Max Caulfield felt as though she was going to vomit. Her stomach clenched and churned as she laid in bed and stared up at the blank ceiling. It was her first day at Blackwell Academy, which also meant that it was going to be her first class with her long-time idol Mr. Mark Jefferson. The reason she came here. Luckily for her, her parents were supportive of her passion for photography. They believed that she could do something with it. And she thought Mr. Jefferson, whose photographs she had always admired and respected, was the key to her future.
The room was dark, long shadows casting from the white glow of the lights outside. It wasn't quite morning yet. Max glanced at her phone, which read 5:03AM. The sun would rise soon over Arcadia Bay. Usually, Max wasn't awake early enough to see a sunrise. She always found the bed too comfortable, sleep just too inviting. At home, her parents always teased her because she was doubtful to rise from her bedroom until noon. She knew she should try to get a bit more sleep, as she had tossed and turned the whole night. But her stomach did another flip at the thought of lying around any further, and she rose to her feet. Once standing, Max felt her stomach sway, as though she was standing on a boat.
Be cool, Max. It's just school.
She walked over to her closet and began rifling around. Although she didn't have any taste in fashion, she enjoyed her simple tees and plain jeans. She pulled out her favorite shirt: a pink tee with "Jane" and a doe on the front in white characters. It suited her. In Seattle, she had always been the Jane Doe of the class, present but never recognized. She hoped Blackwell would be an end to that. Eventually. She couldn't afford to be shy and quiet here, not with a famous photographer as her teacher. This was a chance of a lifetime for her to get ahead in her craft for once. In comparison, what she wore didn't seem to be so important anymore.
Getting dressed, Max examined herself in her full-length mirror as she brushed her short brown hair. There was a light darkness under her eyes from the lack of sleep the night before, she noticed. She decided to draw attention away by putting dark eyeshadow on just her lids and carefully outlining her eyes with the thinnest line of brown eyeliner she could manage. It would just be enough, she hoped, to get people to look into her bright blue eyes instead of noticing what was under them.
She then grabbed her doe-colored jacket - pulling it on to keep the morning cold from nipping at her skin - slung her bag over her shoulder, and went out the door. The closed doors of the girls' dormitory stretched before her as she quietly padded her way down the hall. This early in the morning, no one besides her was awake. Why would they be? Classes didn't start for hours. Max reached the end of the hall and quietly opened the door, slipping out. Still anxious, Max pulled her jacket closer around her chest. She trotted down the steps before trekking across the small front yard to the dormitories. The path was less foreign to her, as she had arrived a few days previous. She still couldn't get over her surroundings, though. As she walked, she admired the bright red brick of the buildings and clean lawnscape. The grass had been recently cut, too, in order to ensure that everything was literally picture perfect.
Hello, Arcadia Bay funds. Nice to see where you went.
Max knew it sounded cynical, even in her own mind. But she also recalled the state of the rest of the town, with its buildings barely in repair. It was even worse than what she remembered it, although she did find some comfort in the fact that nothing had changed in her years away. Nothing except for Blackwell, that was. And now Blackwell Academy represented Arcadia Bay. Which meant its students did, too. Max let out a long breath as she climbed the stairs towards the academic buildings.
The fountain was supposed to be the centerpiece, she knew. It was in the middle of the academic square, standing tall with trees strategically placed away from it. Immortalized in bronze, Jeremiah Blackwell stood proudly, as if watching over his school even now. "Future needs excellence" was quoted on the front of it. The graffiti that marred its surface now took a more significant meaning. After all, most students weren't interested in pursuing excellence. "I just wanna graduate" struck the strongest chord with the student population. So many hopefuls here couldn't wait to get out into the world.
Everyone except me.
The thought came unbidden to Max's mind, and she let it linger there longer than she should. She was only 18, she reminded herself. As her parents always said, she had "all the time in the world." She shook the thoughts from her head and turned her attention to the nearest poster. It was one of Mr. Jefferson's most famous shorts, a police officer speaking to the family of the victim. Max could feel the father's dismay in his slumped form, his shoulders sunk and his head bowed. It was made all the more devastating by being in chiaroscuro.
Max felt her stomach churn again, but she knew it wasn't due to the photo. The grounds were adorned with several of Mr. Jefferson's works, a small show for anyone walking around campus. Honestly, Max couldn't help but think it was cool. She walked around to each one, examining them all carefully, from the man with the cold eyes and hard lines to the sultry woman sitting. Each piece captured a different moment - a different emotion - and Max was overwhelmed by it. This is what a professional's work looked like.
I'm never going to be this good.
She thought that with some disdain as she sat on the fountain. By now, the sky was beginning to lighten, the sun barely peeking its head over the horizon. The nighttime lights of Blackwell Academy turned off, sensing the oncoming dawn. She noticed the stars were starting to fade, swallowed by the light. Truly, she wished she could take nice photographs of the night sky, but that was a true limitation she found for her camera. They never came out right, black film with perhaps a dot here and there from the stars. It was never quite as pretty as the actual thing. And in a transition like this, she knew everything would be lost.
Perhaps not everything is meant to be captured.
She smiled at her own musing and placed a hand back. She anticipated placing it on the fountain only for it to miss the brick entirely. Cold water clasped at her skin, and Max let out a gasp before ripping her hand back up. A shimmer caught her eye as she looked down. Coins glittered at the bottom of the fountain, some covered in moss from age, others brand new. Unable to help herself, Max beamed. Something so simple yet still managed to take her breath away. Pulling out her camera, she crouched down next to the fountain. Without the sun, there was no light to cause a terrible reflection in the photos. She shifted once to find her perfect angle. The water barely ripped still from her previous encounter, distorting and reforming the images of the coins underneath. Holding her breath, Max took a photo, ensuring to hold the flash down to prevent it from ruining the lighting.
I hope everyone got their wish.
She took the film and shook it, an old habit of hers that she knew she should probably break. Without waiting, she carefully placed the picture into her journal. At least her nerves had done her a favor, letting her see the dawn of her first day at Blackwell. Max couldn't help but feel that this would be a new dawn for her as well.