice, and that you had to be brave, remember?”

I nod, remembering the other parts of my fortune just as I am inclined to protest at the pre-recorded mystic’s suggestions. Complementary strength, Max.

“I think this is a pretty good destiny to choose.” She sips her coffee, her hazel eyes flicking up to mine while her mouth hides behind the cup.

I smile, and tap my foot around a bit under the table until I find Rachel’s, pressing down on it just enough to be (I think?) affectionate.

The corners of her eyes crinkle as she puts her coffee back down on the table.

A few seconds later, the caption read:
HELLA BEST FRIENDS 4EVER!

I smile at that for a second, running my finger over the tape again to make sure it is secure. Then, I grab a post-it note from my stack, all of which start with the alerting title: “Objective:” in order to keep me on track if I should get lost in doodling. To-do lists never work for me, but the objective notes made my daily tasks feel like I am nearing a level-up in an RPG, and that helps my concentration to a surprising degree sometimes.

My newest objective?
Be ready to
go before
bed tonight

I close my journal and wind the string that keeps it tight around the knob on the front. Soon, I’d have so much to fill my journal with. I try to think ahead, to what it’s going to look like to look back on this past week with Rachel, and the weeks to come. It could all look like a goofy teenage mistake, or . . . one of the best decisions I’d ever made. I’ve been making a lot of gambles like that recently. If I had miscalculated, a lot of debt could be coming my way. Emotional debt.

There’s a knock on my door, and I push my journal to the back of my desk before going to answer it.

It’s Kate Marsh, her hands delicately laying over one another over her skirt. Weird - normally she’d be spending her lunch with her sketchbook or Alyssa.

“Hey Kate.”

“Hey there Max.”

“What’s up?”

Kate sways a little as she talks, as she always does. “I was wondering if you wanted to go get tea after school today? We haven’t caught a date in the past few weeks.”

I immediately smile at the request, but I’m not so caught up in it that I forget like last time.

I look behind me, checking to make sure that my room is clean enough to manage my shame. Decent, I guess. “Here, Kate, come in, I actually need to talk to you I think.”

“Oh, um . . .” Kate looks slightly pink, but she follows me inside as I step back into my room, ‘okay.” She takes a seat on the couch across from me, careful to avoid the neck of my guitar in the process. She places her forearms down on her knees. “What’s going on, Max?”

I scratch the back of my head and swipe a finger underneath my nose like maintenance. Kate would be understanding whatever reason I gave, I understand that. But it feels so weird to leave a close friend behind like this - it’s like my trip is refining who are my ‘real friends’, and I want to make sure she doesn’t take it like that.

“So . . . I can’t, actually. Make our date. Not for a few more weeks.” I can’t look up at Kate just yet, so I stick to futzing with the bracelet Rachel gave me.

Kate leans forward in her seat, and her voice is filled with concern, “Huh? Is something wrong, Max? Are you okay?”

Oh, lord, she completely misinterpreted. Wrong approach.

“No, yeah, Kate, I’m okay, promise. I’m just going out of town for a few weeks to go . . . sort of sight-seeing with Chloe and Rachel.”

“Oh.” I can’t really tell what the tone of that is. “Wait, as in right now? In the middle of the semester.” Then, she seems to put it together fully, “As in, like, tonight? That’s why you can’t go?”

Oh god, I’ve disappointed her. Kate doesn’t want me to go, and Kate Marsh is too good to deserve an ounce of disappointment in her life. Oh god.

I can feel my doubt clenching in my stomach, and I start tugging on my studded wristband. “Yeah, well, tomorrow morning. You might have seen on Facebook that Chloe’s on a road trip, and, well, Rachel and I want to be with her.” 

I look up finally, and find Kate’s face unreadable. “But, like, I’m going to be texting the shit out of you, and as soon as I get back we can go on a whole tea quest through Portland, and-”

Kate stands up, reaching out and placing her hand over my hand, settling its agitated fidgeting with the wristbands. I look up her hazel eyes and see her face slowly form a smile as I quiet.

“That’s great. I’m happy for you, Max.”

Taken aback, my response comes as a stutter, “R-really? You don’t think it’s stupid?”

She shakes her head, still smiling, “Not for a second. I think it’s perfect.”

I glance down for a second at her hand over mine, reeling far more at the firmness of her support than just the words. How can Kate actually think this is a good idea? She’s so responsible.
I break the contact with her hand, only to reach up and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into an uneven, but very tight hug. “Oh my god, Kate, thank you so much, thank you; you’re gorgeous and perfect and charming and talented and-”

She’s giggling so much as I drag her down, and she twists a little out of my grasp so she can sit on my bed instead of my lap before leaning in to hug me just as tightly back. “Bring me back some tea!, we can try it together. Nothing too sweet, though, maybe just like lavender or-”

“Totally.” I squeeze her tighter, and she squeals a little before we both start giggling.

She’s back to her pretty pink tone as we break apart, and she scoots back a little on my bed. “I knew you were totally going to fall for her when you started hanging out last week.”
I flush, pushing my hair back a little on my forehead as if I’m just hot. “I don’t know what you mean,” I lie, realizing more and more how much I’ve managed to broadcast what’s going on between

Rachel and I. I thought we were at least kind of sneaky about it.

Now Kate grins, clearly having me on the defensive. “I may not know Rachel, Max, but I’ve heard enough to know what happens to people around her. Plus, you know, look at her.”

I nod. I have been. It’s really nice.

“Well, what about you and Warren then, huh? I saw you two together quite a bit last week when you were supposed to be working with Stella.”

She winces at the implication. “It’s . . . totally not like that. I’ve kind of been having a rough time, and Warren’s been really understanding, that’s all.”

I raise an eyebrow, my best imitation of Rachel’s ‘calling your bullshit’ look. “You sure? I mean, he’s awful sweet, and at the drive-in he seemed kind of . . .” I trail off suggestively.

She buries her head in her hands. “I know, I know, but I’m really not . . . like . . . I don’t . . .” she struggles to find the right words.

I think I know what she means though, so I stop the teasing, “No, no, I get you - I don’t really . . . do that either.” I pause and add, “Sorry.”

We sit with knowing looks on our faces for a few seconds before Kate tries to bring us back to our original topic, something she can be much more enthusiastic about.

“So, where are you three going? You’ll be taking lots of pictures, right?”

I smile, as we both know full well the enormity of pictures that will be taken of this trip. The instagrams at Blackwell are so popular that there’s even a ‘Blackwell Piece of the Day’ every weekday run by the school’s student government, by which I mean Courtney Wagner.

“Oh, we’re about to release the photo-kraken all over Instagram, don’t worry. We actually have a page already set up . . .”

While Kate sets about following the media and proposing different places we could go to along the west coast, I just try to enjoy the last lunch I’m going to get with her for a while. She’s such a warm, supportive friend. I’m glad Warren and her other friends are here for her, but I hope by the time I come back, she’ll feel so in the loop that it’s like she’s coming along, too.

I get the impression that she wants to live vicariously through our adventures. I’ve never sensed this escapism from her. I hope everything is all right. 

The perfect celebration of our escape finally dawned on me as I was deciding whether or not to take my laptop. It was about 5:30 when I stood in front of Brooke’s door, knocking in hopes of obtaining the first, most important step. While Brooke might be involved in the science and engineering programs at Blackwell, I also had class with her in music, and I know she takes computer sciences with Chloe. Add in the fact that she burns the track lists for Vortex functions too unimportant to hire a proper DJ, and, well . . .

Brooke opens the door, and we stop to take brief glances at each other before she decides how polite to be. She’s wearing a yellow zip-down hoodie with little diamonds placed neatly all over it, as well as cut-off jean shorts. With her dyed hair, Brooke honestly reminds me of a combination of Chloe, Rachel, and I all blended together, sans the goofiness. If I were a photographer with the sort of dedication and intensity that Brooke seems to provide to everything she does, I could probably leave Victoria’s cashmere in the dirt. But, then again, I’m not really that competitive . . .

“Hey Brooke,” I offer first, hoping I hit her at a good time.

“Hey Max,” she responds, still looking me over. Finally, her eyes return to my face. “Need something?”

I fidget a little with the strap of my bag. “Yeah, uh, I was just wondering if you had any blank CDs I could borrow. Or, well, buy. I want to make a mix CD for some friends.”

She gives me a quizzical expression, then asks, “How many do you need?”

I hadn’t really thought of that, so I just guess, “Um, I don’t know . . . four or five? Thirty songs at least, maybe up to sixty?”

“Yeah, one sec,” she says, and turned back into her room, leaving the door entirely open.

I take my first glance into her room, but all I can see on the opposite end are three! monitors on a desk that seemed to take up almost the entire back space, having a plastic bottom over the carpet to assist in rolling back and forth on a chair she must have brought in. The computer sitting underneath the desk is an absolute monster, a few feet tall with transparent sides, so that you can see the lights and circuits inside. I don’t really get anything about it except that it was big and pretty, but that’s enough for me to utter a quiet ‘oh . . .’

Brooke is back at the door quickly with maybe a half-dozen disks, each placed into individual paper slides. “That should do it,” she comments as I take them.

“Do you need me to pay you b-”

“Nah, it’s cool,” she said, and the door closes between us.

Well, all right. That wasn’t half bad.

I settle back into my room, my bags half-packed as I drop the first disk in and head to my library to start pulling songs for us to listen to. I figure I can just grab everything that looks good that we like and randomize it across each disk so that Chloe can’t get all choosey with them. As she’s our driver, she always demands control of the music, and while Rachel and I like her music, we also like substantial more variety.

I am quick to recognize that I don’t know much of Rachel’s taste in music beyond what she and Chloe both like, so I head to her Facebook to start sorting through her liked bands. Most, I expect.

Arctic Monkeys, Metric, MGMT, Muse, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Led Zeppelin, Blink 182, Angus and Julia Stone, Modest Mouse, Avril Lavigne, Sleeping with Sirens, MCR, Panic! at the Disco, Metro Station, Death Cab for Cutie, Pierce the Veil, AFI, the Used . . .

Wait. No way.

I click on Rachel’s name and then over to her pictures. I click on pictures with her, and immediately click left to go as far back as I can.

Oh my god.

Rachel was emo. Like full-on, 2007 black hair with a single green highlight emo. She was nearly prepubescent but clearly migrating from Myspace where that was still in vogue.

I text her while looking around for a way to quickly pirate as much of this music as possible so I could burn it onto the CD.

Max: YOU WERE AN EMO KID?

Rachel: ?
Rachel: oh god
Rachel: you went looking through my FB photos didn’t you

Max: :D
Max: You did something cringey.
Max: Someone, at some point in their life, probably cringed at your lifestyle choices.

Rachel: that person is me
Rachel: and my parents
Rachel: -.-
Rachel: first of all how dare you

Max: Maybe Michel the Mystic was right.
Max: Maybe we’re just too different
Max: ~a nerd and a goth~

Rachel: stop

Max: ~never meant to be~
Max: omg your first profile pic was literally that gothic anime girl from the mid 2000s off Deviantart that literally everyone has seen

Rachel: :(
Rachel: why must you hurt me
Rachel: why would you say that you know how i feel

Max: rawr

Rachel: >=[
Rachel: no

Max: That means ‘I love you’ in dinosaur

Rachel: i’ll love you too if you just erase this from your mind
Rachel: forever

Max: Wow, that’s a lot of commitment
Max: I mean I’ve heard of u-haul lesbians but I’d say I’m probably bisexual

Rachel: you’re a turd
Rachel: i should have eloped with lisa when i had the chance
Rachel: i know she’d be willing to calmly soak up the LA sun with me

Max: Well, sorry! ^^ You’re eloping with me instead

Rachel: ...
Rachel: you win this round.
Rachel: pick you up in 30?

Max: ! e ! x ! c ! i ! t ! e ! d !

Rachel: always knew we’d run away together ;)

The playlist is done. Now all that’s left is to burn them, and I’ve got plenty of time to do that.

My body seems to hum.

Deep breath.

I exit my room and immediately find myself face-to-face with an unpredicted obstacle - Victoria Chase in a yellow button-up about two feet from me just exiting her room. She scans me quickly, primarily focusing on the bags before slowly sliding her phone into her slacks.

“Y’know, when I said you should think of things beyond school, I didn’t mean . . .” she twirled a finger around, encircling my body and the bags, “whatever this is.”

I shrug as well as I can under the weight of the bags. “Well, you weren’t the only inspiration, Victoria. Sometimes a journey of self-discovery is just called for.”

Her eyes squint now as her hand falls out in that same pedantic pose, like she’s needing to spoon-feed sense into me. “Wait, you’re serious right now? You’re packing up and going on a spirit journey ‘just ‘cuz’? Can you even drive? You don’t have a car, do you?”

I would really like to be able to fidget with something right now, but it would look kind of weird to put down my bags. “Well, no, but Rachel and I are going to met up with Chloe and she-”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Victoria cuts off, suddenly way more hostile than I expected. “You’re ditching out of school for so long you need three bags to go hang out with Rachel Amber? Who do you think you are, Max? You’re here on scholarship, and you don’t get to just disregard the school because you won some little photo contest.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make what I’m doing wrong. This trip will be good for me as a photographer, and there’s no way I could do it alone. There is no better time - delaying had only pushed Chloe to the point she’d needed to leave without us. “It’s not like that,” I reply, hating how whiny my voice sounds. “I’m still going to be doing my homework and expanding my portfolio, and I’m not going to have a better chance to experience so much-”

Victoria gives such a loud, contemptuous snort that I shut up. Her voice brightens and the pitch rises in sarcasm, “Oh, sure, I’m Max Caulfield. Ditching class is really just my way of finding enlightenment. Nature is so beautiful that I sob waves of romanticism.” Then her voice turns cruel, “Maybe you should think with your head instead of your dick for a second here, Max.”

“Shut up!” I snap, finally dropping my bags and pushing my courier bag back further, less in my way. “Why do you act like I’m just some dog eating out of Rachel’s hand? Why do you even care? Can’t I enjoy myself without you shitting on me for no reason?”

For a second, I think I hear Juliet’s door open, but when I look over, it doesn’t look like anyone is coming out. Victoria glances over at it too, then returns her pissed stare back to me. At least she’s quieter now, “I don’t care, Max. But you’re better than whatever manic pixie dream quest you think you’re going to get, running off instead of staying here where you belong.”

My face is heated in the exact opposite way from when a conversation normally turns to Rachel - I’m pissed. “Maybe I belong with my friends when they’re out living their life, not stuck here with you and your snooty sycophants and dumb club. Maybe I can do something meaningful instead of getting drunk on the weekends off my boyfriend’s-”

“- He is not my boyfriend, and don’t you bring Nathan into this.” Victoria takes a step towards me, and being nearly a head taller, the close proximity allows her to lean down to get closer to my face. She presses a finger into my chest as she spoke just above a whisper, “This is the sort of shit I meant when I said don’t fuck it up for yourself.” She almost sounds pleading. “You only get so many shots, Max.”

I am silent for a moment, trying to understand where this is all coming from.

The silence is too long for her. The venom is back. “Whatever, Max. Have fun.” She turns and heads right back into her room, practically slamming the door behind her.

I don’t know why I feel so sad.

“Hey babes,” she greets, hand on the ignition for just a second before my expression seems to settle in. “What’s wrong?” She’s so quick to tap into it, to reach over and grab my hand, that my heart melts, and I accidentally slip into tears.

“Whoah, hey,” she she emits in surprise, and scoots across the seats to basically scoop my upper body up against her. “I know this is kind of a new thing but I’m pretty sure this means that I’ve gotta beat someone up.”

I raise a hand to my eyes as well as I can to wipe away the stupid fresh tears. “No, no, no beating up. I just ran into Victoria and she was kinda . . . mean about the trip. She’s been really rude to me since last week. Like, more  than usual.”

There’s a little grumble in Rachel’s chest. “I really don’t get her,” she confesses with irritation. “Back before we got into Blackwell, Victoria seemed cool, or chill at least. But she’s gotten to be such a bitch - I can’t believe she’s acting like that.” Then, quieter, she adds, “And I’ll totally beat her up, just you watch.”

That provokes a laugh from me, and soon afterwards from her too. I poke her shoulder playfully on my first two words, “No - fighting. She’s like half a foot taller than you. Plus . . . I really don’t want to be her enemy.”

Rachel deflates a little against me, recognizing I’m not really settling in for a cry session. “Yeah, me neither. I might like the spotlight, but I don’t think I want to get famous for fighting other girls. It’s tacky. Even if they deserve it.”

I nod repeatedly in agreement, “Totally tacky. But I don’t even want to fight. I’d way prefer to be friends, talk photography and be totally chill. But she’s so  . . .” I raise my hands in a vague strangling shape and shake them, “meeeaan.”

Rachel finally begins to de-tangle herself from me a little. “Now, I know this might seem a little funny coming from me, but sometimes it’s not worth it to make friends. Some people feel they have too much to fight for to do that, no matter how nice you are. Or how pretty they are.”

I giggle a little bit at that, reaching for my seatbelt. “So you think so too?”

Rachel glances at me with comically wide eyes. “Well, I have eyes, don’t I? But what can I say - lions don’t always belong in the same pride.”

I find myself with a smile, despite everything, and pull out my phone to text Chloe. It was time to let her in on what was going on.

At least, until we were actually on the train, because we managed to sleep our way through almost the whole thing.

It’s well into the evening by the time we’re off the train and on a bus, nearly arrived in Crescent City, both because it’s so close to the California-Oregon border and because tickets there were cheaper than almost anywhere else. We’re not even sure we’re in the right place when the bus stops, until the driver calls out: “Crescent City, right? You guys are out here.”

We take a moment to grab all of our things, and then we’re outside, somewhat unpleasantly surprised to find that every surface in sight is damp. But we don’t have too much time to focus on that, because before we ever see her, we hear: “Hey you crazy townies!” and, as if out of nowhere, Chloe appears between us with an arm over both of us, pulling us as close as she can with our bags as impediments.

