Victoria Chase is seven years old when a camera gets thrust into her hands, and her father takes her to a busy avenue to photograph the bustling city atmosphere at the crack of dawn. She is seven years old when her mother begins instructing her on playing the piano, because refined and sophisticated girls possess expertise in the arts that makes them better than all the other girls their age, better than those common girls and their common dresses and their common dreams.

She sits at the side of her window, bringing her knees close to her chest as daylight filters in, and she can see tiny dust particles floating aimlessly in the air. She watches girls from afar who wear ripped jeans and ugly shirts, who play in mud and collect bugs and fall onto the grass, laughing, disregarding the stains on their clothes and the cuts and bruises they get from stray rocks scattered across the ground. She studies them with squinted eyes, and in her mind she mocks their hair and how they carry themselves with such carefree smiles, ignorant of the real world.

Her friends aren't like the girls she watches from the side of her window. Her friends wear jewelry and have pierced ears and cling to designer handbags that match the shoes on their feet. Her friends are like her, refined and sophisticated and better than all the rest.

"You don't need to waste your time associating with kids like that," her mother says as she drags Victoria by the wrist, who is craning her neck over her shoulder, watching as the other girls climb trees and conjure up fantasies in their high-pitched voices. "Kids like that are nothing special. You're going to be exceptional."

Victoria Chase is seven years old when her life begins.

Her parents don't seem to like her photography that much, but occasionally they do, and that slim chance of having them praise her shots is enough to sustain Victoria's interest in it.

Soon enough, she develops her own appreciation for photography, outside of her parents' wishes, outside of her parents' constraints. She takes shots she thinks her parents will like because that's what will garner their approval, but she sneaks her camera to school and captures the butterflies and the flowers because she likes the way it makes her heart light up with daydreams.

A girl in her fourth grade class draws a picture of her family fishing in a lake. The faces are crude and the shapes are flat and the sun has cartoon sunglasses as it sits in the middle of the paper. This girl turns to Victoria and slips the drawing onto her desk. "I'm going to give this to my mom for her birthday," the girl tells her, although Victoria doesn't know why she would bother.

Victoria stares at this girl with a jaded expression, her fist digging into her cheek as her elbow rests on her desk. "Why are you showing this to me?" Victoria asks, blowing out an airy sigh through her lips as her gaze drifts to the corner of the classroom.

"I was wondering if you like it," the girl says. Her hair looks like spaghetti strands of melted chocolate, and her eyes are blue like the leather sofa in Victoria's room that she likes to read books on during rainy days. "I wanna be an artist someday."

Victoria's nose crinkles and her bottom lip quivers and she shakes her head at this stupid, stupid girl. "You call that art?" she snorts. The girl freezes her in her chair. Victoria takes the drawing that is on her desk and she rips it piece by piece with the tips of her fingers. The girl screams, and Victoria looks down on her with dull eyes.

"You'll never be an artist," Victoria says, and the girl sobs into her hands.

When Victoria gets home, her parents find out she's been sneaking her camera to school. They scold her for taking the camera without permission and force her to delete the "unorthodox" photos that were taken in the playground. So she shuts herself in her room and goes to her window, and she doesn't make a sound as she cries while watching girls playing outside.

Victoria doesn't photograph butterflies and flowers after that.

In middle school, Victoria discovers anime when browsing through her father's desktop computer late at night while both her parents are fast asleep. She binges Sailor Moon and wishes she could be like those girls, with their superpowers and hidden past lives and destinies that take them on wondrous adventures. Victoria knows her destiny isn't going to be saving the world, but sometimes, she likes to think it might be.

In high school, everyone gets a shitty phone that has a shitty camera lens and they take shitty pictures and upload them to social media and pretend like they are soooo cooool for having an aesthetic. But Victoria has a portfolio and connections and a background that will launch her to the stars, while her less accomplished peers remain tethered to the ground by their mediocre talent and lack of ambition.

At Blackwell, boys flock to her because, well, why wouldn't they? The girls don't dare to cross her, and the common ones avoid her while the smart ones join her, such as Taylor Christensen and Courtney Wagner. Victoria can get away with whatever she wants because she knows her shit and gets the grades to prove it, but also because everyone knows she could destroy their reputation if she wanted to. She could.

Victoria likes Nathan Prescott—not because he's gorgeous like her—but because he resonates with her. They can party and get drunk together, but they can also talk about how shitty their parents are and how they were both born into photography and how other people just don't get it like they do. As if they think that just because they took a semester of photography and bought a nice camera with their shitty part-time job that they can call themselves a photographer. As if photography isn't a discipline that takes years of mastery and sweat and tears.

She tries kissing Nathan but it doesn't feel right. His lips are grimy and his hands are rough and she just doesn't feel anything.

Mark Jefferson, like her parents, doesn't seem to like her photography all that much. Sometimes he does, and that sliver of hope at hearing praise leave his mouth and enter her ears is enough to sustain Victoria's hope in her own abilities. It's enough to make her believe that she can really do this, that she can really become a photographer and that she isn't a failure after all.

Taylor suddenly drops off the face of the earth for a few days, which kind of freaks Victoria out, although she'd never show it. And normally Victoria would let it slide; she has Courtney around to assist her with whatever she needs. But Taylor hasn't been answering any of her text messages, and what's up with that? She can't just blow her off like that. Who the fuck does she think she is?

Taylor returns on the seventh day and Victoria catches her in the hallway as she is hauling her luggage to her room. Taylor lets out a squeak when she sees her, and her eyes drop to the floor, ears reddening with embarrassment. Victoria cocks her head to the side and walks over, lifting up Taylor's chin with her index finger and forcing Taylor to meet her gaze.

"Tell me what's been going on," Victoria says in a low but firm voice that causes Taylor to huff out a long sigh. Victoria's face softens, and she reaches for Taylor's hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. "Your room," she says, and Taylor gives her a slight nod. "C'mon."

So Taylor's mom needs surgery, and they can't afford it, and shit's been hitting the fan for months, and Victoria is amazed but also hurt that Taylor could mask herself so well and that she hadn't caught on. Victoria calls up her parents that same day and they make arrangements, but she doesn't tell Taylor because Taylor doesn't need to think that she's only doing this to buy her friendship. Because she's not.

