With a snap and a click, just like that, everything stays still. Which is something Max Caulfield can appreciate. She has the world in her hands, with a power as great as controlling time, but a camera, she decides, works just as well to freeze a moment.
The day is coming to a blazing middle ground with a firey October sun dangling above the waters like a big red flashlight in her eyes, casting warm colors and gentle shadows throughout Chloe Price's bedroom.
Chloe, lying on her back next to her in a cloud of smoke, talking about Rachel Amber.
Rachel Amber, whom, in a matter of minutes, mind you, Max is going to meet.
"Man, I know you guys are gonna hit it off. It's gonna be hella great," She says, blowing a smoke ring.
She's said this approximately twenty times in the last two days of deciding to introduce the two. But speak of the devil and she shall come, becuase who bursts in the door but Rachel Amber herself, Queen of Blackwell Academy.
"Hey Chloe! It's been fucking forever, and I just sat on a bus for twelve hours, so no offense but I'm going to kill a man if I don't get something to eat in, like, five minutes ago," are the first words Max hears out of her mouth, which probably says something about Rachel.
"Hey! You must be Max Caulfield, I've gotta be right, Chloe's told me all about you. So has everyone else, actually. You're the Quiet New Scholarship Girl around Blackwell. I've gotten almost all good impressions though, don't worry about of it. Nice to meet you, I'm Rachel," She says, and she holds out a hand while digging the other in the pocket of her Daisy Dukes.
"Uh, hi. Yeah, I'm Max.. It's nice to meet you, too. Chloe's said a lot about you," Max says, giving her a once-over.
Rachel Amber has legs a mile long, with sandy hair that reaches her waist and blue ice eyes that look endless.
"Alright, now that you two are aquinted, I'm gonna get some food and then we can get high," Chloe says, and with that, Max and this intimidating, beautiful woman are left alone together.
"So, where were you the last couple weeks?" Max asks, trying to make polite conversation.
"Hitched a couple rides to L.A. Woulda had Chloe come with me, but it was sort of spur of the moment. Next time, though. You could totally come to, you know. You're, like, a photographer, right?" She asks, sitting down on Chloe's bed and turning to you.
"Yeah, that's me," You nod, and give a small smile.
"Los Angeles is great for pictures. Not that next time we'll be going to L.A. We can go anywhere you want, except for Idaho. NEVER going to Idaho again. And I'm pretty sure Chloe's got some sort of vendetta against Arizona, but she never told me why. It is entirely possible that she's banned from it, actually, though," The girl says thoughtfully.
"Chloe is banned from Arizona?!"
"It's very possible."
"Like... All of it?"
"That's typically how it works."
"What the hell did Chloe do to get her banned from the entire state of Arizona?!"
"That," Chloe says, entering the room once more with an array of chips and other munchies, "is a story for when the three of us are a lot more high. Which, hopefully, is soon."
Max had never once been high. Or even drunk, really. As a matter of fact, the closest Max had ever been to some form of intoxication was the nights she would occasionally stay up until five in the morning because, shit, that essay was due Thursday and not Friday, and Ray Bradbury's stories would start sounding a lot less in depth studies on humanity's complexities, and where they stopped and started, and a lot more like a PSA on why not to do meth.
Never the less, Max took the blunt handed to her, and for your information, did NOT choke and cough like a little fucking girl in front of Chloe and Rachel on her first it. (Oh, she totally did.)
If Rachel Amber was talkative when she was (probably) sober, than she was fucking insane when she was high, giggles and mumurs and jabbers slipping through her lips, just the perfect amount of high to be loose and easy but not quite exstistentialisty yet.
"Like, I mean, though, have you actually SEEN the Minions movie? 'Cause, like, fuck. I mean, like. What are those things? Fucking bullshit, you know? How do they understand eachother!? That's not a language, you yellow fuckers, 'cause, I mean, if it was, like, I could learn that shit, 'ya know? But I can't take a class in little yellow guys! They don't even have that at Blackwell! They have Spanish, you know? Fuckin' French. Who the fuck wants to learn Fench?" Rachel rambles on, clearly distressed over Minions, and nobody tells her that she's currently taking French.
"Dude," Chloe laughs, "You are so fucking high."
"'M not. Right, Maxie? I'm less high than Chloe. Chloe, my new bestie's gonna tell you you're higher than me," Rachel says, planting a kiss on Max's cheek.
"Uhm," Max stammers, face turning red. "What was in those joints?"
"Max was totally my best friend first," Chloe defends. "MINE!" and grabs a tight hold of Max's arm.
"Shut up you guys," Max laughs. "You're both fucking high, and so am I, and Joyce is totally gonna be home soon and she's gonna be mad because we didn't say no to drugs, and then I'm gonna go back to Blackwell and Kate's gonna be sad because I did drugs and said no to Jesus instead of pot!"
"Shhh Max. Shhh," Rachel croons. "It's fine. Let's just, like, go to sleep."
If Max Caulfield were of sound mind, she might say, "But I have classes at nine in the morning."
Or maybe, "Joyce will still smell the pot, even if we're asleep."
Or perhaps, "David will be home by four in the morning, too, and then we're REALLY screwed."
But lucky for Max, pot was a good Get Out Of Jail Free card, so the three girls simply closed their eyes and fell asleep in the golden room, surrounded by the smell of pot and tepid October air through the slightly open windows.
This was the first time that Max had met Rachel Amber, and if she were to go by first impressions, that would say things would only get more exciting.