We’re here. Just inside the California border in one of the wettest parts of the state, despite the drought. And we have our Chloe back.

“Heya, hippie.”
“Hey you.”

Rachel and I squeeze her as tight as we can, given the circumstances.

Chapter Text

In tribute to @mjrrgr and the @loveisstrange-vn

Chloe has a plan, and excited as we all are to be back together, we have to load up in the truck and start off south with little fanfare. It’s about 3pm, and our destination is the Redwoods forest about an hour and a half south, so Chloe figures we can be there by 4:00 if we have the right music.

I’m happy to oblige.

I pull the first of my disks out of my messenger bag by the time we’ve pulled away from the bus station. Chloe glances at it for a second while we sit at a stop sign, and I’m busy switching it with the disk already - from what I heard, I’m pretty sure it’s Dark Side of the Moon. Typical.

“Holy shit, mixtape 1? Dude, how many did you make?”

A grin crosses my face. “Oh, a few. I’m surprised you didn’t make some yourself before going.”

Chloe’s eyes practically roll into the back of her head, which cannot be safe when you’re in one of the heaviest cars on the streets.”

“I’ve just been slowly driving myself crazy listening to the Arctic Monkeys over and over. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have settled for so many Oregon stops if didn’t need to get out of the car so bad.”

Since the truck is not properly designed for three full-sized people, I’m wedged between Rachel and Chloe in a seat belt apparently designed for ants. Bringing my bag inside with me for the disks and my camera was, in hindsight, probably a poor choice, eating into my little leg room. At the very least, with a seat so bad, neither of them could contest me having control of the music.

It’s not until we’re on the freeway that we really say anything more than the lyrics of the music. Chloe quickly settles into her lazy driving stance, leaning against the window, her head held up on her hand. Crescent City is small enough that it takes few directions to get out, and Chloe is a far more confident driver than Rachel or me.

Chloe chuckling is what breaks it, though. Shaking her head, she says, “You guys are totally crazy, you know that?”

Rachel and I exchange a glance, then her eyes flick over to Chloe. As she raises a finger to show that she has something to say, she replies, “I think we are totally cute.”

Chloe snorts and says, “Okay, maybe, but you’ve got the Harley Quinn thing going on. Cute ‘n crazy.”

She spares us a short glance before transitioning into, “But, like, I know you know college apps are due at the end of the month. This just seems like kind of a shit idea if you want to be on top of that.”

There’s a few seconds of uncomfortable silence between us when she says that. I know she doesn’t mean it rudely, but sometimes Chloe can come off a little harsh with her criticisms.

I clear my throat and say, “Well, uh, I kind of thought we’d be back by then. Plus, we brought homework.”

Chloe grumbles a little. “I really wasn’t planning on a time table, y’know? It’s kind of against the whole point.”

What exactly is the point?, I want to ask. Instead, I just tug on the bracelet that Rachel gave me, leaning forward so that Chloe is only in my peripheral vision.

I hate it when she’s on edge like this. We probably should have told her about the plan as soon as we thought of it instead of ambushing her with it last night. Chloe is always one for surprises and impulsiveness, though, so I wasn’t expecting this hesitation from her.

“And we get that, hon,” Rachel replies, swiping her hair behind her ear and pinching her earring, rolling it between her fingers slightly. “We’ll just bus back if we run out of time. You’re the captain, I promise.”

Rachel extends her arm a little over my head, and I think I see Chloe smirk. She switches hands on the wheel and meets Rachel in a pinky promise somewhere behind my back.

“Aye, mateys,” Chloe says in her gruffest pirate voice. “An’ any man who mutinies will walk the plank.”

“Aye captain!” Rachel and I reply in unison, and we both laugh.

I lean back against the seat, settling in for the ride while the fourth song picks up. Chloe’s grinning now, and that leaves me with a smile even as my laughter fades away. Chloe insists on being grumpy except in the moments when she’s a smirking, sarcastic little punk, but whenever she smiles, it’s like years are pulled from her face. Under her weak facade, she’s a total kid, just like me. And in moments like that, you actually get to see how beautiful she is.

I look over at Rachel, and her smile is slowly melting into a smirk. When our eyes lock, she quirks an eyebrow at me, and I giggle a little. I want to take my hands out of my lap, try resting my hand on top of Rachel’s, but I notice she’s keeping her hands on her legs, too.

We’re not quite there yet, and that’s okay.

I’m exactly where I want to be. 

I’ve only ever seen the redwoods from a profile view, driving down the coast of California with my parents. Even that was years ago, before we even moved away from Arcadia Bay, and I don’t think I could properly appreciate the scale. Even while we were still in the car, I don’t think the size of the forest really sunk in.

Rachel takes a deep breath as soon as she’s outside, holding her arms out to best expose herself to the fresh air. “God,” she says, “it’s good to be back.”

Chloe’s on her phone while we get our packs prepared, trying to find out more details about this so-called Boy Scout Tree Trail. There are three other cars in the small lot at the trail head, so it should be a pretty peaceful walk.

“Okay, so,” Chloe begins, sitting on the edge of the truck bed. “Looks like we’re climbing Howland Hill, then ending up in Fern Falls. This super-special tree or whatever is there, and then we turn back. We should be out of here before eight. Rache, you got a jacket?”

Rachel scoffs and waves the notion away. “This is California, Chloe. I’m good. Plus, you know I run hot.”

It’s already plenty warm for me, so I tie my hoodie around my waist, glad for the absolute mountains of sunscreen that we all brought, although I know these forests are supposed to cut out most of the direct sunlight. 

Once she sees that we’re all ready, Chloe remarks, “’aight, let’s go!”

“Oh, holy shit, is that it?”

Chloe points ahead on the trail where an unusually wide redwood sits. I can see that a small sign has been nailed into it, even though I can’t read it from this distance.

“I think so . . .” I reply.

It’s not until we’re pretty close that I recognize what is off about the tree’s size - it’s subtly warped towards the center, as if two redwoods grew together and merged. Even by the scale of the redwoods, it’s enormous in girth.

There’s something about the forest that warps your entire sense of scale. When you look up between the redwoods, it looks like you’re tracing the perspective lines of the world, like they’ll all bend inward towards a central focal point. It’s one of the few times that you really become aware at how your vision is warped by position, almost as if you are the center of things and the tops of the trees bow before you.

“I wish there was enough space you could take one of those, like, leaning against the Eiffel tower pictures.” Chloe genuinely seems to pout as she recognizes this isn’t an option.

“Well, we could go for the opposite approach,” Rachel offers. 

Chloe and I both look at her, expectant of an explanation.

She gestures forward at the double redwood. “We’ll stand back, you go up right next to it, and everybody can be like, ‘whoah, big tree.’”

“But then I seem weak and small,” Chloe says, pouting even more.

“What if you fought the tree?”

Chloe turns towards me, hands on her hips for a second in thought. Then, she snaps her fingers into a quick finger gun - “That. That’s the sort of thinking you’re here for. Lemme at it.”

Rachel and I stop on the path while Chloe dashed on ahead, quickly shrinking against the giant redwood. There are a few points where I think she’s right up against it, like an optical illusion, before I use the ground and realize she still has several paces to go.

She’s diminutive against it by the time she’s leaning up against it, apparently awaiting a ‘cool guy’ shot like she’s been hitting Facebook with a few times a day. Rachel pulls out her phone as I take out my polaroid, trying to get as much of the massive tree(s?) in the frame as possible. Of course, it’s completely useless - even if I backed up to the point I could first see the tree and rendered Chloe effectively invisible, I’d only end up with a portion of the tree in my viewfinder.

I’m still framing my shot when Rachel calls, “OKAY, NEW POSE!” And Chloe pivots, lifting her fists like a kickboxer before delivering one slow blow to the trunk of the tree.

Click, and out prints my invisible photo of Chloe.

Rachel’s still fiddling around with filters, and I’m waving the warmth out of my photo, when Chloe calls to us, “THIS THING IS FUCKING HUGE, BY THE WAY!” and begins to walk around it, disappearing from sight after a few more seconds.

“Ooh, that one,” I say, pointing to a ‘noir’ filter.

Rachel sighs gently, “Always a sucker for black and white, aren’t you?” and her face turns away from her phone, planting a kiss on my cheek, warmer for the ambient heat.

“Hey,” I say, and turn.

My hands are full, but I still manage to lean forward and kiss her. She reaches up and places her hand on my cheek, and we sit still in the kiss. It’s amazing how quiet that moment is - all of the ambient noise of the cities and freeways are gone completely, the loudest noise I can hear just the ringing of my ear left from blaring rock in the car. It’s the antithesis of our kiss in the light house I think, the air and the world so still, not electric, just warm.

There’s a little pop in the end of our kiss, and then Rachel smiles while our faces are still so close.

“Good choice,” she says, nodding. “Noir will do.”

“- LIKE HOLY SHIT!” Chloe yells as she arrives on the other side of the scout tree. “IT’S SO BIG, I BET IT’S A METAPHOR FOR GOD! WHO IS ALSO MY DAD! AND THE FINAL BOSS!”

Rachel gives me a side eye. “Do you know what she’s talking about?”

I take a few seconds to consider, swiping under my nose to clear the debris of thought and sweat. “Gatsby, I think. And definitely Final Fantasy.”

Rachel’s head quirks to the side while she tries to remember what that is, some of her hair spilling over her shoulder and disregarding her constant attempts to push it behind her ear. “Is that . . . that shitty sci-fi movie?”

I can feel it as my eyes go wide, my whole body freezing as I stow away my camera. Every muscle in my body is suddenly rigid in horror. Did she seriously just call Final Fantasy . . . shitty?

“What - did - you just say?”

Rachel’s curious eyes tell me that she has exactly no idea what she has just done.

I stand up straighter, pressing my fingertips together just under my chin, and take a deep breath.

I know Rachel’s into zodiacs, and while I’m mildly familiar with astrology from internet quizzes, and maybe a bit more familiar with Astronomy from Cosmos, I can’t say I’m great at finding constellations. I’m good at finding shapes in the stars, sure, but the whole thing just feels . . . tricky.

There’s one thing I can do, though. “Well, that’s Ursa Minor, I know that. So that makes that the north star.” I reach up, hoping they can see where my finger is pointed.

“That’s . . . the little dipper, right?” Chloe asks.

“Mmhmm, that’s right,” Rachel says, reaching up while I drop my hand back down. Her hand trails across the sky a little, as if tracing a line against the heavy blue-black canvas. “And that’s Ursa Major to the west.”

Rachel pointed up towards the moon. “Sorry you can’t really see it with the moon like this Chlo, but you’re Pisces right next to it. You can kind of see that little square there, yeah? That’s part of Pegasus - it’s a really easy way to find Pisces.”

“What about Virgo?” I ask. I’m not even entirely sure what Virgo looks like, but my birthday just passed, so maybe that means it’s really visible?

Rachel lets out of a bit of a sigh and a, “Oh, sweetie.” There’s a few seconds of pause before she explains, “The sun’s still in Virgo, so we can’t see it.”

“Oh.” My face grows warm in embarrassment, even though I know there’s no way I would have known that. While I don’t think astrology is necessarily hokey, I definitely haven’t taken the time to learn much about it.

Rachel’s birthday passed not that long ago - back in July - so I figure by the same guiding principle that Leo isn’t going to be visible near the middle of the night. But, it’s been a few months, so does that mean it was visible earlier, or it will be visible much later.

“What about Leo? When can we see it?”

“Well, it’s October, so Leo should be in a good spot just before dawn.”

There is a short pause, and a moment of rustling, and I realize Rachel has turned on her side to look at me. I turn onto my stomach, affording me an excellent look at Rachel’s hair, pooled underneath the moonlight. Chloe’s eyes are rolled back to look at us, fingers laced underneath her head to let her look straight up.

“If you’d like, I could wake you up at like five - you could get a pretty good look at Leo. Lots of cool stuff happens before dawn in October.”

I can’t quite understand why, but something about her voice makes me shiver. It’s quiet and low and sweet, like her giggle when she backs away from a kiss. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone talk like that to me. I’m not sure I’ve heard anyone talk like that at all.

“Y-yeah, that sounds nice.”

Rachel gives a little hum in response, and then turns back onto her back. I look at her shadowed profile for a few more seconds before following suit.

“Y’know, it kind of pisses me off how big space is.”

I crack a smile at something so typically Chloe. “Yeah? Why do you say that?”

She gestures up at the sky for a second before waving it away dismissively. “Well, I mean, come on. It’s so fucking big. We’re never going to know everything about it. And I don’t mean us three, or us seven billion, I mean us, Homo sapiens. We’ve got no chance.”

“I don’t think you unlock an achievement for getting it all, Chlo.” Rachel sounds amused.

“I know. I just mean . . .” Chloe trails off, apparently not entirely sure what she means. After a moment, though, she says, “Like, when I was a kid, I was so sure I was going to see everything. Start traveling as soon as I was eighteen, just don’t stop until I had seen it all. But now I’m nineteen, I’m seeing some cool stuff, but fuck if I’m ever going to see Venus.”

“It’s one of those things that makes you feel human,” I reply.

“Huh?”

I try to collect my scattered thoughts for a second, push them out in a coherent sentence. “I mean, here on Earth, we like to think about how big we are. We try really, really hard to matter. I know I do. As much as I love taking pictures, I know I want to matter because of it.”

I swallow, and there’s a short pause. “But I’m never going to. Not in comparison to space. No one is. So I guess I kind of know what you mean at being pissed at space.”

Slowly at first, and then outright, Rachel begins to giggle to herself. “You guys have a funny way of looking at it.”

“Yeah?” Chloe asks. “Why’s that?”

Rachel quiets her giggling before answering, “Well, because space isn’t big. It’s infinite. And nothing will ever matter to it, or have any meaning. Pisces is a fish because we say so. You’ll never matter to Venus, sure, but you could matter to LA and that would be more than anything matters on Venus. I mean, you matter to me, and I’m more important than Venus as long as we say so.”

I can tell Chloe is mulling it over as she grumbles a response, “It’s not just the mattering, though. I’m not like you two with wanting to be famous. It’s more like, the more I do, the more I am. I don’t think I need anyone to know. I don’t need to be put in the stars for killing a hydra but fuck do I want to kill a hydra.”

I’m not sure I understand what Chloe is trying to say, but the way she lots Rachel and me together feels weird. For so long in my head, I’ve thought of this little trio as me and Chloe with shared history and Chloe and Rachel with shared history. Being lumped together with Rachel and separate from Chloe is . . . unfamiliar.

Rachel and Chloe. Chloe and me. Me and Rachel. I finally get each of those in pairs, I think. But who are Rachel, Chloe, and I? I don’t know yet.

Chloe lets out a long sigh, maybe just aware of how we’re talking past each other as I am. I think the stars have a way of making ordered thinking fall away, and it’s showing.

“Guys?” Chloe asks hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Rachel hums.

“Why’d you come? For real, why’d you two come after me? I know you can manage a week or two without me. So why?”

It’s a pretty good question, honestly. I only knew it as a feeling deep in my gut, the culmination of so many thoughts and feelings that had been surrounding me for days. I hadn’t really questioned them beyond the fact that it felt right. I had worked far harder on finding all the justifications for why it wasn’t the wrong choice when I talked to Mx. Dog and Victoria and everyone.

What had it been, really? What gave me this crazy idea?

“Well, I dunno,” I confess. “I was just looking at your Facebook feed. I wasn’t jealous, really - I was happy that you were having a good time. But I. Fuck, I guess I wanted to share it with you, kinda. This feels important. And I’m not missing it.”

“We’re star-crossed,” Rachel says. It takes me a few more seconds to recognize that those words came from me. “That’s what Max said when she brought up the idea. And you know what? She’s right. This is a prototype run, because we’re sticking together, Chlo. It’s destiny.”

“Huh,” Chloe grunts, and I snort at her anticlimactic response.

“Guess you two really can’t get along without me, huh? Thought you two had really hit it off last week with the project. I mean, fuck, the theme was bonds - with how into photography you two are, the picture could have been you two getting married and I’d be like, ‘yeah, that makes sense.’ Too bad.”

I think I’m back to an embarrassed flush, but I don’t say anything. Instead, Rachel just wordlessly rolls in her sleeping bag, and I see her settle her head on her folded hands, looking over at the top of Chloe’s head.

“Chloe?”

“Yeah?”

“I got offered a contract in LA. And . . . I took it.”

Now it’s Chloe’s turn to roll around, so that her and Rachel’s faces are only about a foot apart. I figure it’s my turn to stay out of things, so I stay still, just letting their voices bounce back and forth. I’m tense, afraid of what Chloe might say, but I know now that Rachel is resolute. Chloe, hurt as she might feel, is loyal. She’ll understand.

“Wait. Shit. When?”

“The end of the semester. Start of January, probably.”

There’s a short pause, but I flinch when it’s broken.

Chloe’s voice is laced with frustration. “Why didn’t you tell me? I should be picking up shifts at the Two Whales or something, getting ready or-”

“Chloe.”

“Yeah?”

I’m surprised at how firm Rachel’s voice sounds, just like when she told me she was taking the offer up at the light house. “I don’t want you coming with me. Not until you’ve graduated.”

“What - the - fuck? Why?”

“Because graduating is important, Chloe. Until you get a Bachelor’s, that’s all you’re going to be able to list on resum-”

“Fuck my résumé. We both know I can’t afford anything but community college, and nowhere I’m going to work is going to care. I need to look after you.”

“And I need to look after you.”

There’s a moment of quiet after that. There’s something that strikes me as odd in that last chord. I’ve always liked to think of loving someone as being in harmony with them. I’ve never doubted since I got back that Chloe and Rachel love each other, but their feelings always seem to push them in different directions instead of the same one.

I’m surprised to find that both of them seem right to me. I like to joke that Rachel is the mature friend, but I think they’re both trying to do the right thing for the right reasons. Love leads people in the right direction, I think.

The frustration’s gone from Chloe’s voice. Now it sounds pleading. “Babe, this is our plan. I’m ready. Let’s go together.”