Taylor asks her to come outside the dormitory, on a day where there's nothing outside except the sound of the wind rustling the leaves in the trees, where the sun is high and the clouds are threaded wisps stitched into the fabric of the sky. She is resting her back against the trunk of a tree, legs splayed open and arms drooping at her sides. Victoria takes a seat on the grass and rests her head on Taylor's stomach, and she closes her eyes as Taylor's fingers run through her hair.

"Thank you," Taylor utters, her voice almost in a whisper.

Victoria opens her eyes. "It's nothing," she says. "Just… don't feel like you have to hide that kind of shit from me."

Taylor's hair looks like golden fibers of light, and her eyes remind Victoria of the blue dress her mother used to make her wear as a child whenever she had a piano recital.

"I won't," Taylor says, smiling, and Victoria smiles back.

Rachel Amber comes barging into Blackwell and tears down everything that Victoria thought she knew about the world. How the fuck can one girl, a nobody, born from nothingness, propel herself so far up the social ladder that she controls every rung of it?

Rachel takes better photographs and gets a better GPA and receives praise from Jefferson that doesn't consist of backhanded compliments with underlying hints of arrogance. She is just better than Victoria in every way, and she lacks the years and years of suffering for her craft that Victoria had to go through, lacks the background and the connections and the family name. Yet she swoops in, stealing the spotlight, stealing what should be Victoria's.

It's as if this one girl, in her worn-out flannel, in her ripped jeans and her tacky feather, had been sent to Blackwell to mock everything that Victoria has bled for to achieve.

"Rach is cool," Nathan tells her as they head over to their morning class. He swings opens the front door of the main building, and they step inside. "Don't get all bitchy 'cause you're not the only hot one anymore."

Victoria rolls her eyes as she clutches her bag close to her chest and keeps her gaze pointed at the ground. "Whatever," she mutters as she approaches her locker. The metal door squeaks as she opens it, and she removes a book from the top of the pile. "The bitch can hang with us if she wants. Still don't like her."

Nathan snickers as Victoria slams her locker shut. "Never said you had to like her," he says, raising his hands up in defense and then shoving them into the pockets of his jacket. "Just don't be such a fuckin' priss all the time."

She doesn't say anything else—can't say anything else—because practically every guy in the Vortex Club has been fawning over the little slut, especially Nathan. He tries to conceal it, tries to play it off like a cool guy that everyone knows he isn't, but he's so transparent about it. Like all the rest.

Victoria's eyes connect with Rachel's just as the two of them are about to enter their respective classrooms. Rachel has her hand on the doorknob, her foot halfway through the door, when she lolls her head and gives Victoria a lighthearted smile.

Victoria simply glares at Rachel and heads inside.

The view from her desk overlooks the courtyard. Victoria rests her head on her fist as she flips to the next page of her book, eyes scanning the page as she scribbles key points onto her notebook, and she can see Rachel in the far distance, out of the corner of her eye.

She puts her pen down and watches Rachel, who cruises on a skateboard next to those other skater punks before stumbling onto the grass, laughing, as her skateboard skids across the concrete after her failed attempt at a flip. Victoria studies her with a bitten lip, watching as that girl Chloe pulls Rachel to her feet, watching as they playfully jab each other at their sides, watching as those boys Justin and Trevor give Rachel a high-five with their dirty hands and flash at her their dirty smiles.

Victoria isn't like Rachel. Victoria can't hang out with just whomever she pleases, whenever she pleases. (Not like she'd hang out with those losers. Still). She can't just throw on whatever she wants and still show her face in public, to her parents. She doesn't have the ability to command the attention of everyone in a room, not in the same way that Rachel does.

Picking up her pen between her fingers, Victoria resumes her note-taking as remote chatter and the gliding of skateboards across pavement echoes in the background. It continues for about twenty minutes or so before fizzling into silence. Her eyes flicker to the window at an empty courtyard, and she takes a moment to chew on her pencap as her gaze drops onto her notebook, biting down harder as the last word she had mindlessly jotted onto the paper stares at her. Mocks her.

Rachel

Victoria slams her notebook shut and flings her pen, where it falls into some crevice, where she's sure to never find it.

In the middle of the night, Victoria's phone vibrates multiple times on her bed as she is draped over her sofa, reading an assigned chapter for English. Still clutching her book in one hand, she extends her opposing arm over the bed frame and grasps for her phone. Victoria squints her eyes. An unknown number. Regardless, she thumbs through the messages.

Yo it's Rachel! Hope u don't mind I stole ur number from Nate hehe

Victoria makes a mental note to chew Nathan out later.

I have some "brownies" in my room… u want some?

Also got a fuck ton of chips and water too… so don't worry I gotcha covered ;)

Victoria doesn't hesitate to type out her reply.

NOPE NOT INTERESTED. DON'T TEXT ME AGAIN

Sometimes, Rachel will sit with the Vortex Club during lunch. You know. When she feels like it. All the boys are eager to have her hang around because they can't stop drooling over her, and all the girls don't say a word about it because they think Rachel's "nice" and "fun" but newsflash! It's a facade to make people like her. God. People are just so. Easily exploited.

Victoria situates herself on bench that's away from the group, just for today, just because Nathan's giving Rachel that lovesick puppy dog look he tries to hide in his face but you can see in his eyes, and it's so disgusting it makes her want to vomit. And normally when he does that, which is often, Victoria can tolerate it, but not today. Just not today.

Taylor gestures for Victoria to join the inner circle, but Victoria dismisses her with a wave of her hand. Taylor rises from her seat on the grass in an effort to join her, but Victoria shakes her head as her eyes bore into Taylor's with defiance, causing Taylor to sit back down. Seconds later, Victoria's phone buzzes at her side.

V why ru sitting away from us :-(

If u dont wanna be next to rach let me keep u company at least?

Victoria releases a brief sigh as she types out her response.

No. I'm fine. Don't come over here ok

Another notification from Taylor pops up, but Victoria doesn't bother opening it. A lengthy shadow suddenly casts over her, and when Victoria glimpses up from her phone, she meets the vibrant eyes and unwavering smile of Rachel. Rachel, who doesn't ask for permission as she takes the empty seat right next to her because she doesn't need to. Rachel, who simply takes what she wants.

"Don't need your pity," Victoria sneers. "So take your ass back over there."

Rachel drums her fingers on her thighs. "You know," she begins, as if Victoria's listening, as if Victoria cares, "I don't wanna become a photographer."

