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"Hey Rach, any chance you've changed your mind about my pitch?"
Rachel laughs, turning away from the crowd to lean on the bleacher railing separating her from the sideline. On the other side, Dana leans back against it with a knowing smile, all Blackwell school spirit in her red-and-white uniform.
"Well… not all of us can handle as many bright lights and big stages as you do," Rachel says. "The school colors would hardly suit me any better than they already suit you, anyway."
"I'll take the excuses, even if they're bullshit." Harsh stadium lights highlight the glittering sheen across Dana's cheeks as she catches her breath from the last routine. The game plays on, but Rachel's hardly paying attention; she doesn't come to football games for the football. "No hard feelings either way. I had to ask — but I didn't really think you'd be interested. Even if you'd kill it like everything else."
"Aw," Rachel coos, "I appreciate the confidence. If this acting thing doesn't work out, you'll be my first stop. We'll go straight to Dallas or whatever."
Dana grins. "There's a Halloween party look for you, at least. Unless you already have plans…"
"You know I can't give away all my secrets. It's only September."
"Damn, not even a hint?"
Rachel shakes her head. "Will you be spearheading Halloween for the Vortex Club this year?"
Rolling her eyes, Dana's posture sags slightly. "No fucking clue. I don't need the club to throw a good rager, but—"
"But financial backing from the Prescott Party Fund doesn't hurt. I get it." Rachel peers out onto the field. "I'll put a good word in. I'm sure the 'powers that be' wouldn't mind—"
A click-whirr catches her attention and easily drives Vortex matters from her thoughts. The club drama is starting to get old; it's the new of this semester that has been intriguing her most of late. Sure enough, Rachel glimpses Blackwell's freshest face as she straightens up and examines a photograph just downfield from the bleachers.
Max Caulfield, the most interesting person to barely speak a word without being spoken to. Rachel had tried to ask Victoria about how Max's artistic vision shows up in her photography class, semester schedules unfortunately failing to line up so that she can see it for herself, but Vic ended up on some sort of rant that she mostly tuned out. It sounded like a whole lot of jealousy — as far as Rachel is concerned, that speaks volumes in itself.
"Huh," Dana says, having followed Rachel's gaze. "Wouldn't have guessed she was the sporty type."
"Mm. I don't think it has anything to do with football," Rachel muses without taking her eyes off of Max, who wanders away along the sideline, still studying her photo. "Or cheerleading, even if — just between us — you girls have miles more talent than the main event."
Dana laughs. "Don't let Juliet hear you saying shit like that. She's hungry for something to write that'll let her vent about the team."
"She could stop dating football players. So could you." Rachel glances at Dana just long enough to lift a brow. Dana averts her eyes, which tells her all she needs to know. "If you ever need—"
"I'm fine. We're fine," Dana says, quick to correct herself. "Trust me, if that changes, you'll be the first to know."
"Ooh, a Dana Ward exclusive. I'll hold you to that."
"Don't make me regret making Juliet second."
Rachel feigns an indignant look. "Never."
There's so much more to say on that — but a scattering of warning yells followed quickly by a collective wincing groan from the crowd behind her takes Rachel's focus back to Max the second she realizes where everyone's looking. She's far off, closer to the endzone now, but it doesn't take being up close to see the way she holds her hand to her nose and mouth as she reels back, the football coming to rest in the grass next to her.
"Oh, shit," Dana murmurs, standing up straight and looking on with concern as Max turns and makes a beeline for the dormitories. The player that jogs up and collects the ball looks her way for just a moment before shrugging and returning to the game. "I hope she's alright…"
A cursory scan makes it clear that most of the students have already moved on. "You have halftime to worry about. I'll go," Rachel says, the first few steps already taken with purpose. Over her shoulder, she calls out, "Break a leg!"
She ignores the curious glance that Dana casts her way, but she at least smiles towards those in the stands who greet her as she passes. No need to make this a whole thing.
Rachel nearly misses it, but she spots something on the ground that diverts her path. A photograph — Rachel picks it up and continues at a brisk pace. Along the way to the dorms, she studies the photo as it develops; it's nothing extraordinary, but that's what's so compelling about it. Stadium lights blooming just on the side of too-bright, illuminating the distant black-and-white uniform of one of the referees on the other side of so much painted green. The reds of huddled Bigfoots almost bleeds into one edge of the frame, the referee impatient in his posture.