There’s a deep-breath huff from Rachel. At first I think she’s going to say something hard again, shut down the conversation. But she takes another breath just like it, and I realize she’s hesitating.
“I’ll . . . think about it, Chloe. I want what’s best for you, I promise.”

There’s some shuffling, and I think Rachel is offering her pinky again.

My suspicions are confirmed a few seconds later.

“Yeah . . . okay. Promise accepted.”

There’s a small crinkle of sound, and I think one or both of them has cracked a smile.

The light house returns to me, as unavoidable in my mind as it is in Arcadia Bay.

“You know,” I say quietly, “wherever we end up, I hope we end up there together.”

A few seconds later, and Chloe has pulled herself up to me, hanging over me with her bullet necklace falling somewhere between us. She’s got that shit-eating grin on her face, and I know she found a way to get an ego boost out of what I said.

“Ya jealous?” she asks, almost purring.

“You wish,” I reply, pinching my face in disgust. I reach up to boop her nose, but she slides back towards her sleeping bag.

“Rachel, I think she’s jealous.”

Rachel rolls onto her side, and I turn enough that I can see her. She’s smirking a little.
“It’s all right, Max. You can stay over and sleep in my bed as long as you want.”

God, how does Rachel always manage to catch me off guard and make me feel like a little kid? The flooding blush is polluted with satisfaction. Over the past few days, I’ve discovered I really, really like sleeping with Rachel, even if it doesn’t make for the most restful sleep. The waking up is . . . well.

I hope she’s not joking.

“Hey now, that’s not-” Chloe begins.

I interject quickly, charged with pleasant-but-totally-formal surprise, my best imitation of Joyce, “Why, Rachel, that sounds so nice - thank you! A trip to LA could do me good.”

Chloe pouts, “You two are. Disgusting. Intolerable.”

“Yes,” Rachel replies, holding a finger up in the air in vaguely Chloe’s direction. “But we’re cute.”

“Jealous?” I ask, a self-satisfied smirk settling on my face.

“Oh, shuddup.”

Chapter Text

In tribute to @mjrrgr and the @loveisstrange-vn

Most days, I awake slowly, realizing that the awful screech of my alarm is real and that all of the dreams I’d been enjoying were totally fake. But when I feel a hand fall into my hair, when I feel nails against my scalp, I immediately twitch awake, gasping as if I were emerging from underwater.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah, hey, it’s just me,” Rachel says softly just above me.

I freeze, trying to figure out where I am and what’s going on, at least aware that I’m not in danger.

Okay, let’s see. I’m in a sleeping bag. On the beach. Oh!

I roll over slowly, revealing more of Rachel bit by bit. Her knees on the tarp next to me, her tank top, her hair covering her shoulders, her blue earring dangling down next to her eyes. Her face is right above me, but I can see beyond her that the sky is still dark. What is she getting me up for?

As if she can read the thoughts out of my mind after a few seconds of wordless staring, she answers, “It’s 5:00. We can see Leo. Still want to see?”

I nod, swallowing to try and get my throat capable of talking without my horrible rasp, but the nod is enough for her to smile.

“Awesome,” she says, and then, “Scoot over.”

I just blink at her lamely for a few seconds, not sure exactly what she wants until she reaches over me and begins to unzip my sleeping bag. She swings a leg over me while I try to scoot to one side of the bag, but she doesn’t immediately move over, instead turning her attention back to me for a brief second.

There may be a very thick later of fabric between us, but when she squeezes her legs in on me, I definitely feel it. I chew on my upper lip a little, immediately nervous.

“Hey. Good morning.” And she leans down to kiss me.

This time, the weird (terrible) taste of morning doesn’t bother me so much. Morning kisses from Rachel day after day are far too important to be bothered.

Without further ado, she rolls off of me, finishes unzipping the sleeping bag, and scoots herself inside as well as she can. She can’t quite get it to close after her, but having Rachel right next to me is like having a space heater, and I am warmer despite the cool beach air.

I have an arm around her waist immediately, both to make room and to pull her close, quickly making us useless stargazers as we spoon. Her tank top has been pulled up a little by her wiggling into the bag, and she’s so warm from sitting in her sleeping bag for hours that her belly almost feels hot to the touch.

I don’t mind.

I lean forward, my lips close enough to her ear that my whisper tickles, “So, where’s Leo?”

Her face pinches a little as she snorts from the tickle, but she quickly replies, “East horizon. If we wanted a really good look we’d want to be on a hilltop, but we should see most of it.”

She gestures for me to share my pillow more, and I try to turn so I can look at the eastern horizon a little bit while keeping an arm around her, although it promptly gets crushed as she turns as well. She only takes a few seconds to look at the sky before finding what she’s looking for, and pointing upwards.

“See the sickle there?”

I most definitely do not see a sickle, no.

“It looks sort of like a backwards question mark.”

Rachel presses her face close against mine, and although my eyes slide to look at her, her concentration is right up in the stars. I follow the length of her arm up to a curve she’s tracing in the sky.

“And it ends right there, you see? At Regulus, that bright one right there. And, actually, right next to it? That’s Mars, not a star, so don’t include it. Once you see Regulus, go up two stars along the body of Leo and . . .”

Rachel’s hand trails across the sky, but I don’t think it quite reaches its destination. Instead, my free hand meets hers, and our fingers weave together slowly.

It takes her a fair amount of twisting and turning before we’re facing each other, but the proximity in this little sleeping bag feels different. I can’t bring myself to open my eyes completely, but I can feel Rachel’s hot breath on my face. I can feel her eyelashes tickling my eyelids. I can feel the notches of her spine as my fingers trace the line of her back, and I can feel her shiver as I reach about halfway up her spine.

I’m not sure who kisses who, but it’s like we meld together for a moment, and in that moment our legs fit together and I am on my hands and knees over her. It barely even registers to me what we’re doing until I need to take a breath. My heart races, and I know I’m breathing too fast to really be justified from kissing.

Even in the darkness, I can see her features clearly. Her eyes are wide open, and her face is . . . I think, for a few seconds, her facade is gone, and I can see her again.
“Whoah,” she breathes gently.

“Um,” I reply, sitting up a little to swipe some of the hair from my face, “there’s more to Leo than a backwards question mark, isn’t there?”

“Yeah,” she replies, and although she doesn’t smile, her expression is very soft. “Come here, lay down. I’ll show you lots of stars.”

She only manages a few before I’m asleep, curled around her warmth with my head on her chest.

“Hey you two, we need to get going.”

I don’t start awake this time, but instead slowly open my eyes, realizing that my entire upper body is bathed in sunlight, and that I am way, way too warm. That, and I can hear a heartbeat.

Then that the heartbeat is Rachel’s.

Then that Rachel and I are still in the same sleeping bag.

Then that Chloe is leaning over us, fully dressed, with her hands on her hips.

“H-hi, Chloe.” My voice doesn’t rasp, but it isn’t much more impressive, as I suddenly find myself paralyzed. I’m not afraid, although my heart skips a beat. Embarrassed? Ashamed? No, none of those but . . . I’m not sure what to expect to happen in the next few seconds.

What I don’t expect is the sudden jerk from Rachel, and me suddenly having to support my own weight to sit up.

“Oh, hey Chloe!” Rachel sounds far too surprised to be cheery, although I think that’s the tone that she’s going for. “What’s up?”

Chloe rolls her eyes and takes a step back. “Come on - get dressed. We’ve got a lot of driving to do today and we’ve got a late start.”

Rachel is quick to crawl out of my sleeping bag, sliding her hands along her scalp to move all of her hair to her back. Meanwhile, I roll to the side of the sleeping bag she had just been occupying, snatching my phone from the tarp beside me.

“What time is it?” I ask, seconds away from being able to check that myself.

Somehow, though, Chloe’s got a quick response, “It’s eight. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago.”

“Sorry Chlo,” Rachel apologizes quickly. “Wasn’t sure when we were supposed to be up.”

I click the power on my phone and, instead of my lock screen picture, I see that I have a single notification from Kate, and a small wall of notifications from Instagram. The Instagram stuff is probably just due to me being tagged in every picture of Rachel’s for the past two days, so I swipe on Kate’s name to see what’s up.

Kate: Hey Max! How are you? How has the trip been?

Max: Good morning Kate!
Max: It’s been really cool, actually. We went to the redwoods yesterday and today we’re heading to someplace called Mendocino. Really big forest a few hours north of Sacramento.
Max: And I’m doing okay. Things have been a little awkward, but I’m glad I came.

Unlike Rachel, Kate is a very slow responder, so I don’t expect a reply while I’m getting ready. Instead, I focus on packing up the sleeping bags and tarp with Chloe while Rachel is getting dressed in the truck.

Chloe doesn’t pick a conversation, and for a minute we work in silence. Except when she’s smoking, Chloe doesn’t usually tolerate much quiet from me or Rachel. Has she been smoking already?

“So, um, Chloe. What’s the plan for breakfast?”

She shrugs, grinding her knees into a rolled-up sleeping bag to push any remaining air out of it. “I don’t know, a Denny’s I guess? Or we can grab like, donuts or something, I don’t know. We should probably do something fast.”

She’s gritting her teeth as she works. Is she mad? No, she gets loud when she’s mad, not quiet. Frustrated? Frustrated would make sense if we made her late - it might feel like we’re interfering with her plans despite our promises. Or is it because of Rachel and I sleeping together? She seemed to have noticed that we’d gotten . . . closer during the contest. I mean, she cracked the joke about us “smoochin’”, and even distant people like Juliet seemed to have caught on. Maybe it is awkwardness? Does she think this will mean that she’s a third wheel? Despite what’s going on with Rachel and I, I still think we’re both most comfortable with Chloe. She’s both of ours best friend - she gets that, right?

I sigh gently, still unsure of the answer.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she replies, a little too fast, “just want to start driving. The place I want to camp is walk-in, so all delays take time out of Mendo... whatever.”

“Oh.” There was no way I could have known that, and yet, “I’m sorry.”

“S’cool.”

When we’re packed up and carrying our bags and the tarp back up to the truck, I notice that Rachel is done changing, but is leaning against the bed of the truck on the side opposite of Chloe and I’s approach, not immediately noticing us. By the time that I notice that she’s talking on the phone, though, she turns her head and notices us. Chloe raises up a sleeping bag before dunking it into the back of the truck slowly and over-dramatically, as if to say, ‘hey.’

Rachel raises a finger to indicate that she needs a minute, and kicks off of the truck and begins to walk along the sidewalk.

“It’s gonna be a few minutes,” Chloe warns. “You should probably go brush your teeth and change while you’ve got the chance.”

“Yeah.” I watch Rachel walking for a few seconds before she sits herself down on the railing separating the sidewalk from the beach, far too far away to hear what she’s saying or make out the words on her lips. “I’ll do that.”

It’s 8:19 by the time I’m ready and leaving the nearby bathroom. Kate’s hit me back with another text, and I can see that Rachel is still busy on her phonecall, hunched forward with her elbows on her thighs. Chloe’s going to get pissed if it goes on too much longer. She feels ignored if you get too busy with your phone or computer. 

Kate: That sounds awesome! Except for the awkward bit. Why has stuff been awkward?

“She’s still going, huh?”

Despite the fact that Chloe is sitting on the edge of the truck bed with her back to Rachel, even my short trip from the bathroom informed me that she was looking back at Rachel every few seconds.

“Hmm?” Chloe asks, as if she hadn’t heard me. Then, “Oh. Yeah. Rachel is pop-u-lar.” Although she often confronts the topic of Rachel’s spectacular popularity with sarcasm, her eyeroll seems particularly spiteful this morning.

My instinct to validate Chloe immediately comes into conflict with my desire to protect Rachel. My mouth opens, but I hesitate for a few seconds. “It seems like a lot of pressure. I don’t know how she does it.”

Despite the week that we spent together, that is still true. I may have a much better understanding of why she does it, but how she even manages to be so receptive, to be ‘on’ so often amazes me. I think that is one of the reasons why I know she’s going to be an incredible model - not only is she beautiful, but she knows how to be what people want.

I know that she feels weighed down by it. Does Chloe?

Chloe deflates a little in response. “Yeah, I mean. Yeah, I guess.”

She reaches into her jacket pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, slides one out, returns it, and pulls out her lighter. As she puts the cig in her mouth, she talks through her teeth, “Don’t know how that school’s even gonna stay standing without her there.”

She lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag from it before continuing. “Guess I can’t talk, though.”

I take a seat next to her on the truck, both so I’ll stop staring at Rachel and she’ll stop blowing smoke towards me.

Kate: That sounds awesome! Except for the awkward bit. Why has stuff been awkward?

Max: I’m not sure Chloe totally appreciated us coming.
Max: She really wanted to do something independent.
Max: How are things back at Blackwell, though? How are you?

I know that’s not the only reason things are awkward, but I don’t know how to tell Kate about Rachel and I. I don’t really think she likes boys, but I don’t exactly have a lot of evidence that Kate likes girls, either. I know she’d be cool with it, but I don’t exactly want to get slotted in as ‘her lesbian friend’ when I’m not even there. If Victoria found out (and she would find out, somehow), she’d have way too much ammunition by the time we got back.

As I slide my phone back in my pocket, I shuffle a little to look at Chloe better and ask, “Hey, Chloe, should we talk about-”

“Nope.”

“Uh, okay.”

It’s 8:37 by the time that Rachel is done with her phone call, and several more minutes pass before we’re actually in the car, ready to go. Rachel is spilling apologies all over the both of us for the hold up, but Chloe quickly stops responding to them. An hour out of our day is pretty bad, yeah, but I’d prefer we all try to enjoy it than Rachel be guilty for devoting a few minutes to someone who isn’t us.

After a few minutes, Chloe says, “Yo, Max - got another mix tape? We’ve got a lot of driving today.”

“Yeah, totally,” I reply, and pull out all of the sleeves. I think Chloe’s eyebrows quirk once she notices that the titles do not fit the pattern she was expecting - instead of Mixtape 2, I pick “Apples and Oranges” to replace “Mixtape 1″.

“How far is Mendocino?” I ask as the first track begins to play.

“Like, six hours? You can check your phone.”

“All right.”

We arrive at Black Butte Lake later than we hoped, but Chloe still manages to grab us the final spot and pick up firewood before everything’s closed down. Unfortunately, even in California, October sunsets come pretty quickly, and the campground is dark by the time we’ve set up - and by that, I just mean we’ve got a fire going. Well, at least, Chloe and I’ve got the fire going - Rachel took the truck as soon as we arrived to go buy beer and food in nearby Orland. How exactly she never fails to get beer if she wants it is beyond me, though I can’t claim to know much about . . . well, anything having to do with alcohol, I guess.

It can’t be later than 8:30 by the time we’re totally situated, sitting in a little triangle with our Wendy’s meals around the campfire. I’m sitting in the bed of the truck with my legs dangling over the, carefully eating fries one at a time when Rachel finally speaks up.

“Where do you think you would have gone, if you could have gone anywhere?” She stares across the fire at Chloe, sitting cross-legged on a convenient rock, stirring a quickly-melting frosty into a smooth consistency.

Meanwhile, Chloe is busy with her chicken nuggets, which she needs a completely unnecessary amount of barbecue sauce for. She’s busy chewing, but I think I know the answer.

“Paris, right?” I ask.

She nods, but luckily finishes swallowing before actually saying anything. “Yeah,” she replies simply, immediately dunking another nugget.

An implicit ‘why’ hangs in the air, though, and she can feel it. “I’ve been trying to get there since . . . well, fucking forever, I guess, although I kind of gave up after Dad died.

“But, when you were a kid, what made you want to go?” Rachel insists.

I’m surprised she doesn’t already know all of this, honestly. Although talking about our past wasn’t something we ever seemed to do as a group, I assumed they’d talked about it plenty while I was gone. Chloe wanting to go to Paris was like Chloe wanting to be a pirate captain or a super hero - they were ever-present and not very quiet.

Chloe sighs, and then just tosses a whole nugget in her mouth, using all the extra chewing time to mull it over. Why questions with Chloe were never easy. I think it takes the fun out of it for her.

“I honestly can’t tell you. To me, when I was like ten or whatever, Paris just seemed kind of like magic. You’ve got the Eiffel tower, duh, and you’ve got the Louvre, and you’ve got all these incredibly famous writers who used to live there, and just.”

Chloe huffs as she tries to put all of her thoughts together. Another nugget provides the fuel that she needs. “I mean, spending a day in Paris shows you more cool stuff than living a year on the west coast. It’s got history, and not all of it’s about, like, fucking genocide.”

Chloe reaches for another chicken nugget but discovers that they’re all gone, that her whole meal is gone. Her mouth pinches into a circle of disappointment before she tosses the container into a paper bag.

I know Rachel gets it, even if she doesn’t come up with a response. The history of Arcadia Bay, despite the attempts of its many nature trails to convince you otherwise, is unpleasant at best. Rachel probably knows that best of any of us. Despite Ms. Grant’s stubborn, enthusiastic attempts to convince everyone that the natives of Arcadia Bay and the families that settled here in the 1800s was harmonious, my family had taught me better long before I ended up in her chem class. I know Rachel has mentioned her father is Salishan, but I can't for the life of me remember the name of the tribe contacted by the Blackwell Expedition, or whoever is in the newspapers occasioanlly.

Chloe begins to hunt around for the trash can outside of our spot, while Rachel looks at me curiously without responding.

“Why did you family move to Arcadia Bay?”

She makes a sweeping scoop in her frosty, but doesn’t delay the question with eating. “Um. Well. When the housing market bubble burst, we knew we had to move out of Long Beach, probably out of California. Arcadia Bay’s economy had kind of been in the shitter for a while, but it was improving when everything else was getting worse, thanks to the Prescotts. This is my dad’s hometown, and we could afford an actual house, so we moved.”

She shrugs in conclusion. “Why did your family leave?” Finally, she flips her spoon over and drops it over her tongue, quirking an eyebrow at me.