"Hmm. That so." Victoria tries to hide the faint curiosity in her voice, and she wonders if Rachel can see right through her, can read what's written on her heart with just one look in her eyes. She leans back and glances up at the sky. "You think I give a shit?"

"I actually wanna be a model," Rachel continues, not missing a beat.

Victoria scoffs, eyes rolling. "Makes sense. You're such an attention whore. Seems perfect for you."

Rachel laughs, and it boils Victoria's fucking blood. How she can deflect every insult Victoria hurls her way with a stupid grin, without batting an eye. How Rachel can be the way that she is. She's just so. Untouchable. Like no matter what is dished out at her, Rachel takes those hits with careless ease.

How can she do that? Doesn't hearing the word SLUT from whispers in the hallway elicit any reaction from her? Doesn't seeing the words WHORE and BITCH written about her on bathroom walls faze her? At all?

"Isn't it?" is all Rachel says. "Someday I'll move to LA."

Then what is she even doing here? Why the fuck is she here surpassing every aspect that makes Victoria exceptional when she could be far away from her like the fucking star everyone says she is, like the fucking star she claims to be. Why the fuck is she here if she's soooo above this place? Above Victoria.

That's what Victoria wants to say, but doesn't. She can't let Rachel think that her presence affects her. Because it doesn't.

(It does).

"Why don't you just go to LA then?" Victoria spits out in apathy. (A slip up).

"That's rich," Rachel says as a stifled chuckle escapes her mouth. "But unlike you, I'm not. Sooooo I gotta save up some cash until I can get my ass out of here. But! If you want me gone so badly, you can fund my mission." Rachel smirks. "No donation is too large."

Victoria furrows her brow. "That why you're seducing Nathan?"

It's Rachel's turn to roll her eyes. "That's called a 'joke,' Tori." She bends over with her hands cupping her cheeks, angling her face up to meet Victoria's scowl. "You gonna join us on the grass? Orrrrr are you gonna play the emo card?"

Victoria releases an exaggerated sigh. "You still talking to me?"

Rachel springs upright. "Emo card it is!" she says, and she doesn't look back at Victoria when she rejoins her group of friends, Victoria's friends, and she doesn't look back at Victoria throughout the remainder of the lunch period.

Not even once.

The party is fucking lame because Rachel's here, sucking up all the attention and fun out of everything with her presence. Victoria leans against a wall, chugging down her drink from her plastic cup and watching from afar as Rachel dances her way into the center, into the arms of Nathan. That traitor, thinking with his dick instead of his head, when it's so clear that Rachel is using him, using all of them.

But not Victoria.

She won't let Rachel take advantage of her like all the rest.

Victoria still watches, free hand digging into her hip, as Rachel laughs without a care in the world, as Rachel swings her hips to the rhythm of this shitty song, as Rachel's hair whips around to the shaking of her head while every pair of eyes that surrounds her succumbs to her movements. Rachel wraps her arms around Nathan's neck and tilts her head toward Victoria, casting a smug glance at her, even at that distance. Rachel winks, blowing a kiss at her and giggling.

Did… she just…?

What. The fuck.

Victoria's fingers curl into the plastic cup she's clutching in her hand, her cheeks flooding with heat as she takes another swig of alcohol. Lunging forward, she releases her grip on the cup and lets it drop to the floor and doesn't give a shit if it leaves a stain on the carpet of whoever the hell this house belongs to. About halfway through her stride, a hand tugs at the arm of her sleeve, and she snaps her neck back, eyes piercing.

Taylor gasps at the sight of her, eyes flickering up and down, arms raised halfway in the air like she doesn't know what to do with them. "V?" Her voice almost becomes swallowed up by all this noise. "Everything okay?"

The tension in her chest eases, just barely, but it's enough for Victoria to put on a brave face and reach for Taylor's shoulder; it's enough for her eyes to soften as they lock onto Taylor's worrisome expression. "Sweet T," she says, almost smiling, almost crying, "don't worry 'bout me. You enjoy the party. Okay?"

"Wait—"

But Victoria doesn't wait. She doesn't want to. Behind her, as she sifts between drunken bodies, Victoria can imagine it. Taylor's face, etched in confusion, and maybe her lips are frowning or maybe her eyes have fallen to the floor or maybe she's hugging herself and drifting to a corner of the room. I'm sorry, Taylor, she thinks, but doesn't have the guts to say it to her face because she's so pathetic. Weak.

Rachel has found a place on a couch, back pressed against the shoulder of a guy who's knocked out with his head hanging off to the side. Her left foot is planted on the floor as her right leg stretches out and dangles over the arm of the sofa. She's in denim shorts and converse sneakers and that red flannel which is now unbuttoned at the top to expose her black bra.

Victoria approaches, arms folded across her chest.

"Tori! You finally came!" Rachel says. Her smile may be lazy and cheerful but her eyes are focused, as if she's studying every little movement Victoria makes, as if she's analyzing every inch of Victoria's posture. "Bout time!"

"What the hell was that?" Victoria asks in a low growl, avoiding Rachel's gaze as her eyes shift constantly around the room.

Rachel cocks her head to the side. "What was what?"

"That wink," Victoria says. That kiss, Victoria thinks.

The corners of Rachel's mouth curl into a thin smirk, and she crosses her arms, mimicking Victoria. "Oh? You don't like my flirting?" Rachel asks innocently, quirking an eyebrow and feigning a small pout on her lips. "I just wanted to see if I could get you to come outta your corner. You looked so lonely."

"So?"

Rachel swings her legs forward and sits upright. She swoops her arm and gestures to the people around them. "Soooo? You're supposed to have fun at a party," she says. "Not be all mopey."

The bottom of Victoria's lip twitches, and her brow furrows. "The fuck do you care if I have fun or not?"

Rachel gently pats the empty seat next to her. "Sit," she says, and Victoria does; she fucking obeys like she's a trained animal, like she's right on script as Rachel leads the way as the real star of the show. Victoria leans away from her, crossing her legs as she rests her forelimb on the arm of the sofa. Rachel turns to face her as her elbow pokes into the couch cushion. She presses the side of her head against the palm of her hand, slouching.

"Bet you think I'm just some two-faced bitch," Rachel points out, maintaining her composure as the words nonchalantly roll off her tongue. Victoria's mouth hangs ajar, as if to speak, but a response is clogged at the back of her throat and only a reluctant sound can escape it. "And like, that's fine," she continues. "I don't blame you. But. I like you."