She knows the room she's looking for once she gets to the correct dormitory hall, even if she hasn't ever visited. First time for everything. Kate slips quietly out of the opposite door when Rachel gets there, and the first aid kit visible in her hands stops Rachel mid-knock.
"Hey," Rachel says, causing Kate to pause and slowly turn to look at her with a small — and somewhat confused — smile. "Have you seen Max around?"
Kate lifts the first aid kit in indication. "I have, yes. I was just bringing this to her… I'm not really sure what happened," she adds with a worried furrow in her brow.
"Football happened. The great athletes of Blackwell skipped 'aiming' practice," Rachel says wryly. She offers a hand. "I can help her, if you need to get back to… movie night, right? I heard Stella talking about it," she explains.
"Are you sure? I don't mind, really," Kate says despite already starting to hand over the kit. "But if you saw what happened…"
"Hey, don't leave the girls hanging on my account," Rachel says with a laugh. She accepts the kit and smiles. "You do more than enough around here. My first-aid training and I can take this one."
"Oh." Kate's shoulders relax as she lets out a soft laugh. "I didn't realize… well, anyway, I appreciate it. She's in the showers — not in the shower, but you know what I mean."
"I'm on it." Rachel turns on her heel, giving Kate a fluttering wave over her shoulder. "I'll make sure Max updates you."
And there's the last of Kate's worry, not vanishing but softening at the edges with that reassurance. It's admirable, how much she cares; even to the point of too-much, or in ways that some students find unnerving. Even if the whole Jesus schtick isn't really Rachel's thing, she can at least respect how genuine it is among all the Blackwell farce.
Though it's a shared space, Rachel still gives the shower room door a few taps before opening it to provide fair warning.
"Kate, I dunno if—" comes Max's voice, muffled and nasal. Upon Rachel's entrance she meets Max's gaze, which goes wide-eyed and frozen. "Oh. Um."
"You don't mind me taking over, do you, Max?" Rachel asks even as she lets the door close behind her and approaches. Max finally blinks and hurriedly brings a paper towel up to her nose, but it's too late to cover up stark red under the fluorescent lights. It also does nothing to obscure the smears in the sink basin beside her.
"I-I guess not," Max says, brows furrowed. She averts her eyes from Rachel's to watch what her hands are doing instead, which is setting the kit on the next sink over and unzipping it. "How'd you know I was…"
"I was at the game," Rachel says, sifting through the well-stocked kit for gauze. "Dana and I saw that dickhead's throw, but she has to show the people what competence looks like — so you get yours truly."
"I should've been paying better attention," Max mumbles with a shrug. "I get into this photo-zone sometimes and kinda forget about everything that's not in frame."
Rachel laughs and pulls the photograph from her back pocket, handing it to Max. "The things we sacrifice for art. A sweet shot like that is worth some blood, sweat, and tears."
"Oh, um, thanks," Max says, giving the photo a critical glance before awkwardly tucking it into the satchel at her side with one hand. Most of her expression remains covered, but according to her eyes, there's something not quite satisfactory about her handiwork.
"Still, I wouldn't let Zach off the hook so easily. It was a shitty throw."
Max finally pulls the paper towel away from her face with a sigh, bundling it up. "It's not that bad. I'm pretty sure I don't have, I dunno, a concussion or something."
Rachel cocks a hip and a brow, watching Max closely. "That remains to be seen, but we'll focus on the bleeding. Just the nose?"
Shaking her head, Max leans over the sink and spits. Though she turns her shoulder in an attempt to block the view, Rachel notes the blood soon washed away by the faucet. "Ugh, I think I bit the inside of my lip..."
The face that Max makes when she resurfaces, nose wrinkled against the taste, is kind of adorable. Rachel reels in the urge to comment on it, at least until she actually gets some eye contact back. It's nowhere near as fun to flirt when the recipient isn't looking. "Judging by that look, you're not a vampire. Good to know."
"Being a vampire would suck. Don't," Max groans, anticipating the obvious joke before Rachel has even considered whether it's worth making.
"Wow. Quick on the draw, much?"
Rachel offers Max a piece of gauze, gesturing for her to put it wherever the bleeding in her mouth might be. "I guess I've spent a lot of time with the kind of people who have something to say about everything. Well, a person. Even if it's been years…" Max trails off and does as instructed with the gauze, to Rachel's disappointment — sure, she gave the damn thing to her, but this sounds like the start of something fascinating.
