a/n: alright! i posted this story originally on tumblr as a spur of the moment idea, but it's really caught a lot of people's interests (and i thank them fo that zhfhfg). This fic takes place before the events of Life is Strange (about an exact month before), and if anybody has any questions, feel free to ask me! I'll be updating this weekly! ^^
-
September 5, 2013.
People liked to say that in times of adversity, it helped to take a deep breath, count backwards from five, and let it all out in a soothing whoosh. Find something menial to concentrate on, like how many cracks spiderwebbed across the smooth, alabaster surface of the floors, or how the leaves outside looked like heavy, vivid raindrops, yellowed and rusted in preparation for winter and threatening to fall with the faintest touch of wind.
Max Caulfield couldn't particularly tell if this was a time of adversity, but it sure as hell sounded and felt like it. The tension within the classroom rose and frothed, so thick that it clogged her throat, and the defiant SCREECH of the desk impacting the floor had her whole body flinching away, as if the sound itself had physically shoved her.
"What the hell is wrong with you?!"
The accusatory voice of Alyssa Anderson rose above the white noise, the bang after the flash, shrill and bewildered. The rest of the student body was too stunned to react just yet, even Nathan's loyal followers left blinking cluelessly in the aftermath of his tantrum.
"Sit the fuck down, you fat bitch!"
The silence that followed was eerie, suffocating for everyone involved, and she couldn't keep the fine hairs on her arms from standing up, even after averting her eyes from the violent, confusing scene. Nathan Prescott was standing in the middle of the room, panting, screaming at the poor English teacher (what was her name...? Harvey. Ms. Harvey) about how her deadlines did not apply to him, about how she wouldn't count his missed paper against his grade because, and Max Caulfield quotes:
"I could have another English teacher in here within a day's notice, and you'd be without your stupid, pathetic job, and nobody would bat a fucking eye!"
The words were furious, unhinged, and his tone bordered on outright madness. And Max, ever the silent observer, anchored her eyes to her notebook until she thought she'd memorized and counted every horizontal line-
The poor, shrinking woman tried to say something, but Prescott's roars drowned her out, crushed her attempt at a calming tone like some rampaging beast. Her lip twitched. Yep. Angry, rich beast with a superiority complex.
Thank Dog I don't have to deal with that piece of work.
Soon, the door slammed with a definite thud, the hinges of it squealing in protest. He'd stormed out like the Tasmanian Devil, all snarls and irate growls and fingers hooked into claws. Even his posse didn't think twice about chasing after him to calm him down, and Warren (ever the good, caring samaritan), stood to help Ms. Harvey rectify the overturned desk.
Max's eyes stayed fixed on the door, the glass still shivering from the violent exit. One thought crossed her mind, and only one: dude's got issues.
.
.
She liked to believe that she was a perfectly okay student. Sure, her grade point average could use a little boost (compared to Warren's and people like Victoria's, it was a little bit laughable), and sure, she could attempt to join clubs and sports teams, and sure, she could be a little more outgoing and sociable (she's not on Dana's or Juliet's level, but-
With a quick shake of her head, the self-depreciating thoughts were gone; at least, until they made their vengeful return as some form of awful daydream.
Back to the situation at hand. She'd been called to the principal's office, and her brain was wracking itself within her skull until the space between her eyes ached, wondering what she'd done wrong. Every minute of every day since classes at the academy started playing in her head, skipping and repeating like broken VHS tapes.
Going over anything that she'd possibly done wrong.
Her thoughts veered again, if only to avoid the incoming panic attack (c'mon, she'd worked her butt off trying to get into this school, she couldn't get kicked out now) and every step felt like a step closer to her own funeral.
Well, that comparison wasn't too far off.
Her hand reached out-and she was looking at her hand like wasn't even her hand-and she curled her clammy fingers around the cool brass of the doorknob, the words PRINCIPAL WELLS blaring at her from their place on the door. There were voices inside, muffled, and she froze.
The secretary at the desk chewed noisily at her gum, stenciled eyebrows rising with skepticism, staring at the student who froze up like some nerve-ravaged statue.
But it wasn't the scrutinizing gaze of the secretary that had Max's pulse jumping. No.
She could recognize Nathan Precott's yelling anywhere.
Her hand tore away from the doorknob like it'd caught fire, and large, doe-like eyes were caught on the door like it'd grown poison ivy. What could possibly be the reason for calling her and Nathan Prescott into the same room together? They'd hardly exchanged a sentence (if his 'move, twee bitch' could be considered a sentence) and she'd done literally nothing to piss off his family.
Possibility after possibility ran through her head at full sprint, and at one point, the secretary might have grown exasperated, watching this bewildered student stare numbly at her boss's office.
"Go on in, he's expecting you."
Her accent was a drawl, but had that impatient twang that most people from the east grew up with.
It was enough to have Max robotically reach for the doorknob, twist, and push.
.
.
"I don't need to be fucking babysat at my own school!"
There was a long-suffering sigh from the man who had far too many problems to begin with, and the wrinkles on his forehead creased further because of it.
"That's not the case, Mr. Prescott. Your father and I agreed-"
"There you two go again, talking about me behind my back and making plans for me that I didn't agree to!" He interjected, his already shrill voice cracking, rising an octave with obvious indignation. "I'm not a fucking baby, so you can stop fucking treating me like one!"
Principal Wells opened his mouth, as if to attempt to calm Nathan's broiling anger, but thought better of it. At times, it was better if someone was quiet. And, at times when the school's generous donor's son wanted to rant, that was just the thing to do.
And, as though saved by some merciful other being, the door squeaked open, and then softly shut. Nathan's yells died in his throat, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth, and he jerked his head to look over his shoulder as his 'shadow'.
"No way," he breathed, eyebrows hiking up onto his forehead in shock. The seconds passed, however, and the girl met his stare with a set jaw, hands pressed firmly at her sides. Dark, dark blue irises disappeared as he narrowed his gaze, and the the ugliest sneer yanked at his mouth, teeth flashing, and he spun around to regard Principal Wells.
"Max fucking Caulfield?! Her?!"