Forehead crinkling, fingers curling inwards, Victoria narrows her eyes as Rachel stares back, poised expression unwavering. "Don't see why," Victoria says, tilting her head. "Not like we're fuckin' friends."

"Why not?" Rachel asks, weight shifting forward, eyes gaping like Victoria is the most fascinating person in the world, as if Victoria is the only person commanding her undivided attention.

Victoria winces, heart stuttering as Rachel's hand slips over hers. "I—"

"I've seen it," Rachel says, giving Victoria's hand a gentle squeeze just before Victoria pries it away. "Your photography. It rocks. Makes me feel like the whole world falls silent for a moment. Like I'm frozen in time and that moment you captured is the only one that matters."

The pink in Victoria's cheeks rises as she averts her eyes. "Y-you… you don't mean that," she says, trying not to let the vulnerability drip from her tone, trying not to let her expression falter and give away even the slightest trace of fragility.

"I mean it," Rachel says softly, sweetly, wearing a smile that makes Victoria go weak in the knees. Her hands drop to her thighs. Rachel's hair looks like soft threads of wood that is spilling over her neck and collarbone as she plops her head against the couch cushion, and her eyes are like compacted hazel galaxies that glisten even under this dim lighting.

The buzzing of a phone derails Rachel's attention away from Victoria. Victoria watches as Rachel's face is lit by the glow of a screen, smile wavering and lips pressed together firmly as her eyebrows sink into a frown. Rachel drags herself up and on her feet, shoving her phone in her back pocket and buttoning up her shirt from the bottom up and releasing an elongated sigh.

"Been nice talking to you," Rachel says. "Gonna head out now."

"Too good for us?" Victoria says with a bite, in an attempt to cleanse herself from everything she had felt just moments ago, in an attempt to negate everything that transpired between them, in an attempt to push Rachel back—far back—back to where she was before the start of this whole thing.

"See you later, yeah?" she says, swatting away Victoria's comment as if it was a mere housefly. Those are the last words that leave Rachel's mouth, and she turns away and slips out the backdoor without skipping a beat, without anyone except Victoria to watch her leave.

Nathan arrives minutes later. "Yoooo where'd Rach go?" he asks, and Victoria can tell he's drunk by the way he slurs his words and stumbles over nothing except this dirty beige carpet. "You s-scare her away Vic, or what?"

Victoria shrugs. "Bitch just left on her own," she says, and she gets up and she walks away, heading back to that corner of the room, back to that place in her mind where she can seal herself off from the rest of the world, from Rachel.

But Rachel is all that consumes her thoughts as this party drags on, and Rachel is all that remains when she lies awake in bed at night and stares at the numbers on her alarm clock with dead eyes.

Rachel skips the next two Vortex Club parties. Not like Victoria notices.

(She notices).

Rachel's voice carries over the pattering of feet and the idle chatter of students as Victoria and Taylor wait for Courtney by the Jeremiah Blackwell statue. Whenever someone laughs the loudest or cracks a joke that makes everyone holler or receives unwarranted catcalling from male students, it's bound to be Rachel. Only Rachel has that kind of influence over people.

Only Rachel.

"Looks like the slut's coming over here," Taylor says with a quick flick of her head, scoffing.

Victoria keeps her head in place while shifting her eyes, and she spots Rachel approaching them in the distance. "Go find Courtney," she says, eyes drifting back to Taylor. "I'll catch up with you two back at the dorms."

Taylor's eyebrows crease into her forehead as she gapes at Victoria with wide eyes. "Wh-what?"

"Just do what I say!" Victoria hisses, averting her gaze back to Rachel and pursing her lips.

"But—"

"I can handle her myself," Victoria says adamantly. "Now go."

Not another word passes through Taylor's lips as she hesitantly shuffles away, looking over her shoulder just once, a flash of hurt reflecting in her eyes. Victoria doesn't show any glint of emotion, not until Rachel skirts into her periphery and waves her hand in front of Victoria's face with a toothy smile, causing Victoria to take a step back and fold her arms.

"Hey you," Rachel says, eyes fixated on Victoria.

Victoria ignores the sweating of her own palms and looks off to the side. "What do you want?"

"Can't I just talk to you without wanting something?" Rachel asks in a curious tone.

Victoria snorts, the only answer to that rhetorical question that she has the patience to give. Rachel always wants something out of everyone she comes in contact with. Rachel never just wants someone.

Rachel laughs gently. "Okay. Well. You got me. Need a partner for that assignment Jefferson just gave us." She sidesteps so she's back within Victoria's line of sight. "I want you."

Eyes widening, Victoria drags her attention back onto Rachel's face, which is gleaming as the sun's light bathes her skin. Victoria releases a breath she hadn't known she was holding. "Why?" she says, narrowing her eyes, and it comes off a little too shaky, a little too skeptical.

Rachel tilts her head. "Were you high when I told you I liked your shit? 'Cause I thought we were having a moment back there. Damn." She shrugs and turns around and begins walking away. "Forget it then."

Victoria's face reddens, and she stands there for a moment, unsure of how to feel. "What makes you think I'd let you work with me anyways?" she finally sneers, increasing the volume in her voice so that Rachel hears her even from far away.

But she's too late. Rachel's already halfway across the quad and approaching Dana Ward by the time the words escape Victoria's lips, never reaching Rachel because Rachel is beyond reach.

She's always beyond reach.

Dana ends up being Rachel's partner, and Victoria ends up pairing with Hayden. Every class, Victoria watches the two of them out of the corner of her eye, as they sit shoulder-to-shoulder and whisper to each other and giggle up front. Victoria watches, eyes burning as she casts her glares, and every once in awhile Rachel will glimpse back at her, but only for a flashing second before returning her attention back to Dana.

"Dana is soooo fucking lucky," Hayden comments as he leans back in his chair, his left arm draped lazily over the table. "Not that I mind you, Vic. Just damn. Rachel, y'know?" He releases a deep laugh. "What I would give for a piece of that ass…"

Victoria rolls her eyes and tries to forget that Rachel is even here, even as she stares at her from across the room, unable to pry her gaze away.

Even though Victoria had previously told Rachel not to text her, Rachel still does. Quite often, in fact. She'll send Victoria pictures of animals or stupid shit that their friends do or just some random amusing fact that she probably stole from the internet. Rachel never starts an actual conversation. Not like Victoria would actually respond.