I quickly deflate, blowing my chest empty at the topic I’d rather avoid. While it’s not really that big of a deal, I really don’t like bringing up what led to me leaving. The timing has always been a sour note with Chloe and me, even if me leaving wasn’t my fault.

And, on that note, Chloe returns, holding as many beers as she could carry before crouching down next to Rachel, so she can take a few for herself.

Once they’re situated again, I start in, “Well, it’s pretty simple. My mom’s a lawyer, and she got offered a much more lucrative position in Seattle than she was ever going to have here. She works for the DA there, now. Plus, my dad’s a networking engineer, so he can always make more money in a big city, so I think it was kind of a no-brainer for them.”

Chloe’s got five beers at her feet and one in her hand. I hope that’s all she plans on drinking . . . at least when she’s smoking, Chloe is quiet and silly. When she drinks, I think she’s just sad.

She’s just started on her first one when she tacks on, “Well, I mean, there’s more to it than that. I don’t know, maybe.”

Rachel tilts her head, shifting the patterns of firey light on her hair. For such smooth hair, it’s amazing the texture that light can create in it.

“What do you mean?”

Chloe taps the bottle against her palm a few times, a tic, before sipping from it. “I mean, our dads knew each other. Like, they were friends in college. They played rugby and d&d like fucking hipster losers. Max and I were friends before we even started grade school.”

I don’t know if William’s death encouraged my parents to leave. They’ve never talked to me very much about it, not since it happened. As open as my parents are with me about things like sexuality or drug use (not that I’ve caused them much concern in either department), death isn’t a topic they seem comfortable touching.

I open my mouth to speak, but I shut up instead. I remember now that, about a year after we moved, my dad started playing World of Warcraft, and that he had a character named after William’s favorite character. Diedrick, the troll rogue. But there’s something about the look in Chloe’s eyes that tells me we should leave things there, and Rachel doesn’t add anything more, either.

I don’t like the sullen feeling that sets in as they start drinking, and I’m just left staring at the fire in the silence. I don’t want this trip to be so solemn and reflective like it has been. I don’t think puns will save us from that, though, so I’ll have to try and bait banter out of them.

Hmmm...

“So. Would you: Usher?”

Chloe groans immediately, dropping her head into her free hand. “Are we seriously going to play this g-”

Rachel sits up a bit straighter and cuts her off, “Definitely.”

She and I both turn our attention over to Chloe, who sighs at being put on the spot. “Yes. Fuck, I have eyes and a vagina, yes.”

“Yeah, me too,” I admit, quickly searching for another name to try and get them involved. Rachel showed me this ‘game’ when we all went bowling together, and while it feels trashy, it’s really easy to play. 

“Would you: Phillip deFranco?”

Chloe gives me a weird look for a second. “Like . . . the Youtube guy?”

I nod, and she looks confused to the level of sarcasm.

Chloe raises her hands up in an uncomfortable shrug as she replies, “Uh, no? He’s not even that funny.”

“I would,” Rachel replies, nodding to herself a little.

Now Chloe and I both give her weird looks. Rachel’s eyes slide over to me.

“I mean, you asked, so wouldn’t you?”

She looks absolutely offended as I begin laughing, although it only lasts a second. “Oh, god no. I was trying to get like, a baseline of acceptable beauty.”

Rachel’s look only grows grumpier at my words, glaring at Chloe and me. “Well, fuck you two, then. Rude.”

“Would you?” I ask, and Chloe snickers immediately.

I don’t think I’ve ever made Rachel blush with a comment, but the way she stutters makes me think she must be furiously red. “Not. Not with that attitude.”

She points at Chloe with her bottle, trying to redirect the attention, “Would you: Winona Ryder?”

Chloe snorts. “Fuck yeah.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah... me too. I guess that was kind of an easy one.” 

I finally begin to hear Chloe snore, and I figure it’s safe to talk about what’s been on my mind since this morning.

“Do you think Chloe’s freaking? About finding us this morning?”

Rachel sighs, pulling her knees up to her chest, crossing her arms over them, and laying her head down on her arms. “I don’t know. I hope not.”

I try to add up the evidence anyhow, “I just mean, she’s been pretty surly all day. She kept saying it was about being late, but she didn’t really seem to . . . like Mendocino that much.”

Rachel pinches her earring as well as she can, twisting it back and forth while staring ahead. “I’m not sure. We might be landing in old kerfuffle territory, though.”

“Why do you say that?” Rachel still seems fixated on the dying fire, so I try to keep my eyes ahead, too, although that mostly comes down to me turning my spiky wristband over and over.

Rachel puffs up her cheeks before slowly deflating them, a warning sign for awkwardness. Considering how long she takes to exhale, it must have been quite the . . . uh, ‘kerfuffle’.

“Chloe had a thing for me back when we were first friends, like fifteen-sixteen. I said I didn’t think we were a great fit, and she got it. Eventually. I’m just afraid this might have brought up old feelings.”

“Oh.”

Considering how close the two are, I really hadn’t expected that there had ever been anything between them - I would imagine that would make things awkward. Plus, I know they used to go, well, ‘hunting’ for boys sometimes, back before I transferred to Blackwell. I mean, they were plenty flirty with each other, but it never seemed serious. Normally, I’d just conclude that was all in the past, but if Chloe was jealous of me . . . what did that mean?

I ask, “How bad was it?

Rachel shrugs. “I don’t really know. I mean, it’s Chloe. She’ll act like it’s nothing, then suddenly burst out with all of these feelings, then withdraw and pretend like it never happened. That happened a few times, and then it’s just never happened again. You coming along really helped smooth things over, I think.”

But did I smooth things over? Or did I just make Chloe feel too awkward to express her feelings?

“Do you think she’ll be okay?” My voice is saturated with concern to the point of sounding whiny. I know, in fairness, that there’s nothing wrong about Rachel and me, but I don’t want to drive a wedge in our little trio. As close as Rachel and I have gotten these past few days, Chloe and I have been close our entire lives. I can’t just disrespect that, even if Rachel makes my skin crawl with electricity, even if she fills my stomach with butterflies, even if she smells like lavender-

“Okay with us dating?”

Rachel finally turns towards me, her eyes wide and open and curious. It’s that strangely innocent look she gets when her grinning and smirking dies away, and it lances my heart with this cold, breathless feeling. Wonder. Wonder at that word:

“Dating?” I swallow, trying to find enough breath to speak. “Are we dating?”

Rachel’s eyes dart around almost frantically, but soon they settle on me. It occurs to me that I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this awkward. It’s actually pretty fulfilling to see.
“D’you wanna?”

The question hangs there for a second, but then I crack a grin, and although Rachel looks slightly scared at that, I just begin to laugh. Maybe cackle is the better word - it’s relentless and high, and I find myself leaning on Rachel a little while I try to laugh it out. It only feeds back into me when she giggles, escalating until we’re both cackling much too loudly.

“That was - so anticlimactic and uncool.”

Even if the words aren’t very nice, Rachel’s eyes crinkle as she grimaces. “I know, I know. I wasn’t prepared. for this, okay?”

“No, no,” I protest, “I love it.”

And the silly, pinched grin that she gives in response to that leaves me biting my tongue just to prevent laughing more.

“So?” she asks.

I breathe in. I’ve never gotten to say these words. But I’m going to say them now.

“Yeah. I’ll be your girlfriend, if that’s cool.”

Her face is bright and happy, and I’m so full of feelings I don’t even know what words to attach to them. How is Rachel Amber this happy to hear it? How am I this lucky?

“Totally cool,” she replies, rolling forward a little onto her knees so she can directly face me.

She holds up her pinky in the air.

Yeah, that’s the feeling. Wonder. My cage is breaking down, breaking apart, and I am gaseous.

I wrap my pinky around hers.

The track changes on Apples and Oranges, and I almost blush at the appropriateness. “Electric Feel”. I know she loves this song - she sings it every time that it’s on.

“On one condition,” I add.

Rachel’s eyebrows immediately shoot up, intrigued, our pinkies still connected.

“I get to tickle you - EVERY DAY!” I pounce forward as soon as her shock sets in at the word ‘tickle’, using my free hand to begin tickling her stomach, her sides, her armpit - anywhere I can reach.

“No! No! Deal’s off!” She manages between giggling, but she doesn’t let go of my pinky just yet.

Not until we hear Chloe’s groan, and we both freeze, sitting up to take a look inside the window. The groan doesn’t seem to be much of anything, as Chloe just turns from her side to her stomach, and quickly resumes her normal snoring.

Rachel breaks our pinky contact and raises a finger over my lips. “Sssh. We’ve got to be quiet.”

There’s a smirk back on her face, and before I know it, she’s got her hand on the back of my neck and my waist, falling back so that I topple down on top of her. It’s wordless, fluidly automatic as we kiss, Rachel keeping me so close with a hand in my hair. She wraps a leg around my waist, and my whole body is pinned down on top of her.

I hate the taste of beer, but there’s such a texture to our kisses that I barely notice it, hurried and hard. After a minute or so, Rachel uses her leverage over my body to roll us, so that her hair cascades down onto my face. I have the hair bands to prevent it on my wrists but . . . annoying as hair is while kissing, the smell of her is such a wonderful part of it. 

Then, something changes in our kiss. There’s this large, almost sighing sound as Rachel takes a breath, and the kiss slows. I begin to feel Rachel’s nails raking down my side, and she shifts her weigh down to her hips, a gyration that seems to move like a wave through her lower body. I pull her closer again, my hand on her waist, but she only repeats the motion.

It feels . . . very different.

I don’t really have time to think about it before our kiss has ended, and Rachel plants another kiss on my jaw, then on my neck. She lays another kiss along the tendon of my neck, but holds this one, so warm that I shiver. We hadn’t really explored anything but -

I let out a gasp as she bites the tendon, and although it barely hurts, the warm-shiver feeling radiates from that point, and my pulse jumps at the same time.

I don’t know what to expect next, and I definitely don’t know what to do next. I just sit there, frozen in anticipation for a few seconds before Rachel slowly sits up, still straddling me.

She’s frowning, and she’s not looking at me either - just staring deeply off to the side, though nothing’s there.

“I . . . don’t want to have sex with you,” she says. “Like, not right now.”

I have no idea what to say to that, but as I try to sit up, Rachel groans and slides off of me, just lying down on one of the sleeping bags in the truck bed, though distant from a pillow. I had no idea that was even on the table at all. And although the past few minutes or so sort of made that not seem like a crazy idea, I definitely hadn’t expected it.

“I. Uh. I wasn’t really aiming for that so . . .” her face is buried in the sleeping bag, while I just stare out into the moonlit camp. “So, like, that’s cool with me.”

Rachel turns her head enough to the side that I can see her face, although she’s still smushed against the sleeping bag. “I know, I know. It’s not . . . you.”

I have no idea what that means. Why would Rachel even think we were going to have sex? I’m not the best at body language but I don’t think I was flashing any secret mating calls. Plus, she’s been drinking, so even if otherwise everything felt great I wouldn’t have been comfortable with it. Where would she have gotten the idea at all?

Rachel somehow manages to deflate more before saying something. “Max, I, I kinda need to tell you something.” It’s the closest thing I’ve ever heard to mumbling from her, but I can still make it out pretty clearly, as a former expert mumbler.

“Yeah? What is it?”

Although I can tell she’s uncomfortable, I don’t want her to think I’m pissed - just concerned - so I reach out and lay my hand over hers. After a second or two, she rolls her hand, and we manage an awkward, but still comforting hand-hold.

“I’ve . . . kind of been involved with someone for a while now. Like, long distance.”

“Oh.”

I try to keep myself from feeling like everything is imploding. I don’t know how to reconcile these words with our conversation just a few minutes ago about dating. What is going on? 

My pulse is still going like crazy, but it’s not my body reacting to Rachel - it’s cold, shallow. I’m not sure I can carry on the conversation with my anxiety shooting out of control.

Rachel just keeps going, though. “I mean, I’m not anymore, but I was. Until this morning, basically."

Oh god. Her phone call. The one that took forever this morning. She was breaking up with someone? After ditching out on her responsibilities to hang out with not one, but two girls with crushes on her? How does she manage all of that? If that many people were in love with me I’d completely lose my mind. And I’m pretty much losing my mind in this one scenario.

I know I’m not saying anything in response but I don’t know how to make my mouth work.

After maybe half a minute passes, Rachel asks, quietly, “Do you, um. Want to say anything?”

It takes me quite a bit more before I can repeat a single word in my head enough times that it actually comes out: “Who?”

She sighs, pushing herself up into an almost-sitting position. She swipes some hair behind her ear with her free hand before answering, “Her name’s Kristine. You wouldn’t know her, but she, ah, she was there after Frank and I broke up. And we weren’t dating per se, but I knew it wasn’t platonic. So I told her it had to be.”

My jaw is so tightly closed that I’m grinding my teeth, I know it. What do I say? I mean, on one hand, I wish I’d known that. On the other hand, Rachel has been so open with me, including with this, when she had pretty little reason to tell me. But also, mixed in with the shame, I feel betrayed. But does this mean she broke up with someone to date me? Should I be flattered? Hurt? Should I comfort her? Or am I the one who should be comforted? Would that be appropriate either way?

“Uhhhhhhhhh,” I manage, flat and quiet and yet still resembling a scream. My thoughts are little but white noise, jumping every few seconds.

“What are you feeling?” she asks.

That, I can answer. “Everything,” I reply.

We should probably talk this all out. Figure out what that means, if it means anything. Figure out what us dating means. Or does this mean that we’re not dating? I don’t know. But I’m too frozen in my erratic thoughts to start.

“I’m, uh. I’m going to go to bed, Max, I think.”

She’s chewing on her lip, I can see that. She’s not done talking, but I don’t think she knows what to say, either.

“I hope you don’t hate me.”

I shake my head, finally able to regain some control of myself - enough to know what I need to go do. “No, no, never. I’m just having anxiety, and I didn’t bring my Xanax, so I need to go walk.”

“Oh. Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, no, that’s all right. I’ll be okay.”

“Okay.”

And with that, I scramble out of the truck bed, zipping up my hoodie to keep out the fresh chill over my skin.

I think I’m okay about twenty minutes later, after I’ve paced most of the campground a few times. It’s around ten, I think, and while it’s not a weird time for my phone to buzz for a text, it is a very strange time for the incessant vibrating of a phone call to start.

Which it does.

I pull out my phone and take a look at the caller ID. Victoria Chase, along with one of her selfies from Facebook, just in case I forget the name.
Why would Victoria be calling me at 10:27pm on a Thursday? Why would she be calling me at all?

I tap to pick up.

Me: “Hello?”

Victoria: “Hey there Max Caulfield. Having a nice night?”

Her voice is way too loud, like she’s talking with a headset on.

Me: “Um. I’m not sure . . . why?”

Victoria sounds confused at first, but quickly picks up her loud, rude tone again.

Victoria: “Well . . . I . . . I just hope you’re having a shitty night.”

Me: “Thanks Victoria. You’re a real pal.”

I hope she can hear my eyeroll through the phone. Maybe she actually can, seeing as I just hear a loud sigh from the other end.

Victoria: “Well, have you fucked Rachel yet?”

God, she must be drunk.

I crank up the sarcastic tone to the point I hope it’ll make it through to her.

Me: “No, Victoria, not that that’s any of your business. Why are you calling me?”

She totally ignores the question.

Victoria: “Well, then, maybe she’s not as fast as I’ve heard. At least not for awkward little girls who couldn’t-”

Me: “Are you seriously trying to slut shame my girlfriend right now? Seriously, Victoria? Can’t you mind your own business for five seconds?”

Victoria: “Y-your girlfriend? Ha ha-”

She literally says ‘ha ha’

Victoria: “-holy shit you’re pathetic. Rachel Amber is not your girlfriend, Max. She’s like me, don’t you get that? You’re her pet.”

Will Victoria ever let this go? If she hates us all so much, why doesn’t she just let it happen?

Me: “I feel sorry for you, Victoria.”

Victoria: “What? What the fuck?”

I’ve stopped walking - I’m just standing out somewhere in the road, far enough away that none of the remaining camp fires feel too close. My feet are planted like I’m about to be hit, even if Victoria can’t actually do anything from where she is.

Me: “Did you ask Taylor out so she could be your pet? Do you do everything you can for and with Courtney when something’s wrong? Do you have any fucking clue who Rachel is? Do you have any clue how she makes me feel? Huh?”

There’s several seconds of silence before I can really hear anything coming from the other line. And it’s not what I expect.

Victoria: “Yes.”

Me: “Victoria, are you crying?”

Victoria: “No. Fuck you.”

Me: “Victoria, why are you crying?”

Yeah, I can definitely hear her crying. I don’t get it. I don’t get Victoria for one second. Maybe it’s just the alcohol making her overly emotional but I still don’t get it. She doesn’t sound incoherent-emotional-drunk, just I-shouldn’t-drive drunk.

Victoria: “Max.”

Me: ...

Victoria: “Come back.”

Me: “For a long time, I actually wanted to be your friend, you know? I thought, somehow, despite you being such a bitch, maybe.”

Victoria: “Me too.”

That shuts me up for a few seconds. What does that even mean, coming from Victoria? She’s been dismissive of me at best, cruel at worst.

Me: “But if you’re never going to treat me with respect, why would I ever-”

Several loud beeps from my speaker let me know that the call is over. I pull the phone away from my ear and read it: Call Ended

I sigh, and put my phone away. I don’t think I’ll ever understand Victoria. I’m not even sure she understands why she’s like this.

And I’m starting to think that’s a problem all around.

All I know is that I’m done for tonight. Today has been far, far too much to deal with, and I don’t even want to start in on it right now. I just take a few minutes to find Chloe’s truck, crawl in back, find which sleeping bag Rachel’s body is making lumps in right now, and get in the other one.

It’s the first night since Sunday that I’ve slept alone.

Chapter Text

You know it’s bad when even your waffles taste bad.

I’m not sure if it’s just because they’re soggy from the pace that I’m eating that they taste bad, of if I’m eating slowly because they taste bad, thus sogginess. Either way, my waffles are rapidly spiraling towards being inedible, and coffee is the only part of breakfast that I’m really enjoying.