She saves her questions; Rachel wets a corner of a paper towel with warm water and taps the corner of a sink basin instead. "Mind if I help with clean-up?"
Max finally meets her gaze, and Rachel idly wonders if she might actually have a thing for blue eyes. The notion quickly vanishes — it's not the color, it's what lies behind them. Max's eyes dart down to the towel, then back up; a brief furrow appears in her brow as she clearly debates how to respond when her speech is compromised. Rachel gives her an innocuous smile.
"'Kay," Max eventually, begrudgingly manages to say through the gauze. She leans back against the basin, hands grasping the edge, and allows Rachel to step close.
The warmth of Max's cheek when Rachel touches her face to keep her still brings a tease to her tongue. "Relax, it's not like I'm about to kiss you. Not this time."
Max's eyes widen and Rachel laughs softly as she starts to gently clean the blood from her skin. There's not much, but she takes it slow just to see whether Max has anything to say about it. It turns out that Max has many more freckles than at first glance, a good number of them too faint to notice from anywhere farther than practically nose-to-nose.
It's an effective metaphor, really; for those with suitably curious minds, there are new constellations to be found.
Max's cheek grows slightly warmer under Rachel's fingertips, but her eyes soon narrow slightly. She clears her throat quietly and Rachel murmurs, "Almost done."
"S'a long time," Max says, mostly coherent. Rachel pulls back with a grin.
"You think so? I must have gotten distracted." Max gives her a skeptical look before looking over her shoulder at the mirror. Rachel tosses the towel away and crosses her arms. "What, you don't trust me?"
"Not that," Max says, pinching her nose for a few seconds to stem the flow. She then adjusts the gauze to allow for better speech and looks back to Rachel. "Just… what's so interesting?"
"About what? You?"
"I mean…" Max's fingers fidget with the strap of her bag. "I guess I just don't know why you went to the trouble of coming after me. You were probably having a great time at the game with everybody—"
Rachel cuts her off with a scoff. "Oh, Max. It was fine. A football game is a football game, which is to say, nothing special. Ensuring the wellbeing of Blackwell's best and brightest, on the other hand…" When Max remains visibly dubious, Rachel rolls her eyes. "Don't give me that look. You earned your way into your scholarship, right?"
"Yeah…"
"Just because your confidence hasn't caught up to your talent, that doesn't mean you don't have it. I've only seen one photo and I'm convinced."
Max shakes her head with a small smile, which Rachel takes as a win. "For all you know, all the rest could be dogshit."
Rachel grins, sidling up to bump her hip against Max. "That's for me to decide, provided you show me. Even better — we should do a shoot together."
"Don't you already have shots from Hayden?"
"And? I want to see Max Caulfield at work. I get the feeling that your sensibilities will make for a much more interesting experience. Oh, shit," Rachel says, suddenly remembering something, "I haven't introduced myself."
Max snorts softly, pausing to remove the gauze and go drop it off in the trash with a wrinkle of her nose. "I don't think you needed to. It's like everybody in Arcadia Bay knows who Rachel Amber is."
"Do they? Hm," Rachel muses, thoughtful. She turns to pack away the kit. "Well, now I'm curious. How do I measure up to the rumors?"
"Honestly? I dunno yet. That photoshoot, though…" When Rachel glances over her shoulder, Max has fixed her with an appraising look, far more bold in her examination than Rachel would have expected based on the little has heard about the quiet girl in photography class. She itches to find out what Max is seeing in her, even as the notion brings a rare thrill of nerves.
"Oh, now we have to do it. You can't tease like that and expect me not to bite." Rachel tucks the first aid kit under her arm and reaches out to grab Max's hand, ignoring the soft oh that reflexively results. "We need a better setting. Let's get back in the fresh air and see what nature has in store."
"Uh, sure, let's do it," Max says, a hint of fondness coming over her as Rachel starts to pull her along. "No one's been this excited to get in front of my camera in forever."
Rachel stops with her back at the door, head tilted. "Any chance this former model of yours has something to do with that big talker you mentioned?"
"She might."
"Ooh, she. We have much to discuss, Max Caulfield." Rachel pushes through the door. "And plenty of time."