(She might).

A few days have passed since Rachel has sent a message. Victoria's phone vibrates, and at first she thinks it's a text, but it continues long enough for her to realize that Rachel is actually calling her. She stares at the phone that's buzzing in her hand for a few seconds, feeling dumb as she reluctantly accepts the call.

"What?" Victoria asks, wondering if Rachel can hear her heart pounding on the other end.

Rachel's voice is partially muffled by the rustling of wind. "Don't people usually greet others with 'hello'?"

"Just tell me what you want," Victoria says, disregarding Rachel's words in an attempt to feel like she has some hold over her that isn't there.

"I'm at the beach. By myself. Come over here."

Victoria blinks, her mind running in circles. "Why?" she asks in a wary tone.

"Because I said so?" A few seconds of white noise passes between them as Victoria hesitates to respond, ticked off at Rachel's sense of entitlement. As if Rachel can just get whatever she wants just because she asks for it. Victoria's not going to give in. She is not going to give her that satisfaction.

Rachel sighs at her reluctance. "Y'know, what? Never—"

"Fine," Victoria says abruptly. (Another slip up). She swallows. "Don't see why you called, though. Could've fucking asked me over text."

Rachel laughs. "You would've ignored me," she says calmly, her voice as smooth as butter. "Harder to blow me off when we're actually talking."

Rachel doesn't wait for Victoria to respond. The line cuts off before Victoria has a chance to back out. Victoria gives herself a moment to take a deep breath before fishing out shorts and a tank top from her closet and switching out her clothes. What is she doing?

Taylor calls out to her just as she exits her room and locks the door behind her. "Hey!" she beams, lightly jogging over to her. "Where you off to? Can I come?"

Victoria doesn't look at her. She looks off to the side, out the window, outside, where Rachel is out there somewhere, where Victoria wants to be.

"Sorry Sweet T," Victoria says, finally dragging her gaze onto Taylor's disappointed expression. "Need some space right now."

Taylor gives her a solemn nod. "Oh-okay. Whatever you say."

Victoria doesn't know what she's doing here.

Victoria doesn't know why she is here, sitting idly with her legs stretched out over wet sand as Rachel sits beside her, the waves running up the shoreline and splashing at their toes. Victoria doesn't know why Rachel even asked her to come here in the first place, out of all the other people she could have chosen in Blackwell.

Victoria doesn't know why she couldn't say yes fast enough the instant the invitation left Rachel's mouth.

(She knows why).

"You ever think you're meant for something more?" Rachel asks out of nowhere, cracking through the silence that has been lingering between them for minutes.

Victoria turns her head towards Rachel, but Rachel's eyes are peering beyond, out into the horizon. "You mean like… destiny?"

"Yeah. Destiny. Fate. Whatever you wanna call it."

Victoria brings her knees closer to her center of gravity, placing her chin on top. "My parents are… respected photographers," she tells her. "The art game is in my blood. Always been that way. My 'destiny'—or whatever the fuck—was written before I was born."

Rachel rolls onto her stomach so she faces Victoria, kicking her feet up in the air. "Yeah, I get that. But you think you're meant for more that? More than the path your parents laid out for you?"

"I'm here at Blackwell pursuing a career in photography," Victoria tells her, shrugging. "That's all that matters as far as I'm fucking concerned."

Rachel hums. "Really? There's nothing else? Nothing more you want out of life?"

Victoria shoots her a glare. "I don't fucking know," she says, diverting her attention to the sand between her toes. A long sigh escapes her as her eyes drift towards the shoreline, and she gives herself a moment to relax.

She does want more. More than the success any career could give her, more than fame attached herself, more than the fortune that she already has. She wants a woman to share her life with, as fucking cliché as that sounds. It would be nice to have a woman to wake up to in the mornings, a woman to fall asleep next to at night. A woman to tell her that she's beautiful, that she's good enough, that she's worthy of love and happiness and who accepts her in spite of her flaws.

When she looks at Rachel, she wonders, briefly, if Rachel could be that person, if Rachel could want her in that way. But of course, that's never going to happen. Rachel is otherworldly. Ethereal. Why would Rachel want someone like her? Someone inferior. Mediocre.

Unexceptional.

"Maybe I'll get into fashion on the side," Victoria finally says, glancing back at Rachel. "Who knows."

"Hmm." Rachel's eyes loom over Victoria carefully, like they always seem to be. Victoria swallows. "Yeah. I can see it." Rachel says. She smiles, but not at Victoria. It's at the waves, at the ocean, at the sky. Like her soul can't be tethered to one person, but rather, is omnipresent wherever she goes.

Rachel gets on her knees before standing up. Sand is stuck all over her bare legs, and she starts slapping her thighs and wiping her shirt to shake all of it off. Victoria rises onto her feet to join her, dusting off some sand on her calves but making no real effort; she's going to shower when she gets back anyways.

Victoria wants to ask. About Rachel's dreams. About Rachel's wants and fears and hopes for the future. But she doesn't. Victoria just keeps her mouth shut as Rachel leads the way back to Blackwell, trailing behind her as Rachel trots briskly ahead, as cars whirr by, as crosswalk signs blink and allow them safely move across the street.

Victoria knows Rachel wants to be a model, but obviously there's more to it than that; there's so much more to Rachel than just that.

Victoria wants to ask. But she's too afraid to ask. She doesn't know why.

(She knows why).

The world is spinning and her head is heavy and Victoria can't remember how she got from lounging on the sunchair to waist-level deep in pool water, but she's here, shuddering as the cold water tingles her senses and feeling the hunger rise from the pit of her stomach. She concentrates on keeping herself from tipping over, but somehow, concentrating too much makes her less coordinated, and she feels like maintaining her balance is like walking on a tightrope. Victoria grasps off to the side until she reaches the pool wall, and she clings to the edge and feels every little ridge of pavement brush against her fingertips.

Victoria shuffles against the edge, making her way towards the steps that she spots in the distance. Whose house is this again? And why did she even decide to come into the pool in the first place?

"V!" Taylor squeaks out. Victoria glances over to see her and Courtney on the opposite end of the pool, hitting a beach ball back and forth. Oh. Maybe that's why. "Where're you going? I thought you were gonna join us?"