It’s a little after 9am, and this Denny’s is just busy enough that the din of other people talking and clinking their silverware prevents the awkward silence from eating us alive. Rachel and Chloe sit opposite of me in the booth, Chloe occasionally asking Rachel to pass her things from the inside of the booth to fiddle with as she already scarfed down her breakfast. The fact that she’s asking instead of just reaching leaves me uneasy, more uneasy than the lack of chatter or eye contact.

I still don’t know what we’re doing today. I hope that, whatever it is, it’s distracting enough that we can all have fun.

“So,” Chloe says, flipping a jam packet with the back end of her spoon. “Today’s San Francisco. There’s a few places we can hit up - I was thinking maybe one of the science museums, then the wharf for lunch? Then like, whatever?”

Rachel finishes chewing her bite of pancakes, bouncing her head back and forth like she’s counting how long it takes. Once she finally swallows, though, she carves another bite into her stack and says, “I thought we’d be heading up there.”
Chloe and I both look to her, but she’s got another huge bite of pancake in her mouth and continues on with the head-bobbing maybe-counting. I think it may be one of the longest chewing times I’ve ever seen.
Then, “I have some friends who go to college up there, and I let them know I’d probably be coming through. Would you drive me up to campus when we get there?”

My eyes flick over to Chloe, expecting some grumbling that Rachel was spending time with other people. At the very least, I expect a highly complainy agreement, complete with Chloe’s head sinking to the table.
Instead, we get a shrug and a, “Sure thing.”

“Thanks,” Rachel replied, blowing some hair away from her face before lifting the final bite to her mouth.

It occurs to me how little I’ve ever talked about my friends from Seattle, and how little Rachel has talked about her friends from Long Beach. We all talk about the people we know and have known from Arcadia Bay, but it’s so rare to actually bring up our time spent anywhere else.
I wonder why, especially for Rachel. Arcadia Bay isn’t her home in the same way that it is for me. Just like she said, coming back to California will be her homecoming.

“Who’re your friends?” I want it to sound casual, but even to me it sounds too high. It’s suspicious, and Rachel’s eyes pierce right through me as she looks at me.

I don’t think she wants to acknowledge the question within the question, though, as she seems to focus more on pushing her syrup-soaked plate a few inches away from her, just to acknowledge that she was finished with it.
“Just people from high school. They got into the same theater department, thought I’d go say hi.”

And I’m not sure what to say to that. “That’s cool,” I say, deciding to give up on the waffles. At this point, I’m just delaying us.

My phone buzzes, and I’m glad for the distraction. At least until I see who sent the text, and then I’m much more . . . uncomfortable.
I swipe it open.

Victoria: Look. I’m not going to pretend I was too drunk to remember calling you, but please, just forget about it. I’m done.

And I don’t know why that makes me sad. Victoria has always been frustrating to deal with, but there’s been something about her recently that has left the antagonism feeling . . . off. It’s like every conversation is a back-and-forth from the previous time we talked. There is no delicate balance.

“Everything okay?” For the first time all day, I think, Chloe’s eyes have settled on me. Her expression is still glum and distant, but there’s a hint of worry there that reassures me.

But I just shrug; I have no idea. 
“I got a pretty weird call from Victoria last night,” I confess. I don’t think there’s anything to gain from keeping it a secret. Maybe they’ll get what’s going on, because I certainly don’t.

Rachel looks over to me, cheek cradled in her hand, but says nothing. Chloe, however, just wraps her hands around the jam packet she was messing with, leans forward, and asks, “Oh? And what did Miss Blackhell want?”

I shrug again, wishing I had the answers. I don’t want to go over the ‘have you fucked Rachel yet’ bit, but I don’t think that’s really what’s bothering me, anyway. “I don’t really know. She started out really mean, but then she started crying.”

Rachel’s lips flattened into a line, but Chloe’s eyes positively brightened. “Whoah, seriously!?” She exclaimed. “About what? What’d she say?”

What exactly did she say? I was tired, and confused, and anxious, and none of these things really add up to the best memory. Still, there were pieces that were pretty clear. “Um, she kind of said I was Rachel’s dog. I got real mad and yelled at her, and she started crying.”

I expected there to be more general appreciation for her crying, but Chloe looks genuinely taken aback, her brow dropping down as if she’s thinking hard. Meanwhile, Rachel lets out a ‘gah’ of disgust.
I look to her for an explanation.

She rolls her eyes shortly before saying, “She’s always been like this. She’s totally convinced I’m the bad guy, trying to take her friends and her club, make everyone my bitch like she does.”
And then, with more contempt than I think I’ve ever seen her muster, Rachel says, “I fucking can’t stand her. She’ll hurt you as much as she can until you fight back, then pretend you’re so goddamn evil for playing things her way.”

That . . . that had never even occurred to me. Victoria was nasty to Rachel’s face and even nastier behind her back, but Rachel would always wear this bemused smile. I never got how she could stay so calm when someone was mean to her like that. It never occurred to me that Rachel might be fighting back.
It makes sense, though. Rachel cares more about her reputation than I ever knew. She wouldn’t let someone destroy it that easily.

Suddenly, I understand why Victoria was the only person with as much nasty stuff about her graffiti’d over the school as Rachel.

I know it’s wrong, but I start to wonder how right Victoria might have been when she said Rachel was ‘like her’.

“So, what did she say when she was crying? That’s the real stuff.”
Chloe looks way too excited to hear this. The excitement is cute enough to drag a smile out of me, but suddenly I don’t have much desire to tell them about the ‘Come back’. I don’t want to fight Victoria, but I might just be selling her enemies weapons.

“Uh,” I say, stalling for something to give her. “I don’t know, not much. I asked if she was crying, she said ‘fuck you’, you know, belligerent drunk girl stuff.”

Chloe looks disappointed, eyes dropping back to her jam. She flicks it forward so that it bounces off of her plate.

But there’s still one thing I want to ask them. “Do you guys know why she’s like this? Why she’s so nasty but like, ambivalent about it?”

Chloe asks, “Ambivalent?”

My face pinches as I try to figure out how to explain the word. “Like . . . like Katy Perry’s “Hot and Cold”. Really in-your-face mean, then slightly sincere, or polite until she gets backstabby and underhanded? It’s like she holds her hand out, and I don’t know whether to shake it or try and dodge a punch.”

Chloe’s eyes go wide as she’s given the task of analyzing Victoria, but to my surprise, Rachel only seems to take a few seconds to mull it over.

“Honestly? I think she’s really, really insecure. I think other girls threaten her. I think the real problem is that she won’t feel secure unless she’s above everyone, and that means she’ll stamp us all down until she feels okay about herself.”

“Pff,” Chloe replies. “I just think she’s a bitch. Kate’s not fighting with anyone, and Victoria is a total dick to her. Who cares what she’s feeling to make her do it - she’s mean to you, she’s mean to Rachel, she’s mean to Kate and Alyssa. I bet she’s a total bitch to her own grandma. You two read way too deep into stuff.”

I don’t say anything. Both of those things feel . . . well, right. Maybe Victoria is insecure, maybe she’s just a bitch. Either way, though, fighting with her doesn’t give me any amount of pleasure, just anxiety.

I click my phone on again to respond.

Max: Do you think we could try being friends? Or at least not so hostile?
Max: I don’t like fighting you, Victoria.

I don’t get a reply.

“So, I’ll see you at like eight or nine?” Rachel says as she hops out onto the curb.
I undo my seatbelt and slide into her seat. Her fingers lay over the rolled-down window, and I wish I could just squeeze her hand before she goes, but everything feels too weird.

“Uh, sure, sounds good. Max and I will figure out where we’re staying - we’ll pick you up wherever you are.”

“Sounds good! See ya tonight.”

Chloe and I wave, and then we’re off, pulling up the ridiculously large hill that this university seems to be sat upon. Getting anywhere in Frisco seems to make the truck wheeze, but Chloe doesn’t seem very perturbed by it.

“So, how about the Astrarium?”

The word sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t think I really know it. “The what?”

Chloe shoots me a quick glance to show her disapproval. “Astrarium. It’s one of the science museums in town. Shows you space shit, voiced by George Takei.”

“Hmm.” A lot of the appeal of that place sounds quickly lost without our stars expert. “That seems like someplace we’d go with Rachel.”

“How about Haight Street?”

“I thought we were going to do that after lunch?”

Chloe deflates a little, recognizing that that was, in fact, her plan. “Well, fine, yeah, sure. How about . . . the Children’s Creativity Museum?”

“That sounds fun,” I reply, and type it into my phone. However, a problem quickly emerges, “Oh. It’s for kids aged 2-12.”

Chloe pouts, sighing as she leans against the truck door. There’s way too much stuff to do in a city, and it all has rules. It works out much better with a plan, and, well, we didn’t really have one.

I find another option that sounds cool. “How about Musée Mécanique, the arcade?”

She shrugs. “I saw that - it’s at Fishermen’s Wharf. You know, the place we’re going for lunch.”

“Right.”

Her initial burst of energy at being in San Francisco is wearing off quickly. Her shoulders are sagging, eyes focused on the road despite the fact that we have no idea where she’s going. I don’t want to ruin the fun by being here.

“What do you want to do? Pick something,” she says finally, giving me one more glance as we come to a stop light.

I continue scrolling through the options I’m finding online, reading brief descriptions and clicking out when something sounds . . . not quite right for us. I’d like a garden, but I don’t think that’s Chloe’s thing. Alcatraz is too big of an activity for just something to do before lunch. I feel like she’d get a lot less out of an art gallery than me and Rachel would. Most of the shops I’ve so much as heard of are part of Haight Street, although there are a few that might be cool . . . I guess.

I guess my frustration shows, because Chloe’s face becomes pinched, biting at her lip as the minutes roll by.
Finally, I give up, a little too overwhelmed sorting through things while we’re driving. My phone doesn’t exactly make the process easy.
“I don’t know,” I finally say, slinking back against my seat in defeat.

Chloe’s hands tighten on the steering wheel, and at first she says nothing. I figure she’s just thinking, but it quickly becomes apparent I’ve misjudged what she’s thinking about.

“Did you even want to come with me, Max?” She says it so innocently, so lightly, so casually that, at first, I don’t really understand the question. It takes me a few seconds to really piece the words together.
“What?” I ask, a little flat-toned in surprise. I turn my head towards her, eyebrows purposefully raised to show my confusion. She’s not looking at me, though. “What do you mean?”

Now her eyes are so focused on the road, I know she’s avoiding looking at me. Her face isn’t pinched in concentration - she’s doing that thing where she’s holding something back.
What brought this on?

“I mean exactly what I said: did you want to come with me? On this trip?”
Her tone is heavy enough on every word that I know there’s more, more words she’s ruminating on. But whenever she ruminates, she tends to explode. I don’t want that.

Still, the accusation stings. “Of course I did. It was my choice to go. Me and Rachel both wanted to come with you.”

She shakes her head minutely, and the way she adjusts her hands to deal with her white-knuckle grip tells me it wasn’t the right thing to say.
“That’s just it, though. It’s you and Rachel.” Her tone turns poisonous and sharp, “I’m just your fucking driver.”

Despite the poison, I bite. “No! No, that’s ridiculous. We’re here as your friends.”

“No.” She’s fighting me, but she’s not even looking at me. Her anger is all aimed at the road, but it’s straightforward, tunnel vision, and it makes me nervous. “I am not ridiculous. You two are here as girlfriends - I am not fucking dumb, Max, and I’m not blind. I’m just your third fucking wheel.”

God, I hate it when she drives this mad. I know I need to respond to her, to console her, but she’s driving too fast and neither of us know this city. “Please, Chloe, slow down or pull over. You’re scaring me.”

“I . . . I need to drive right now, Max.” Her voice is still holding back, but I know things are about to spill over. The best I can hope for is understanding, and hopefully that can make it easier for us both to recover.

“Okay,” I concede. “But please, slow down so I can feel safe talking.”

I know she’s mad, but I’m so appreciative as the truck slows.
It takes me a moment to recover my thoughts and calm down. I’m not in a position to handle an anxiety attack right now - it would only panic Chloe in an already-vulnerable situation.

I force myself to a quieter volume, softer. I hope it will get through to her better than escalation.
“Chloe . . . you know you are still my best friend, and Rachel’s too. What’s happening with me and Rachel can never, ever replace those friendships.” I reach over, and place my hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Never, do you hear me?”

Her face is so pinched she must be gritting her teeth just to pull it so tense. She’s on the verge of ugly-crying instead of the drip-one-out-for-the-homies single tear she allows herself for beautiful movies and things like that.
I’m right - when she replies, it’s through gritted teeth, “I get that, Max. I believe you. I just . . .” and she grimaces, as if there’s some vile taste in her mouth that keeps her from speaking.

I wonder if it could really be as simple as jealousy. Maybe Chloe really does feel that she’ll lose Rachel, but maybe not in the way I’m talking about. If it suddenly, out of nowhere, were me and Rachel instead of Rachel and Chloe, of course she would be scared. Not only because her and Rachel were supposed to go to LA together, but because it would take away Chloe’s chance with her.
I swallow, knowing the question would have to be asked, even if it stung. Even if it drove a wedge between us. It was the only way.

“Is this because . . . you love Rachel?”

The sound that emerges from her is somewhere between a laugh and a cry, almost like a flat-toned scream she can’t manage any volume for. Her eyes shoot wide, and her face loses so much of its pinch, flattening into lines on her forehead, her brow, her eyes, her mouth.
To my surprise, she finally does pull over - into an alleyway that seems to be used for restaurant parking. She doesn’t find a proper place to park, but just stops us in the alleyway.

She turns and looks at me finally, and I can’t read whether she’s angry or surprised or frustrated or sad - her eyes are just wide and her gestures . . . big.
“Are you fucking - serious Max?”

I open my mouth to speak, but though her tone isn’t loud, the feeling that she’s yelling at me is too much, and I can’t make the words come. There are small stutters, half-words that manage to croak from my throat, but there’s nothing.

She understands well enough to continue from her end.
Her eyes finally pinch again, holding back more tears. “God, Max, no. I’m in love with you.”

And then it’s hanging there, and I can’t make my mouth work. I don’t try and pretend that I don’t know what she means - Chloe is not cryptic, it’s not a facade. Even if she doesn’t always mean what she says when she explodes, this isn’t something she would just blurt out.

She turns off the truck and leans her head against the steering wheel. “Fuck, fuck. Fuck . . . Fuck.” The pause between the words grows each time, and finally she’s not saying anything anymore.

I need to say something. I need to reassure her. I need her to know that I’m not mad or scared. I need her to know I could never disdain her for feeling something good. I need her to know I’ll still be there for her. I need her to know how much she means to me. I just need to get one sentence out, just something, something.
I get a word: “Chloe.”

She looks up from the steering wheel, and it’s almost like her face is wiped blank. Her eyes turn down and her mouth finally falls open a little.

“Fuck, Max, are you having an anxiety attack?”

I manage to shake my head yes, and she has her seat belt done in an instant. In a second more, she’s on her knees in the middle seat, and she’s grasped my hand, crushing it in her grip.

“Okay, Max, breathe. Come on, deep breaths. It’s eight seconds in, come on, with me.”
She tries to go for eight seconds, but the cigarettes are really killing her breath control. I can’t even make it past three, and I’m struggling to force myself to exhale.

She starts to fumble around in the car, looking for something to breathe into. After quickly recognizing the task is futile, though, she pauses, and pulls her beanie off.

“Max, here,” she says, offering it to me. I take it and pull it over my mouth and nose, exhaling as well as I can before breathing in again. The beanie is barely effective at trapping air at all, but it isn’t the carbon dioxide that begins to slow my heart’s break-neck speed.
No, no, it’s the familiar smell of Chloe’s shampoo, the smell of her bed. The beanie reeks of it.

It takes me a long time, hunched over breathing into that beanie, but Chloe keeps rubbing my back, and eventually, I can breathe on my own. I clench the beanie in my hand, breathing just over it.

“Chloe.”

“Yeah. Max?”

“I’m sorry. I’m so dumb.”

“No, Max. This isn’t your fault.”

“I should have seen it. I haven’t understood how you’ve been feeling. I’ve been too stuck in my own head-space to be there for you.”

She shakes her head, and switches from rubbing my back to just holding her hand on my shoulder. “Look, Max. It’s my fault for falling for my best friend.” She paused, if only for a beat, “And you weren’t totally wrong. With you and Rachel both, it’s always been . . . this blurry line. I know which side I’m on, but not where it ends. Sometimes it’s okay to just be your friend but sometimes . . .”
She exhales, and her head turns down, her hair framing her face. I’m only watching her from the corner of my eye, but I know this sort of intimacy doesn’t come easily to her. Before long, I know her walls will be back, but for a second, she’s raw, she’s here with me.
“Sometimes, I want to be everything.”

It feels like a punch in the gut - not the pain, but the breathlessness, not knowing how to make it come back, not knowing how to stand yourself up. It’s not because Chloe feels this way, or because I knew too late to keep it from hurting her. It’s that, when she says she wants to be everything, I know what she means. I’ve felt that. I’ve wanted that. I’ve known the feeling of just wanting Chloe and me, me and Chloe forever. The image always changed: partners in crime, a princess and her knight, a super hero duo. However we masked it, this was a fantasy we had shared.

But it wasn’t that easy. Because, somehow, those images felt lonely now. They were warm and comforting, but they weren’t enough.

Being with Rachel was scary. But I’ve never felt quite so high as the moment I became her girlfriend. And that’s not a feeling I could toss aside.

I say, “You and I . . . we’ll still last, Chloe.”

She replies, “I know.”

And that’s all either one of us can promise.

Several more minutes pass, but then someone comes for their car, and we have to pull out into the street again. Chloe pulls out her phone and puts something in, then lays her phone down.

“C’mon,” Chloe finally says, softly. “Let’s check out the Exploritorium.”