"Iz fuckin' cold!" Victoria hears herself shout. Wait. Did she already make it that far away? "I… think I need water! And maybe something to fuckin' eat!"

Taylor says something but it doesn't register in Victoria's mind as she grasps at the pool rail and lifts herself along the steps. "Be back soon!" Victoria tells them, and she hopes she fucking remembers; she really does.

Somehow, she ends up inside the house. Victoria stumbles around, trying to find something but unsure of what she is looking for. Oh! Water. Right. She needs water. So where the hell is the cooler? Victoria tries her best to navigate between people with the utmost care, not wanting to seem like a helpless klutz who would cause someone to spill their drink.

The cooler happens to be in the kitchen. Of course. Victoria seizes the last bottled water and chugs it down, feeling the water pass through inside. Someone taps her shoulder and it takes a few seconds for it to process before Victoria turns around.

It's Rachel. Rachel in a dark red bikini top and a black towel wrapped around her waist. Rachel with her hair damp and tied back in a messy ponytail. Rachel with a whitened smile and dark lipstick and the scent of weed radiating off of her just as it must be radiating off of Victoria.

Rachel bursts into a fit of laughter. "You're wet!" she says with a shit-eating grin.

The abruptness of her words causes electricity to surge in between Victoria's thighs and heat to flare onto her face. Adrenaline rushes through her veins, her heart accelerating and beating through her chest with more force. Is Victoria really that easy to read? Is it so obvious what she really craves? How desperate she really is?

Rachel tilts her head as Victoria stares back at her with widened eyes and her lips parted in shock. Rachel removes her towel from her waist. She giggles. "Duuude. You're dripping water all over the fuckin' floor!" she explains, pointing to the small puddle that is forming on the kitchen tile under Victoria. She giggles some more and offers Victoria the towel. "Here!"

"Thanks," Victoria says, releasing a shaky breath of relief and smiling weakly at Rachel as she accepts it and begins wiping herself dry.

She can feel every fiber on the towel as she rubs it on her skin. Victoria's ears redden as Rachel watches her, as Rachel stands there with her hands on her hips and her peachy skin exposed.

She bites the bottom of her lip and frowns, and she sucks in a long breath before handing back the towel to Rachel, who continues to bore into Victoria with her calm gaze. Rachel wraps the towel back around her waist and gently tugs at Victoria's wrist.

"Let's ditch out front," Rachel says, side-eyeing the door. "C'mon!"

"Fine," Victoria says without giving it any thought. What's happening again?

She lets Rachel lead her across the room, leading as Rachel always does, as Rachel always is meant to do. Victoria follows, the world still weighing down on her and her mind still focused on not falling as she takes one step at a time, and suddenly they're outside, sitting on the porch swing, rocking back and forth as moonlight shines from above, as the warm night air caresses every inch of her skin.

The silence between them seems to drag on to infinity. Rachel's eyes widen. "Shiiiiit," she says, mouth gaping. She rolls her head towards Victoria. "How the fuck'd we get out here?" she asks, and the look on her face is that of pure bewilderment.

Victoria squints her eyes. She could swear that they were just inside.

"This was… your idea," Victoria finally says, a fog still looming over her head. "Yeah. You fuckin' brought us out here. Don't know why."

Rachel gasps. "I did?" There is a pause. Rachel suddenly snorts with laughter. "Oh my fucking god, I did! Fuuuck. Don't remember why. Guess 'cause it's nice out?" Her laughter slices through this quiet night, infectious, and Victoria ends up giggling too.

Not because of Rachel. It's not her. It's just the drugs. Not Rachel.

(It's both).

Rachel scoots closer to Victoria—really close—and places her hand onto the side of Victoria's face, her thumb tracing circles on her cheek and wow it feels so fucking good. Victoria stops giggling and instead remains frozen, anxiety rising in her chest. She diverts her gaze to the darkness across the street as a heavy blush warms her face.

"I don't think I've seen you happy like that?" Rachel says, her voice low, sincere. "I like it. A lot." Rachel's hand starts travelling up to Victoria's scalp, fluctuating between grasping at her hair and stroking her face. Victoria closes her eyes, in spite of herself, because of herself.

"Whoa. Feels really nice," she hears Rachel say. "You're beautiful, Victoria."

Victoria's eyes open, locking onto Rachel's peaceful face. Rachel isn't looking into Victoria's eyes; her gaze is pointed more downwards, to Victoria's lips. Rachel's smile may be sweet but her eyes hide something else. Desire?

No. Rachel doesn't want Victoria. Not in the same way Victoria wants Rachel.

"What?" Victoria asks, not quite sure if she heard right. She's high as fuck, after all.

"You're beautiful," Rachel says again, without hesitation.

"I'm beautiful," Victoria whispers, and Rachel nods at her firmly. Victoria fights the lump lodging itself in her throat and fights back the tears that are desperate to trickle out, because she's not going to let that happen. Not now. Not in front of her.

"You are," Rachel murmurs, adjusting herself onto Victoria's lap as the towel around her waist slips off and falls to the ground. Victoria goes weak in the knees.

"So beautiful," Rachel repeats, leaning forward. "So so so beautiful." She presses her cheek against Victoria's cheek, rubbing against the side of her face softly. One hand is clutching the back of Victoria's neck, and another hand is sliding down Victoria's bare waist and tugging at the rim of her swimsuit. "Mmmm. Feels really really nice like holy shit."

Victoria remains stiff. Speechless. What. The fuck. Is Happening.

Rachel is on her lap. Rachel is on her lap and touching her skin. Rachel is on her lap and pressing her cheek against her face. Rachel is on her lap and they're both in fucking bikinis. Victoria tries to find her breath but she can't because it's lost. Lost in Rachel.

Before Victoria can even process how the fuck this is even happening, her hands find Rachel's back, touching her hesitantly. As if Rachel's skin is a holy land and Victoria is a mere commoner who has been granted access to this sacred place for just one night. Victoria can't even begin to comprehend how this entire situation arose in the first place.

Rachel brushes her lips against Victoria's neck, planting tiny kisses as she moves from the base of her ear and along her jawline. Rachel pauses at the point of Victoria's chin, smirking against her skin before sliding her open mouth onto Victoria's parted lips. Victoria sighs into Rachel as she reciprocates, Rachel's hair spilling onto her as Victoria reaches for the back of her neck with her fingertips.

They grasp at each other as they kiss, desperate for that touch, that sensation. Victoria surrenders herself to Rachel immediately, letting Rachel dictate the pace, letting Rachel take all control because she wants to be taken control of. Victoria can feel the heat between her legs and a fluttering in her chest, and her entire body is melting and melting and melting as a vulnerable moan escapes her.

Rachel wants her. Rachel wants Victoria.

The door behind them abruptly creaks open. Rachel pulls apart and cocks her head at the door, and Victoria knocks her back as she is stricken with panic, not wanting to be caught like this. Not wanting anyone to see. No one can see her like this.

Victoria folds her arms and turns her body away from Rachel, flushing with shame.

"Oh shit, almost forgot," Rachel murmurs to herself as she bends over to pick up the towel that had fallen on the floor. She stands up and ties it back around her waist, glancing at Victoria with a curious smile.

A familiar voice calls out from the door.

"V?" It's Taylor. "You out—oh! You are! With… Rachel?"

Oh god oh god oh god Taylor must've seen them. Taylor knows. Taylor knows; she fucking knows. What the fuck is Victoria going to do now? How the fuck—

Taylor's somehow in front of Victoria now. "You've been gone for like an hour," she says. "Thought you might've forgotten to come back." Taylor gives a light laugh. "I came to get you." She reaches for Victoria's hand, fingers delicately filling the spaces in between. "Still wanna hang by the pool?"

Victoria cranes her neck around as her eyes search furiously for Rachel, who is nowhere to be found. "Wh-where's Rachel?" Victoria asks, not answering Taylor's question because it has already slipped past her mind.

Taylor blinks. "She left a couple minutes ago."

Victoria blinks back. "Oh." She furrows her brow. "What… What'd you say? Forgot."

"The pool. You still wanna hang there?"

Victoria shakes her head. "Too fuckin' cold." A yawn escapes her, and her eyes suddenly feel heavy as if she could fade away at any minute. Her head hangs to the side before she jolts awake, struggling to keep herself upright.

Taylor lolls her head. "Sleepy?"

Victoria nods. "Yeah."

Taylor props Victoria onto her feet and guides her through the front door. They're in the living room and then they're in the hallway and then Victoria's on a bed, lying underneath a layer of blankets with her head nestled on a pillow. Taylor drags a chair near the edge of the bed and sits next to Victoria as she scrolls through her phone. Victoria stares at Taylor as she slowly drifts in and out of sleep, and Taylor glances back at her, a soft smile present on her lips.

Taylor may be the last face Victoria sees, but Rachel is the only face in Victoria's dreams.

They never talk about what happened. It's as if it never happened.

Rachel acts the same around Victoria, like Victoria isn't something more, like Victoria doesn't mean anything more to Rachel than anyone else. Victoria's just another Vortex Club member, another name to cross off Rachel Amber's list of Blackwell students she has yet to seduce.

There's a gap between them that wasn't there before, a gap that Victoria wonders if it's because of her own doing. She couldn't shove Rachel off fast enough the instant their privacy had been compromised. She had been so eager to broadcast her shame, so eager to pretend as if nothing happened.

Rachel doesn't seem to hate Victoria for it. Rachel doesn't seem heartbroken or disappointed, probably because Victoria isn't worth all that. People don't get heartbroken or disappointed over Victoria Chase anyways, especially not Rachel Amber. Rachel probably never really liked her, otherwise she would have said something by now. And Rachel seems more interested in Dana Ward nowadays.

Good. Victoria wants it this way. She doesn't want Rachel outing her anyways. It would destroy Victoria's reputation. A relationship with Rachel Amber isn't plausible. Who would want to be with a slut like her anyways? No one would accept it. Her parents wouldn't accept it. There's nothing "more" between them anyways.

Victoria wants it this way.

The party is fucking lame because Rachel's not here, detracting from Victoria's enjoyment with her absence. Victoria leans against a wall, chugging down her drink straight from the glass bottle it's in and sweeping the room with a hardened stare as she searches for Rachel at every corner and every wall, eyes darting to the entrance of the VIP section at the slightest indication of it opening. But no. It's never Rachel who passes through that entrance, always someone else. Someone who isn't Rachel.

"Where the fuck are you?" Victoria hisses under her breath. She tightens her grip around the bottle and restrains herself from smashing it against the wall.

She had overhead Rachel talking to Nathan during lunch. Rachel told him herself that she would be here tonight. Rachel can't retract her words. She just can't.

Victoria's train of thought derails at the call of her name, carrying over the bass of this music. "You missed Courtney's elegant bathroom moment!" Taylor exclaims, chuckling as she moves within Victoria's line of sight. Her expression lowers as she approaches closer, and she narrows her eyes. "Youuu wanna talk about it? Or you not gonna tell me. Again."

Victoria inhales a long stream of air into her lungs and forces herself to look into Taylor's blue eyes that reflect with worry. "Rachel," she spits out, as if the very name was venom on her tongue. "She's… she's Vortex," Victoria quickly explains. "And she's not here. She's s'posed to be here."

With me, Victoria thinks, but doesn't say. She'd never say it. Not to anyone.

Taylor squints her eyes and flicks her gaze to the ceiling before returning it back to Victoria. "V… I don't think—Rachel's not Vortex. She never applied. She just hangs out with us when—"

"When she feels like it," Victoria interjects bitterly.

Taylor's brows crease into a frown, her lips in a pout. "Forget her," she urges, eyes pleading as she steps forward and gently clasps Victoria's hand into both of hers. Taylor nudges her head in the direction of the DJ and the flashing lights, and she squeezes Victoria's hand, smiling softly. "Let's dance! You 'n me."

Victoria snatches her hand away, glare diminishing at the sight of Taylor's pain-stricken face. "No, T. Not feelin' it tonight."

"Please? It'll take your mind off things."

Victoria shakes her head in defiance. "No it won't. I'll just drag you down. So go. Have fun." Their eyes lock, and Victoria swallows. "For me."

Taylor nods slowly. "Okay. I will. For you."

"Thanks."

Victoria doesn't get much sleep that night. Or the night after that.

Rachel stops coming to school.

Apparently she's "missing," but Victoria doesn't subscribe to that bullshit for one second. Rachel never said it, but she was always too good for this school, too good for Victoria, and she proved it by ditching this backwater town to leave the rest of them to rot. Not surprising.