And I’m in no state to argue. I’m not panicking. We’re in some liminal state, I know that. When we return to Arcadia Bay, this friendship of me, and Chloe, and Rachel won’t be what it was.
But I think it will still be there.
We’ll last.
And that’s enough.

Chapter Text

I may be breathing easier, but I could still really use some guidance. Some advice. Some relationship experience.
Of course, Kate Marsh doesn't really have any of those things, but I text her anyway.

Max: Hey there, Kate. Could I talk to you about kind of a complicated situation? I need to talk to someone who isn't involved.

Once I put my phone back, though, it's mostly back to the uncomfortable quiet. At least Chloe drives more safely with awkwardness than grief.
Was grief the right word? Had Chloe been grieving what could have been between us?

Now that I finally have a chance to look, the streets of San Francisco are beautiful. The urban sprawl reminds me of Seattle, but the colors of the houses and shops alike here are vibrant, bright, often clashing as if to say, 'notice me.' Even as we make our way downtown, I get the impression that Chloe us driving as slowly as she can to let me look, sinking into the back of her seat and putting her elbow up against the window to relax.
We made it to San Francisco. Together.

It doesn't take long at the Exploratorium for us to forget, or at least effectively ignore the tension. Underneath it all, Chloe and I bring out the kid in each other, and the museum brings it out of us both. There's stuff we both get to play with, like growing marshmellows as big as you can or messing with the ChemCam, and some stuff that, admittedly, only Chloe can figure out. Chloe stops dead in her tracks when she finds their Vector Toys, those toys you pull over a table using a weight, only for them to stop at the very edge every time. She loves it. She starts telling me all about how the trigonometry works and how it's a vector calculation and it's just so cool!... but I mostly just like getting to see her play. I like seeing the Chloe I knew years ago, who loved physics games, loved the math of it, loved messing it all up. And then, yeah, there's some stuff that she loves that I hate, like looking at insects and worms in displays, but at least she humors me to pass by those quickly.

I never was very good at Biology. I think it's because half of it made me want to throw up.

Finally, we get to something I don't recognize at all.

"Wait, wait . . . I've heard of this," Chloe says, staring at the sign, then past it. It reads 'Tactile Dome'.

What?

"Oh my god, we have to. This is going to be so fucking cool." Chloe finally turns to me, stepping forward and reaching for my hand in the same motion. I stay still, not sure what to expect, and she stops, closing her hand a hair's breadth away from mine.

She shakes her head to dislodge a thought, and then nods towards the entrance. "Come on, we have to."

"What . . . is it?"

Chloe seems genuinely surprised I'm not familiar with the exhibit. "It's, uh, so it's a maze, yeah? Except it's dark enough that your eyes are totally useless, and you have to get through the whole thing just through feeling your way and memorizing the layout. It's so cool."

I shrug. "Well, if you insist."

I crack a smile at Chloe's delighted expression. I'm so glad she's having fun today.

Unfortunately, as we make our way inside, we notice another sign that reads: 'By Reservation Only.'
We stop in our tracks.

"Fuuuuuck," Chloe groans, looking up at the ceiling. I'm pretty sure she planned on flipping God off, but I jabbed her side and nodded my head at a group of two kids and their dad. Chloe just flashed an embarrassed, wide-eyed smile, and stepped away.

Chloe steps towards me and says more quietly, "Fuuuck."

I clap a hand to her back for a second and say, "That's rough, buddy. Maybe you could look up how to get a reservation? Like, we'll be heading back this way later, right?"

She perks up immediately. "Oh yeah," she says, and starts to look on her phone.

I take the break to check my messages from Kate again.

Kate: What's going on? Are you okay?

Max: oh yeah I'm totally okay
Max: I think

Kate: ?

Max: okay so just quick story: rachel and I are dating i guess. but like, 1) she is apparently just getting out of a relationship and 2) chloe kind of just told me she loves me
Max: and I'm at the SF exploratorium with just chloe right now and I don't want things to be weird

Kate: Wow. Um, okay. It totally makes sense that you're feeling confused! I don't think I can really help but here's some thoughts:
You like Rachel, obviously.
Chloe is your closest friend.
Chloe and Rachel are also best friends.
Even if Chloe's upset, I know she just wants what's best for you!
You're great, Rachel's great, and Chloe knows that better than anyone!
I think she'll be happy to see her two best friends happy as long as you're all still friends.

Kate: Are you worried she wouldn't be comfortable around you anymore because she likes you?

Kate's messages pull a grin out of me. It's not really new information, but if she's confident of those things despite not being close to Chloe or Rachel, that helps. Maybe. A little. And all those exclamation points are just too cute.

Max: no, no I guess I'm not. even when I came back to AB she still wasn't uncomfortable around me.
Max: I'm not sure she can be, if that makes sense?
Max: she's just really upset and I don't know how to make it okay

I want to write more, but Chloe suddenly interrupts me with an excited, "Ah! Fuck yeah!" She basically shouts. Now it's more than one parent glaring at us, but Chloe just ignores them.

"Max, there's a weekend thing for adults. We can still make reservations and go tonight!"

I shrug. "But, Chloe, we still can't -" and then I pause.

"Oh god," I whisper under my breath. I cross my arm over my chest to try and warm up from the chill that just ran through my body. "We're adults."

Chloe just replies with finger guns.

I quirk my eyebrows, trying to punish the finger guns with a glance. "I can't believe you're excited to get all . . . touchy feely."

First there's confusion on her face. Then uncertainty. Then, denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and finally, acceptance.
"Tac-tile," she says slowly, carefully.

"Mhm."

By lunchtime I've all but forgotten about the weirdness this morning. Not 'forgotten' as in my heart has stopped racing anytime in the past four hours, but forgotten enough that Chloe and I can still joke around, talk about the Exploritorium, crack up at the goofy photo that I'd taped into my journal from Joyce. We get macaroni and cheese with bacon in bread bowls at some restaurant on the wharf, and play around at Musée Mécanique. There are moments where I tell myself: This is the happiest I've seen Chloe in a long time. But sometimes, when I'm playing pinball or staring off into space, and she thinks I'm not looking, I can see the smile drain away from her face.

Chloe wanted to escape. And I'd brought something she wanted to escape along for the ride.

Around 4:30 we're eating Ghiradelli's ice cream and sitting on a bench in front of the ocean. There's no beach to speak of, and with dozens of people passing by every minute, it doesn't have any of the peace that we had on the beach near Big Sur. It reminds me again of Seattle, but I know it's not what Chloe's used to: the bustle, the noise, the tourism. All it shares is the long strip of coast of California and, well, me.

My phone buzzes, and I do my best to avoid tilting my cone as I pull it from my pocket.
My heart sinks. It's Victoria.
I've been dreading a reply since this morning.

Victoria: We're not friends, Max.

Yeah. That's what I knew was coming. It's not like anything had ever told me we were . . . it just stings to hear. Or see, I guess.

I text a reply with numb fingers.

Max: then why are you trying to look out for me?

Chloe side-eyes me. "Kate sure likes your attention today. Looks like me and Rachel aren't the only ones who love you."
She elbows me in the side to remind me it's a joke, but I still manage to choke on my ice cream. Impressive, really, it's so creamy it's kind of hard to mess up eating it. She pats me on the back as if it'll do anything to keep me from just literally dying right here on this bench. Not from the choking, no, but the embarrassment.

"UM!?" I shout. "No!? Illegal."

She just smirks, leaning back as much as she reasonably can while still eating her ice cream. "Kate's got a cru-ush," she sing-songs.

I know this is her way of both calling attention to, and deflecting, the elephant in the room, but it also basically is making my heart explode. "First of all, it's not Kate, it's Victoria being specifically disinterested in me, and second of all - no! Third -"

She raises a hand to cut me off. "Wait, wait, wait. So Victoria Chase just texted you to tell you that she's not interested in you?" She grins devilishly, waggling her eyebrows. She sounds way too pleased with herself as she says, "Max, why didn't you tell me you'd become such a heart breaker? A Casanova. A ..." she paused. "King . . . Solomon? He had a harem, right? Or was it-"

"I WILL LITERALLY SMASH YOUR FACE WITH THIS ICE CREAM, SO HELP ME GOD." I hold it in front of her face as a warning, but she just scoots as far to the edge of the bench as possible.

She covers her mouth with her hand as if scandalized, adopting a high drawl that sounds absolutely nothing like Victoria: "Oh, Max. I just hate your guts. I look at your selfies every day so I can write about how shit they look. You'll never be as good an artist as moi - X O X O, Vicky C."

I'm quiet. Staring. Blank faced. I've got to hold still until she gets curious.

Luckily, it's never long until Chloe gets curious. She turns around to look me in the face.

"Alright, Chloe," I say as deadpan as possible (which I hear sounds basically the same as my regular voice). "It's icecream time."

As I scoot towards her, though, she leaps to her feet and darts a good ten feet away. A good deal of her own ice cream gets caught by inertia and just sloughs off onto her shirt, staining it brown.

She looks down at her shirt.
She looks at her ice cream cone.

She looks at my face.
She takes a deep breath.

"You asshole," she mutters, trotting back to the bench and then past it. "C'mon, let's go. I'll change on the way to the Tactile Dome."

I groan at the thought of another car trip, but follow a second later.

My phone buzzes. Victoria, again.

Victoria: I don't know.

I clutch my phone to my heart for a second, but then put it away. I don't reply.

"Wow this is really dark."

Even the sound of my voice seems wrong once we're inside the Tactile Dome, and I can see weird pulsations in the darkness. What are those, I wonder? What is that gray over your eyes when it's so dark you can no longer actually see anything?

"Uh, yeah Max, that's kind of the point."

I hadn't realized she'd stopped, but promptly crawl my way right into her chest. I think she topples over, because there's a quiet 'oof', a split second later.

"Oh, sorry! Crap, I just - it's hard to know where anything is."

I can hear the scratch of Chloe's socks as she gets back upright, and tapping along the wall as she fumbles around with her hand. "Yeah, you goof, that's what we're here for. You get to approach the world like you never would otherwise. Unless you go blind, I guess, but then this would probably become easy."

I pout. Not that Chloe can see it. "I don't know how we're supposed to get out like this."

Chloe snorts. "Okay, okay, so. You've got a hand on the wall, yeah?"

I nod. Then, "Um, yeah."

"Okay, now check to see if there's a wall on your other side."

After a second of groping the darkness, I confirm that there is in fact another wall.

"Okay, so, you can go back and forwards, there's a low ceiling and a floor. You're in a hallway. Up just a little bit, it's going to split, and it's going to start getting more complicated. The idea is to try and remember branching paths, so you know where to go back to if you reach a dead end. Just like a normal maze, but you work off mental images, not stuff you actually see."

"Okay," I reply. I sit criss-cross applesauce for the lecture. "So, we just do that until we get out? Or get lost and call for help?"

"Yep, basically."

"Okay, I can do that."

"Awesome." Chloe's voice turns conniving, "Want to make it even more fun?"

With a groan I ask the dreadful question: "What now?"

"Well, I told you it's about to split . . . so how about we race?"

Oh no. Chloe has always loved racing. Sprints, Mario Kart, you name it, and she wins every time. I'm not sure I could out-jog a drunk, chain-smoking Chloe, nevermind a sober, chain-smoking Chloe. And that was all when I can normally see!

Still. Chloe has always loved racing.

"Fine," I concede.

"Ready - go!" Chloe says, and just like that I can hear her scrambling away.

Oh god, I'm going to die in this labyrinth.

I keep my hand on the wall and begin my trepid journey through the Hell Box.

It can't be more than five or ten minutes later that I feel like giving up. By the time I'd found my first dead end, I wasn't sure which way at the most recent branch was the direction I'd come from, and quickly became lost. At least, once I started to move up the dome, I was pretty certain I was progressing towards the center of the dome, which was at least progress from where I started. But now, well, I'd gone down a little, and now I'm not sure if I'm level with the floor, which way was the entrance, and I don't think I ever saw where the exit is. Literally any direction might be right, but with a certainty I could say that most of them are wrong.

I know Chloe wants to play her game, but this would be a lot easier and a lot more fun with her here.

"Chloe!" I call. "Chloe, where are you?! You win, I suck at mazes."

Then, closer than I expected, just down the hall, I think, I hear, "Max? I'm here."

"What? Where is here?"

"I'm right - oh, don't worry about it. I'll come to you."

I can hear shuffling that goes on longer than it should considering how close she sounds, and then I feel a tap on my shoulder blade as Chloe gropes in the darkness. It's a good thing she came from behind, or this would have been an awkward reunion.

I turn to face her, using her hand and then the wall as a reference to orient myself. "How are you here? I'm so lost."

"Oh. Well, I just think I figured out the way to go, so I waited up ahead a bit. Just past the bend of the right path."

"You . . . waited up for me? I thought we were racing."

I can hear her crossing her arms. She's probably pouting, or giving me an indignant glare, or something like that. "I can still kick your ass without leaving you behind. I'm a good multi-tasker."

"Ha." Despite her smug attitude, it's only too easy to feel a blush in my cheeks. Chloe tries to hide it most of the time, but she is kind. I tap my fingers along the floor until I find her leg, then jump up to her arm and give it a squeeze. "Thank you."

"Yeah, totally." It sounds a little higher than normal, I think. Then, she clears her throat, and says, "So. Follow me and try not to die."

She moves quickly, but every time the maze diverges from a straight line she waits, and I do my best to not ram into her again and again. Once we've turned a few corners and seem to be making progress, my anxiety withers, and I even begin to enjoy the heightened sensation, or the way that tiny pulses of color seem to appear in my vision despite the fact that there is nothing to see.

Sometimes, things are easier to handle when you don't have to see them.

"Chloe?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you about Rachel."

"It's not your fault, dude. Shit happens."

"I know but . . . can we talk for a second?"

"In - in The Dome?"

"In The Dome."

I can hear some padding as Chloe feels her way along the wall, and then she sighs.

"Well, it looks like we just found a dead end, so, it's as good a time as any."

She scoots along the floor, I think settling against a wall. I do the same, using her leg as a reference so that ours line up, and even in total darkness she doesn't have to look straight at me.

"Look, Chloe -"

"Sorry, I can't."

I pause.

"Too dark," she says.

"Uugghhh," I groan, the closest to an eye roll I think I can get across, given the circumstances.

"Sorry, nervous. Go on."

I take a breath and try again. "Chloe. I like Rachel, and she likes me. I need you to be okay with that. You're both of us's best friend. There's no way we can date if it makes you . . ." I'm not sure how to finish that sentence.

Luckily, Chloe has some ideas. "Sad?" She offers. "Jealous? Lonely? Scared, even?" She pauses. "Well, fuck, I don't know what to tell you, I already was all of those things. I'm a sad, jealous, lonely punk ass townie. You can't change that."

"You know that's not what I mean," I say, although that is, kind of, exactly what I mean. I know Chloe has these things inside her. But I don't want to be the person who brings them out anymore. She already paid four years for my mistakes.

"Listen Maxine. I love Rachel Amber. She's the girl I fell in love with at a rock show, y'know what I mean? I literally did."

"Are you Tom DeLonge??"

"Bitch I might be," she said, pushing my shoulder. "But like for real. She's been my best friend for three years, and I've been in love with her the whole time. It's honestly kudos to you that it took you this long to fall for her - I knew you were oblivious but like, wow."

"Stop it," I reply with a laugh, slapping her arm with the back of my hand.

We take a second to settle down, and she clears her throat. "But, yeah. I don't know. I spent so much time . . . being mad at you when you went away. Even before you stopped texting or anything, I was just so angry. But it was like the minute you were back I . . ." I can hear her voice cracking, but she trails off. To hide it, I think.

Then, she adds, "Look, I don't know if I was always in love with you, or I fell in love with you when you got back, or what, but somewhere along the line I just knew, and with graduation coming up I've been scared. At any moment it feels like it can just fall apart, you know? That either one of you could just move on at any time."

I don't feel that way. I've had ambitions, I've had things outside and beyond Arcadia Bay, but my friendship with Chloe, and now with Rachel, hasn't felt temporary. Even in Seattle, Chloe always felt like my best friend. Even if she hated me. Even if I didn't know who she was anymore.

Her voice is lower and raspy, but she's doing her best, and she's not yelling, so I just let her talk. "When Dad died, for years I'd dream about him. I'd talk to him and sometimes I'd hear him talk back to me. I felt like he was close, you know? I think that's how I survived those years. But . . ." she takes a deep breath, and continues, "but after I met Rachel, I stopped dreaming about him. I stopped hearing his voice. One of the last things I ever dreamed about was him telling me that, sometimes, people need me. And that I have to be there for them. So I've tried . . . I've tried to be who you and Rachel need me to be. Because I . . ."

I could hear her crying, and reached out. As soon as I felt the back of her hand, she flipped her hand over and squeezed my hand so tight.

"Because I love you guys so much. So I don't - I don't care if you fall in love. I want you to have what you need. And, fuck, if that's each other, that's the sweetest thing I've ever heard."

There are other people moving through the area in the Tactile Dome, but I think the sound of us talking and Chloe crying keep them away from this passage. I'm crying too, now, but silently. My heart hurts. Why does loving people hurt sometimes?

I think it's my turn, now.

"Chloe, y'know that you were my first girl-crush, right?"

She lets out of a laugh, a little choked from crying. "I thought that was Sailor Mars."

I roll my eyes. "Well, fine, first real-life-girl crush. I thought you were so cool. Tough, tomboy Chloe, who would skip out on playing kickball to play Pirates, or Lord of the Rings, or Pokemon with me. You'd play pretend, and I'd almost always be your first mate, or your princess, or something else so you wouldn't have to play the girl. You'd be surprised at what that kind of flirting can do to a fourth grader."

She laughs again. Her thumb works small circles into the meat of my palm, and it is warm and nice. If we were outside, and I could see, I'd probably pull away. But not in The Dome, I guess.

"After your dad died, I stopped knowing how to pretend. We always lived in fantasy worlds together, but after that, I just wanted to live in the past. I didn't want to go somewhere spectacular anymore, I just wanted to . . . get away."

"You didn't want to be around the things that made you remember why you were sad."

I nod. She can't see it, but I think she recognizes my affirmation.

She sighs and says, "I feel that way every damn day. I think it's why I left. It's not like there's anything to find in California, really."

I'm still not done, but the words for this part are harder to find. "When I came back . . . you weren't the same anymore. And I wasn't either, I guess. I still felt a pitter-patter in my heart around you, let's be honest, but you weren't my hero, my captain anymore. You were just my best friend. And for the longest time, I think I wanted that stuff back."

I'm not sure what's in Chloe's tone - it's distressed, but much quieter than normal for her distress; "What are you saying, Max?"

"I'm saying I have to move on from the girl you were when you were a kid. I have to get over my childhood best friend, Captain Chloe Bluebeard, adventurer extraordinaire and lover of booty."

We both snort at that, just like we always would when we were kids.

I continue, "I still love you, Chloe. But we're never going to get to be those kids again, are we?"

Chloe hesitates. She shifts along the wall - she's facing towards me now, I think. "We absolutely, never ever, will get to be those kids again."

That makes me feel like something sharp is being pushed through my chest. I don't want to let go. I don't want to lose those days. Even now, I still want things to go back to how they used to be.
But between dreams of the past and Chloe right now, in front of me, I'll choose her. Every time.

"I love you, Chloe Price. My lonely, jealous best-"

And then, she's kissing me. If we were outside, I'd probably pull away. But not in The Dome. I find her cheek with my hand and kiss her back, and it's the easiest thing in the world in this dark.

When we stop, and she pulls away, I try to get the first word out, before she can say 'sorry' or something incredibly stupid like that.

"Was that a goodbye kiss?"

There's a few seconds before her reply.

"I think so, Max."

There's a few seconds where I do my best to get on my feet, to get ready to crawl away. The moment is over. It has to be over.

"And, Max?"

I pause a second longer.

"I love you, too."

Our time on Haight street is easy, or at least easier than I thought it would be. Chloe humors me in the novelty book store for over an hour, but the place we spend the most time in and adore the most is a vintage formal wear store. It doesn't take long to push her out of her punk rock comfort zone and start trying on suits. She's too thin for a lot of them, so she tries on dress shirts and starts holding different suits over her shoulder like some cool fashion model. Surprisingly enough, some of the smaller suits fit me just fine. After that, I start to seriously consider purchasing one.

"I think I want one with elbow pads," I tell her as we look through the central rack, for me this time.

She quirks an eyebrow at me, discouraging. "Elbow pads, really? That's dorky, even for you."

I scrunch my face up in protest, glaring. "Elbow pads are cool."

She laughs, but then pauses. Then glances at me suspiciously. Then, "This isn't some Doctor Who bullshit, is it?"

I raise my eyebrows as high as they'll go. There's no way to hide my nervous smile. "This may very possibly be some Doctor Who bullshit."

Chloe sticks out her tongue and gags. "Max, please. You've got to get some better taste in Sci-fi. Just some basic, low-level stuff, like Star Wars."

I wave her away. "There's no reason I can't do both."

After a moment of silence passes, Chloe picks a suit off of the rack. "How about this?"

It's nice - it's got the right dusty librarian look, and it might be small enough to fit me, and it has elbow pads. Still, the shoulders look a little big and I don't really like the pinstripes, so . . . 

I wave a hand in front of her face. "This is not the suit you're looking for. Move along."

"Pfft, nerd."

When I finally do find a suit, the suit, the one that I look at in the mirror and look nothing like myself but have no complaints, I leave the dressing room to give Chloe a chance to look it over and make some snide remarks. She's there, waiting, looking up from her phone when I exit. I put on my best sophisticated face, squinting a little, folding my arms while holding my chin in the crease between my elbow and thumb, doing my best to look like I'm contemplating a very important, deep idea. Like, I wonder what I missed in lab today, and what would it actually be like to have sex with Rachel? Luckily, Chloe's not a jedi.

She looks me up and down for a few seconds, holding a bemused smile. "Nerd," she concludes.

I roll my eyes, and turn back towards the dressing room. "But kind of in hot way?"

I don't reply to that, just close the dressing room door after me. After maybe a minute of indecision and mental screaming, I decide to buy the suit.

From just outside, Chloe calls, "Yo, let's go get Rachel. She's ready."

I'm getting sleepy by the time we finally pick up Rachel from the University of San Francisco, the only road to which we could find is so obscenely slanted that I'm confused as to why they ever chose to build a school there. When I see her coming down the steps, I pop the door open for her and scooch into the middle, and she hops right in.

"Hey there you two - miss me?"

"Nah," replies Chloe.

"Yeah," I reply at the same time.

Rachel looks amused but doesn't question it. She just buckles up and we're out of there faster than I feel is probably safe in this city.

"So, where are we staying?" she asks. Chloe seems to have an idea where she's going, but neither of us do.

Chloe just waves a hand without looking over (thankfully). "I made a reservation at the Super 8 a few days ago. Cheap, easy to go to, free breakfast. Seemed like a good chance to take a shower."

"Oh, cool." I would absolutely love to take a shower. I've been making out with Rachel Amber for three days now without a shower. It's not quite as bad as the time I fell asleep without brushing my teeth, but it's pretty bad.

I don't pick up on the other problem, but Rachel does. "Wait, if you made the reservation before-"

"There's only one bed," Chloe cuts in, and Rachel drops off immediately. I think my heart nearly breaks out of my chest and into my lap.
The two of us just stare at her until she expands on that. She finally catches our looks and adds, "What? I didn't know you were coming."

"But now it just sounds like tropey fan fiction," I whine.

She rolls her eyes. She's just loving living life on the edge with her eyes on the road today. "You two can take it. I'll get a cot or something."

Rachel glances at me, then Chloe, back to me, then Chloe again. Her face looks frozen as she works something out. "We could all share if-"

Chloe just shakes her head, but she's smiling, just a little. "No thanks. I'll take the cot."

Rachel and I look at each other, and she just shrugs.

We're barely inside the room before Chloe drops her backpack on the floor, throws her beanie after it, and calls "Dibs on shower I've been gross for days bye!" Within a second or two, the bathroom door locks behind her.

"Uuugghhh," I groan loudly. "I have to pee! Hurry!"

"No promises!" and then I can hear the water start.

Rachel and I sigh in unison, then shoot each other looks for it.

"How was your-"

"Did you have a good-"

She holds back a grin, shaking her head as she drops her duffle bag on the near side of the bed. "Try two," she announces, and then, "How was your day?"

I toss my bag next to hers and plop down on the - our - bed. "Good. It was good. It started out kind of rough, but Chloe and I had a good time. I ruined one of her shirts, it was great."

Rachel sits next to me. Right next to me - close enough that I immediately feel a tingle of excitement and remember that I can, in fact, kiss Rachel basically any time I want.

"Oh?" she asks. "Why rough?" The concern sounds casual, but when I look at her, she's got a soft look with genuine concern, like when she held me when Victoria was acting like a jerk (Tuesday evening, specifically - I know she's kind of a jerk all the time).

I play the early hours of the day through my mind: ruminating on the scene between Rachel and I in the bed of Chloe's truck, having an emotionally charged drive with Chloe, a panic attack, the realization that I might love my best friend as more than a best friend and having absolutely no idea what to do about it. Nevermind the kiss and the crying.

I shrug. "I . . . don't really want to get into it right now. It's been a long day and I'm just . . . wiped. Can we talk tomorrow?"

She looks surprised, but not really displeased. "Oh. Okay. Sure." She looks straight for a second, then back to me. "Is there anything I can do?"

Another shrug. "I'm not sure. But I swear, it's not really anything bad, just . . . kind of complicated." I fall back onto the bed. It's so nice to be in a bed again.

She still looks worried. Worried about me, which shouldn't surprise me because we've been friends for a year now, but everything just feels special from her now. But I really don't want to worry her, so I figure a spoiler can't hurt.

I close my eyes as if drifting off to sleep. After a moment, though, I say, "Y'know, I'm going to ask you out tomorrow for real."

I open one eye just to take a peek. A smile creeps on her face slowly, and she looks soft and beautiful. Wonder, that's the word.

I don't know how much of what I'm seeing is her mask and how much is real, but the way she's looking at me is just like that night under the stars, and I believe in it all. Even the façade is Rachel, isn't it?

I close my eye again, lacing my fingers together to form a pillow. "I hope you'll say 'yes.'"

There's a moment of quiet that is warm and nice. She reaches out and places a hand on my stomach. It tickles a little just being there, but it's also comforting.

Her reply is just a whisper; "I think I will."

I keep my eyes closed and just breathe in, trying to savor the moment. It's the closest I've come to feeling like we're at the light house again, the anticipation and giddiness that comes from being close to Rachel, but it's more reserved now.

At least until Rachel straddles me and sits in my lap, at which point it jumps straight to electric and I can just feel my heart start beating double time.

I open my eyes to find Rachel staring down at me, as if inspecting me. "What are you feeling - right now?"

"Sad," I reply.

She cocks her head to the side.

"Because you're going to move to LA."

That earns me a smile again.

"But like things are going to be okay, for real. Like we'll work it all out."

Her thighs press in on my hips, and my ability to breathe takes a sharp decline.

"And now . . . a little turned on I guess?"

Now the glances down my body feel a little more mischievous, and a smirk crops up on her face.

"Oh? Maybe we should work out what we're going to do about that, like we will the other stuff."

"Yeah, maybe we should."

Yes!, alright Max, you're getting the hang of this flirting thing. It's just all about being noncommittal and sarcastic when someone thinks you're cute!

She reaches a hand out, making a grabby motion in the air like a child who can't reach. I unlace my fingers and reach out a hand to hold hers instead, and she gives a satisfied wiggle on top of me in response.

"Now - come here!" I say, and tug her forward. She gives a delighted shriek for a second as she falls on top of me, unable to stop giggling through all our kisses.

When Chloe comes out of the shower, we're both checking our phones, sitting several feet apart and pretending, unconvincingly, that nothing happened. Chloe takes one look at me and quirks an eyebrow. She doesn't buy it for a second.

As much as I'd like to stay up to talk or tease Rachel, I'm exhausted, and promptly drop straightaway to sleep with Rachel spooning me. And it's probably for that exact reason that I don't stay asleep, because when I wake up, I can't feel her anymore. It's the very first thing I realize, and the second is that Rachel and Chloe are talking in low voices near the opposite end of the room.

It's Rachel's voice that I hear, once I can actually make out words. "That's probably what she wanted to talk to me about," she says.

The room is dark, or at least as dark as a motel ever is, and it reminds me just a little of the Tactile Dome.

"Well, how do you feel about that?" Chloe asks.

"Feel about it? I have no idea what I'm supposed to feel about it - I don't really know what you want from me."

"I don't want anything. And I have no idea how you're supposed to feel either - I want to know what you do feel. I want you to trust me, not pacify me."

There's a pause. I think I hear Rachel click her tongue. And then, "Okay, fine. I feel annoyed. I feel like, just when I'm getting things right for once, Max is going to get scared and confused and not want to hurt anybody. I'm not saying you shouldn't have been honest with her, just . . . did it have to be now?"

Chloe's frustrated. "When would have been a good time, exactly? It's not easy for me to be real with people all the time - I'm just kind of riding the wave and seeing where it takes me."

Rachel sighs, but it sounds mad. I hate it when they fight. Should I do something? Would it be better if I intervened, or would I only make things worse?

"Chloe, we're not sixteen anymore. We have to think about things. And I need you to consider my feelings before doing something like this. You could have done this before I realized I had feelings for Max, or you could have waited more than ten hours after I asked her to be my girlfriend!"

Chloe's voice starts to get louder, slipping in and out of the whisper she's trying to maintain. "How was I supposed to know any of that? It feels a little hypocritical of you to ask me to do that when you didn't say anything about how you felt about Max, you just happened to fall in love one week and BAM, I just have to be okay with it."

"I'm not saying you have to be okay with it, I just-" Rachel cuts off, taking an unsteady breath. Is she okay? Is she crying, or just holding in her anger? What's going on?

She continues, "I just really don't want to fuck everything up, okay? I don't want to lose you, and I don't want to lose Max, and I don't want to lose our future together. It just feels . . . so fragile."

"Babe," Chloe whispers, so quiet I can barely make it out. "Max isn't a scared little kid any more. She's not going to run and hide because feelings are hard and confusing, I promise. And just because . . ." her voice drops again, "I love her . . . doesn't mean I'm out if she doesn't feel the same way. I'm in this - the three of us. Whatever it takes. I would do anything for you . . . both of you."

"But that's -" Rachel's definitely crying - I can hear her wipe away tears with her arm. "Dammit, Chloe, I want you to be happy, not sacrifice yourself. I don't. Need. A knight. I just need you."

Chloe shuffles around in her cot, sighing. "You know what would make me happy?"

"What, Chloe?"

She takes a deep breath. "If me loving someone didn't always end up a mistake. If I could just stop hurting the people I care about most."

"Stop it, Chloe."

"Why?"

"Us - our relationship? It didn't end because you loved me. I loved you. I always loved you since - since you got on that fucking stage as Ariel. You've always been such a ride-or-die bitch no matter how ugly or fucked up things got."

They both laugh unsteadily. Then Rachel's voice returns somber; "But things changed. And I knew, I knew if we were going to stay together, we had to play it smart. I didn't want to end up poor, out of gas and money in some motel like this as we tried to run away again, or stuck in that fucking town. But I felt like, if I wanted a future, a good future, if I wanted my life to be what I wanted it to be . . . I couldn't be with you in the present. I would just get lost. I feel like I've come so close, over and over, to losing everything. I can't be that stupid kid anymore. Not if I'm going to look out for us."

It's quiet for a long time. I consider pretending to wake up, slowly, without having heard anything. There is some part of this that I'm missing, stories that don't add up. Whatever relationship they used to have, I've never heard anything about it. This was definitely not what Rachel had suggested things had been like. There were still parts of her, deep down, that couldn't bring herself to tell me the truth, the whole truth. Maybe I would never see Rachel as perfectly as I want to.

Finally, Chloe speaks up. "You know, Max said basically the same thing."

"Hm?"

"She told me today that she had to get over the relationship we used to have. She said she had to if she was going to love me for who I am now."

Rachel chuckles quietly. "What a damn poet Max Caulfield is."

Chloe laughs, too. "She can be like that sometimes, yeah. But I think she's right. We've got to let that go if we're going to move on."

Another silence, this time brief. Chloe continues, back to a whisper. "Do you think you could love me for who I am now?"

Rachel's sigh sounds stressed. "Of course I love you, Chloe."

"No, I mean . . . Do you think you could ever fall in love with me again? Not for the adventures and the freedom and all the stuff we had before. I just mean me, your . . . in-it-for-the-long-haul, star-crossed best friend." Chloe laughs again under her breath. "Max really is a fucking poet."

"I think that one was Shakespeare, actually. Like, pretty sure."

"Yeah? Well, I wouldn't know. Can't say I read another one after The Tempest."

Rachel sounds exasperated. "It's - it's literally Romeo and Juliet."

Chloe doesn't reply - at least not to that. After a pause, she asks, "Could you?"

The seconds drag on, each one more painful than the last. I can't imagine what their faces look like. I can't imagine what it's like to have to answer that question. I can't imagine what it's like to cut your heart out and offer it to someone like that, either. Chloe's a romantic unlike anything I'll ever be.

Finally, Rachel answers, "I don't know. This is all too much. I need to think."

"Okay." Chloe sounds defeated.

Rachel crawls back into bed, and a second later, I can feel her fingers in my hair, brushing it as gently as she can. I do my best to look asleep.

"Whatever else happens," Rachel says, "Promise me you'll take care of her when I'm gone. And stop trying to be a hero or a martyr. Maybe that . . . is a Chloe Price I can fall in love with again."

Chloe doesn't say anything. She just goes back to bed while Rachel props herself up on her side, petting my hair again. I want to find the words to talk to them about all of this, but before I know it, I fall back asleep, with Rachel lying right beside me.

It's official. I'm in love with my two best friends, and I'm terrified. But we're going to make it out of this okay. Love always wins in the end, doesn't it?

Chapter Text

Art by nerdylazorz

My first time seeing L.A. is . . . not impressive.

We arrive about half an hour before rush hour, but even so, there is traffic into and throughout the city. We drive by an untold number of small businesses and chains until the whole city sort of blurs together. It was like this for me in Seattle too, at first, but without a place to get settled, the feeling never quite fades. The plan is to sleep parked near the beach somewhere tonight, so the three of us agree to eat something and make our way to Santa Monica Pier.

The Pier has all sorts of stuff - a small amusement park and an arcade, for starters - but we don't have much time before closing. Around sunset, Rachel grabs my hand and waves at Chloe, dragging me along swiftly to the Ferris Wheel.

It is sunset by the time the ride starts, and Rachel wastes no time taking my hand and resting her head against my shoulder.

"Tired?"

She nods, nuzzling me. "All this driving's got me wiped. If there's one thing Arcadia Bay's got up on LA it's got to be the time spent cooking in a pickup truck waiting for the car ahead of you to move ten feet."

I let go of her hand so I can wrap my arm around her instead.

"Yeah, you're right. That's the only thing Arcadia Bay's got going for it."

"Yep," Rachel replies, nodding even more emphatically. "Only thing."

I stroke her hair and she leans on me even more, like a cat pressing against my leg.

I ask her, "So, what's it like being back in LA? Is your strength returning? Do you like Fallout Boy again?"

"1) Yes and 2) I never stopped."

She sits up straight, though still so close to me I can keep my arm around her. We're at the height of the wheel and her face turns wistful.

She says, "It's like . . . watching a movie trailer. Being back here on an adventure is more fun than it will really be when I move here, I know that. It's going to be really hard, even with a job to get me started. But all the same, I can't help but be excited to return. To be back home."

Even though I've never lived in L.A., I know what she means. Home is waiting for us here - both the new and different, and the intimately familiar. It's the future.

"I can't wait for a holiday to come and visit you," I say, squeezing her shoulder.

Rachel laughs, warm and sweet. "I haven't even left yet!" she giggles, waving it off. After a beat, though, she says, "By the way, I'm going to get a queen-sized bed, so when you do visit, we can sleep together comfortably. I'm looking forward to more motel-style comfort instead of fighting you for my covers."

I dodge the taunt with an, "Aww, you're sweet," and kiss her cheek. She turns to me for another kiss, long and gentle, and her giggling softens to silence.

A minute later, our foreheads resting together, I say softly, "Be my girlfriend." I had planned to ask, and ask all cute like 'Can I be your girlfriend,' but in the moment I just want to have her, to know that she's choosing me like I'm choosing her.

"Okay," she whispers back, and the instant I see her crack a smile, I kiss her again.

The kissing continues for a long time, my self-consciousness gradually fading away to press kisses to her neck and collarbone. Once we finally pull away to take a breather, I feel the need to blurt out, "Just so, um, you know - I've always wanted to have sex on a Ferris wheel. Not this one specifically, but, um -"

My sentence quickly mutates into meaningless mumbling as Rachel's hand slides from my knee along the inside of my thigh. That draws out a smirk on her face, and she leans close to me like she's going to start kissing my neck. I'm steeling myself against turning into just a puddle of a person when she whispers, strangely husky, "Oh yeah?" right against my ear.

I'm still racing to figure out how to deal with very suddenly wanting to have sex on this Ferris Wheel when the ride stops with us half-way down. The ride is over. It's time to get off go.

Rachel kisses my cheek and leans back as if we were just casually avoiding the ride. "I'll have to bring you back here sometime then, huh?"

I don't think I manage a coherent response before it's time to get off the ride.

We spend most of the next day at a tattoo parlor. Even though I promised Rachel that this is what I wanted to do to celebrate, I hadn't been all that into tattoos until I moved back to Arcadia Bay. Plus, it hasn't even been a month since it became legal for me to get a tattoo!

Despite all of that, I'm the first one to decide on a design I like. I'd been sketching out different deer over the past week, but after I do a few tweaks, I show it to the artist and she assures me it'll be easy enough to do.

I barely bleed, which I take to be a good sign, even if it hurts like hell. I get a small doe on my right shoulder blade, looking up at three stars in the sky. If Chloe and Rachel get why I added the stars, at least they don't say anything about it. Even I think it's a little cheesy.

Chloe's much faster about making up a design than Rachel, and she's in right after me. She shows three designs to the artist, but after mulling it over (and being egged on by Rachel), she decides to get all three design on her forearm - a raven, a blue jay, and a butterfly. She insists she has a good reason for each of them but refuses to explain to anyone 'who isn't her wife' so Rachel and I are just left googling them to get an idea.

Typical of Chloe, the designs are interwoven and complex, so she only gets the outline done, but even that takes long enough that Rachel is finally able to get an idea of what she wants.

Rachel had a bunch of different designs to start with, but once things got narrowed down to animal themes, she started getting creative. She didn't show us the final design (that she pulled off the internet) and insisted we'd just have to find out once it was taking shape.

I don't know why, but I kind of assumed Rachel would be stoic when getting her tattoo - the dragon wrapped around her calf was so large, I figured she must just be immune to the needle. But as it turns out, she's actually a baby about it. A few minutes after they start work on her shoulder, though, she asks me to sit next to her and hold her hand so she'll stay still. She practically crushes my hand over the next hour, but I can't say I mind being relied on for something like this. For a first date as girlfriends . . . it's pretty nice.

Chloe and I take guesses every few minutes at what the design is as soon as we see it has a wing, but since we both wouldn't stop guessing 'Sphinx' we totally missed the griffin until the head was complete.

We emerge that evening from the parlor looking like we got the shit beat out of us and with so little money I need to text my Mom to make sure we'll have food on the trip back to Arcadia Bay, but it's worth it.

I run into Victoria for the first time the day after we arrive home in the shower room before classes start. She spits toothpaste out in the sink and wipes her mouth the second she sees me, and I brace myself for whatever stinging witticism she has ready for me.

She just says, "You burn really bad, Caulfield."

That's . . . fair. I shrug. "I wasn't really born with the sun in mind, I guess."

I'm not really used to seeing her this early, before all the makeup and styled hair. She looks gaunt, but softer. Almost approachable. Almost.

"How was your trip?"

I smile as best I can this early in the morning, scratching the back of my head. I should have brought my bracelets so I'd have something to fidget with during a conversation.

"It was a great time, I think. I got a lot of really great photos and, I mean, it was my first time in California for anything but a stop in LAX. It's beautiful down there."

She shrugs. "If you like the semi-desert, I guess." If it's meant to be cutting, she doesn't put the usual amount of work into making it sound harsh. So much of her usual spite looks drained away - that, or I'm just really off-guard seeing her without makeup.

I'm waiting to go into the shower and she's waiting to leave, but neither of us actually moves to end the conversation. Instead, we stand there in awkward silence for a moment.

Finally, she says, "I actually . . . saw some of what you posted on Instagram. They were, in fact, great shots. Even the candid ones," she rolls her eyes on the word 'candid', but I think she just means 'pictures of Rachel.' 

"Thanks," I reply, smile coming a little easier this time. "Have you heard back about your submission to that gallery?"

"Not yet," she says, shaking her head. Then, settling her stare on me, "But don't get too comfortable. Even if I don't make this one, there will be another. I'm going to come out on top once all is said and done this year."

Even if she's trying to be intimidating, the whole thing feels a little too shonen for me to be cowed. "We'll see about that," I reply.

Satisfaction coats her face, and she finally grabs her shower caddy and goes to leave. Just as she reaches the door, she gives a little back-handed wave and says, "Mazel tov, by the way," and is gone before I can say anything back.

There are many firsts on Tuesday, December 24, when Rachel and I sneak off before a Christmas party with her dad and buddies from his band. It's a crisp, cold afternoon, sunset already fast approaching before it's even hit 5pm, and I hope I'll at least have a few minutes of light for photos by the time we reach the light house.

Rachel pauses when we reach the top of the path, and she drops my hand as I pull away.

"How . . . how did that get here?" She asks, pointing at the lighthouse door where my guitar case sits.

"Trickery," I offer, and she follows me cautiously.

"I thought we were here to take photos," Rachel says, eyes narrows with suspicion, arms crossed over her body. She takes a seat on one of the rocks surrounding the fire pit, and I sit across from her, pulling my guitar from the case.

"Oh, we are. I just didn't say what of."

"What of, then?" Rachel asks, even more suspicious now.

"You. But I have something for you first."

"What is it?" she asks, edging into playful hostility. "Some sort of . . . romantic trick? A sneak attack? 'Hey there Delilah?'"

"Close, and don't think I didn't consider playing that song. But no. I, uh. I wrote something for you."

Rachel's face drops into sudden horror. "You didn't."

"I did."

"Max," she whines, "that's way too good of a gift. I'll - I don't know, cry or something."

"Babe," I begin. It works like a charm, leaving her doe-eyed, if still grumpy. "Please let me play my song for you."

She pouts, pulling her legs up close to her torso so she can rest her hands and head on her knees. "Fine."

She looks nervous, and it makes me want to kiss her, but I can't give in yet. Rachel's so beautiful and sweet that it's hard to ignore, but at the very least, I can channel my frustration at not touching her this very instant into playing.

I strum the keys and tune the guitar one last time, and then begin. 

It's not until the song is over that I can finally hear what I was missing. Softly, softly Rachel cries, and as soon as I hear it, I drop the guitar along the side of a rock. She looks up as I approach, wiping the tears off her face.

"Baby - baby what's wrong? Are you okay?"

Rachel looks up at me, taking a few seconds while she struggles for words. After a second, she forfeits even that, and reaches up, cupping my face with her hands, pulling me down into a kiss.

"I - I told you I'd cry, dammit." She sniffles as we rest our heads together.

A feeling of awe fills my chest, warm and radiant. Not as energetic as electricity, but just as intense. Something new.

"I love you," she whispers.

It's the first time. And not for a second do I doubt it.

It's the first time, and I'm shaking. The cold wind from the light house makes a good excuse, but just the process of peeling off my clothes in front of her is what really makes me tremble. I haven't been topless in front of someone since I was a child, and the feeling of Rachel's hands on my sides are something totally new. She strokes my back while we kiss until the shivering stops, although it comes back in bursts every time she finds a sensitive spot on my skin with her hands or mouth.

That feeling of wonder refuses to leave, and I'm enveloped in it. I've never had what I'd call a 'religious experience,' but if I were to imagine a feeling of holiness, it would be this.

I don't know how many times I say 'I love you,' but it's too many to count.

The weeks after Rachel leaves are the loneliest I've had since I moved to Seattle, and Chloe is right there with me. We try to keep up our regular hang-outs, and when that fails, we try reverting to old habits. After about an hour of doodling on scraps of paper (and Chloe's bedroom floor) with songs autoplaying from her computer, a familiar track comes on. She sighs seconds into the song and rolls onto her back, and I follow suit a moment after.

"Rachel's alarm?"

She nods, "Yeah," patting at her vest pocket for a second. "God that makes me want a cigarette."

"Out?" I ask, reaching up towards the ceiling. The bracelet Rachel made for me isn't as brilliant in the dark of Chloe's room, but it's still pretty.

Rachel lifts her hand up as well. She's wearing a blue and white bracelet I feel like I haven't seen in a long time, or like I've only seen it in old photographs.

"I'm trying to quit, actually."

"Oh, for real?" I roll on my side, and Chloe drops her hand back onto her chest.

"Yeah. I mean, that stuff will kill ya, you know."

I place my hand on top of hers, more than a little happy and very lonely. "Proud of you."

Chloe doesn't respond; all she does is close her eyes and smile, waiting for the song to finish playing.

Anon asked: if youre cis why are you talking about trans issues on the internet. these arent about you. stop being a transphobe and shut the fuck up.

Every part of that makes my blood boil, and I'm not entirely sure why. I just know to the core of my being that they're wrong, even though I've expressed similar sentiments before. I don't particularly care what cis people have to say about trans issues online. But I've thought about this so much, I know it's not just something I made up on the spot. Is that what's really pissing me off, or is it . . .

noirangel: look, I get that you have good intentions behind being mean to me on Tumblr, but I'm going to need you to stop. I provided sources where I could, and drew from the experiences of trans people I know, including myself, wherever I couldn't. I'm not shutting up because these are my real, lived experiences, as well as those of people around me, and I don't appreciate this shit in my ask box just because you want me to be quiet.
Please fuck off.

Holy shit. I said it. I really said it.

I'm not sure what to do next. I just typed it out online - can I just leave it like that? Does saying it one time make it true? How do I really know I'm trans?

This deteriorates quickly while I rapidly refresh my blog, waiting to see if there's any reaction to what I said. The first response I get is just a like, but even that feels like a breath of fresh air. The first person to see this, at least, didn't reject me. That's something. But there's someone I'm a little more concerned about than random people on the internet.

Max: hey hon, i've got kind of a weird question.
Max: do you think you would still be interested in me even if I weren't a girl?

I expect a lengthy pause, maybe lots of suspicious questions.

Instead, Rachel responds after about thirty seconds with:

Rachel: yeah babe lol
Rachel: ur hot and i love you
Rachel: why?

God. God, I love her. 

Max: haha I was just wondering.
Max: I love you too ^^

I drop my phone onto my chest and let out a sigh of relief. That's not quite coming out just yet, but the security for one day is all I need right now.

Our first fight wasn't something I expected at all - I hadn't even realized at first we were having it. It clicked right around,

Me: Do you seriously think I'm cheating on you? Chloe and I are your best friends Rachel, we wouldn't just choose to blow everything up just because you're living away.

Rachel: I know, and I'm not saying that. And it's not like I think you would have chose to do anything, but things happen, you know? Maybe just one time when she was drunk or - or something.

Me: But we seriously didn't.

Rachel: I - o-okay. Fine. If you say so.

Me: Rachel.

Rachel: What, Max?

Me: Look, I get where you're coming from, but I'm seriously capable of making choices around these things. I don't just fall into romantic or sexual situations by pure accident - it doesn't really work for me that way. And if I thought something were going to happen between me and Chloe, I'd talk to you about it. Because I seriously, really wouldn't want to blow up our relationship because my relationship with Chloe has been changing.

Rachel: Has it?

Me: What?

Rachel: . . . been changing.

Me: Oh my god! No! Because I made conscious decisions against it. Please trust me.

Rachel:

Rachel: . . . you're right

Me: Hon, are you crying?

Rachel: Um . . . yeah, sorry, a little. It just, um.

Rachel: Sorry. I just realized none of this shit is about you, exactly. I'm expecting a lot of my own mistakes out of you and that's - that's not fair.

Me: What do you mean?

Rachel: I don't think I've ever been very . . . uh . . . forthcoming with you about what my and Chloe's relationship was like before you came back to Arcadia Bay.

Rachel: We, um . . . so. We were dating, I guess. We never made it super clear, but it was definitely a romantic thing.

Rachel: I loved her.

Me: I know.

Rachel: Did Chloe tell you?

Me: No. Do you remember that night in the motel in San Francisco, right before we started dating?

Rachel: No? Wait, yeah. Shit. Did you hear us talking?

Me: Yep.

Rachel: Well, fuck.

Rachel: Well, yeah. We were together. But we weren't very good at it. I know Chloe blames herself a lot for how it all fell apart, but if we're being honest, I think I was sabotaging it from the start. Chloe loved me so much and it really scared me - like I wasn't worthy of it or I'd mess it all up. Or something. So I made . . . sure of it. And I cheated on her. A lot. And I'd tell myself it was accidental, or that we weren't officially together so it didn't really count, and, just, stupid stuff like that.

Me: That's . . . pretty messed up, sweetie. But I think I get it.

Rachel: Yeah . . . you remember Frank?

Me:  Your ex?

Rachel: Yeah. I started seeing him while Chloe and I were still together. She never actually figured out who I was with, but once she realized I'd cheated on her, she blew up. And things were a total mess for a while, until I stopped seeing Frank and put things back together. And that's . . . right around when you moved back. And . . . we just never really talked out everything that happened.

Me: That . . . makes my first year back make a lot more sense.

Rachel: Yeah.

Me: And to be clear, I think you really messed up.

Rachel: I know.

Me: But I know Chloe doesn't hate you for it, and I don't hate you for it. But I know she's confused and hurt, still. She loves you.

Rachel: I know.

Me: I love you, too.

Rachel: I love you, too, hon. And . . . I. I miss you.

Me: I miss you, too.

Rachel: I miss Chloe too. Not just right now but . . . these past two years. Ever since you came back, it's felt like she's had eyes only for you, and I've been stupid jealous. It made being friends with you complicated, in the beginning. For a lot of reasons. 

Me: I can definitely understand that. I'm not mad. We found our own rhythm - eventually.

Rachel: Ha! Just in time, too.

Rachel: Please don't tell Chloe that I miss her. I want to work things out, but it's still too . . .

Rachel: I'm still not ready.

Me: I won't say anything, I swear.

Rachel: You swear?

Me: I swear! I just said so.

Rachel: Okay. I love you. I'm sorry I dragged you down into all of my feelings like this. You're not me.

Me: I love you too. And you're not who you used to be either, Rachel.

Me: Let's . . . in the future, when something like this comes up, let's just talk, okay? I know things between the three of us are complicated, but I think we can make it work. I super believe in us.

Rachel: We're star-crossed, huh?

Me: Totally, actually bound by celestial forces.

Rachel: Even if we weren't, I'd still choose you, you know.

Me: You sap. I love you.

Rachel: I love you, too.

Our graduation is out on the football field across from the main school buildings, with about 100 chairs set out for students and faculty while families sit on the bleachers. It's uncomfortably hot, and most of the students are actively shading themselves with their mortarboard if they think they can get away from it.

Principal Wells clears his throat and says, "And now, we'll be hearing from our Salutatorian, Kate Marsh."

Kate graduates as our Salutatorian thanks to her taking 1 less AP class than Warren, and her speech is the one I'm really interested in hearing. Not that Warren's wasn't good exactly, it's just that he had me look it over a half-dozen times because "you're good at English" even though I scraped by the minimum GPA for college acceptance. Kate has been guarding the content of her speech carefully for months, but knowing her, she probably outlined its entire structure and theme months ahead of time before submitting a totally different speech a few weeks ago.

Kate walks slowly up to the podium, although she and the other students giving speeches are seated only a few paces back from it. She takes a few seconds to look at the paper with her speech, looks up at the audience, takes a deep breath, and smiles.

"I'd first like to say thank you - thank you to Blackwell Academy's staff and faculty, for the exceptional education and facilities you provided to us as students; thank you to my classmates for making this school the most challenging and rewarding year of my life; thank you to my family for supporting me this year and every year until now; and thank you to my friends for making Blackwell my home away from home.

It's some months later that I come home from class to find Chloe sitting on the couch at our new apartment, watching How It's Made with the volume about as low as it can go while still being audible.

"Hey Chloe," I greet her, dumping my backpack near the door.

She turns and waves, only mouthing a 'hello.' Curious, I walk over to find Rachel asleep on the couch with her head in Chloe's lap, curled up so she can fit.

"Oh, there's my beautiful girl," I croon, crouching down in front of them and stroking Rachel's hair. She stirs at the touch, but does not wake up.

"She fell asleep like an hour ago; I've been too scared to move her, like a cat," Chloe whispers.

"I understand."

A minute passes while I pet Rachel and Chloe idly strokes her arm with her thumb, and even though I'm exhausted from the day, I feel light.

"I'm so fucking happy." I sit cross-legged in front of the couch, no intentions of stopping what I'm doing anytime soon.

"Good day at class?"

I shake my head. "Mediocre day. But my life is . . . well. I kind of love it."

Chloe doesn't say anything, only closes her eyes and smiles. For a second, I think I see Rachel smiling, too, but she only nuzzles my hand before falling back asleep.

Art by cahlart