What surprises her is the way Nathan has been acting ever since Rachel bailed. Victoria knows he was in love with her or something—everyone was fucking in love with her—but Rachel didn't belong to him. Rachel didn't belong to anyone. And yet Nathan has been eerily silent, closed off, keeping to himself and hardly talking to anyone, even Victoria. You know. His best friend.

She understands, in a way. Victoria was always vocal to him about her distaste for Rachel. Still is. If Nathan really liked Rachel, Victoria is probably the last person he'd want to confide in ever since Rachel skipped town. But come on. She's not going to shit on him for being upset over this. He knows her better than that. He has to know her better than that.

Missing Person posters are plastered on every wall, every doorway, every bulletin board that you can't turn your head or walk five feet without seeing Rachel Amber's face somewhere in the vicinity. Every inch of campus is so heavily decorated with her memory that no one can escape it.

Fucking Rachel Amber. She's not even here and yet she still manages to absorb all the attention.

On her way back to her dorm room, Victoria catches a glimpse of Nathan, alone on a bench. He's muttering to himself and clutching one of Rachel's posters in his hand, shaking his head and balling his fists and growing angrier and angrier with each passing minute.

"Nathan?" Victoria calls out, eyes wide, lips twitching, voice hesitant and meek.

But Nathan is too fixated on his own grief. He smashes his fists against his head, sobbing and trembling, and Victoria knows she can't do anything. Not now. Not when he gets like this.

She turns away and leaves him to fester in his misery, her fingers curling into her palms as she trudges away with a bitten lip because she knows that pain. It's that same burning in her chest Victoria gets whenever Rachel's name gets mentioned briefly in the bathroom, whenever Rachel's name is a momentary flash on the television screen before the anchorman transitions to the weather.

When Victoria approaches the entrance to the girls' dormitory and sees yet another poster taped to the front, she tears it down and rips it, piece by piece.

Look at what you've done, Rachel, Victoria thinks, face twisted in dismay. Look at what you've done to him. To me. To all of us.

Jefferson doesn't pick her entry for Blackwell's "Featured Photograph of the Year."

He picks Rachel's.

In the summer, her parents don't allow her to meet one of their associates because "she's not ready." Victoria takes a bubble bath upstairs and flips through fashion magazines, fixated on all the women. Her parents' forced laughter echoes from the floor beneath her, and she throws aside the magazine that was in her hand, and she breaks down, palms buried in her eyes.

Max Caulfield doesn't barge her way into Blackwell.

She slips in, quietly, almost unnoticed, until her whole vintage act steals the praise from all the faculty at school, right when it had just been within Victoria's grasp. How can one little hipster garner so much recognition for pointing a polaroid camera at her stupid, plain face and calling it art? Just because her thing is retro? How tacky.

It's Rachel all over again, if Rachel was socially inept and took trash selfies all the fucking time. Max doesn't get the grades and she doesn't have the love of every nerd and jock alike, doesn't have the fixation of Nathan that Rachel had. The two things she does have are some skill—even if it's wasted potential—and the affections of Jefferson, although this time they are more subtle, more downplayed.

Max is like Rachel in so many ways, but in so many ways, Max is not like Rachel, and that is what makes her the perfect victim. Victoria can tear down Max and rip her apart piece by piece because Max lacks the universal admiration that Rachel had, lacks that conventional beauty and charisma that drew so many people towards Rachel in the first place.

Nobody will give a shit if Max, the awkward selfie-ho of Blackwell, gets a target painted across her back. Victoria can break her down and chew her up as much as she wants as if she was Rachel, as if Rachel was still here, as if Rachel was the one taking the damage herself.

Or at least, Victoria can try.

But like Rachel, nothing Victoria says fazes her; nothing Victoria does provokes much of a reaction out of her. Max remains calm and collected like the very image she portrays herself to be. Victoria can belittle her photography and her unoriginal retro style and her secondhand wardrobe all she wants. But like Rachel, Max doesn't give a shit about what she has to say, doesn't care for what other people think about her and her style.

Max transcends social conventions by building an identity for herself in spite of the limitations of her social status, unlike Rachel, who shattered social boundaries, who had none.

Victoria hates her all the same.

Nathan seems more of himself lately, more of what he used to be before Rachel. Whenever they party together, he doesn't drink his sorrows into some dark corner anymore; it's returned to drinking for fun, smoking weed just to feel that high and not to forget the pain that Rachel left him months ago.

Things seem better. He seems better.

"You take your meds this morning?" Victoria asks him quietly as she sits down next to him in class, right before the tardy bell rings. Nathan has his hands clasped together and his head bowed, and he gives Victoria a sideways glance.

"Yeah," he says softly. The corners of his mouth nudge into a smile. "Thanks."

"I'm here for you," Victoria tells him, firmly but gently, as she digs for her notebook in her bag. "Don't forget that."

Nathan chuckles. "I know, Vic. No need to get all fuckin' mushy on me."

Victoria smiles and maybe, just maybe, a sense of normalcy can return and things won't be so bad after all, and Rachel Amber will be but a distant memory for the both of them.

Juliet Watson writes an article attacking Victoria in the school paper. Okay, well… not just her, but it features her prominently. Nathan too. It's something about bullying or whatever, but it's priceless because Juliet doesn't even mention her boyfriend, and he's definitely a participant in all the shit that Nathan and the other jocks do. And she's Vortex herself! At least be equal if you wanna pretend like you have the moral high ground.

People like Juliet think that being a critic automatically makes you better than those you're criticizing. Spoiler alert! It doesn't. Victoria is in a league of her own, a league that Juliet wishes she could be in, because Victoria is the one whose photographs will be displayed in galleries all over the world someday, while Juliet is stuck at home struggling to make a living by writing about it.

And it's not like Principal Wells is going to start scrutinizing Victoria's every action; it's not like he's actually going to reprimand her for all the shit he knows she's doing. His kind is so readily manipulated, readily bought and sold by Nathans' kind, by Victoria's kind. Everyone already has decided what they think of her anyways, and an article like that is just an acknowledgement of what people are afraid to say to her face but whisper about it behind her back, behind closed doors.

Still. Any open attack on Victoria calls for retribution. The students need to know that shit like this will not be tolerated.

Zachary Riggins. Juliet's boyfriend. Victoria remembers, vaguely, kissing him at a party mere days before he and Juliet started dating. His mouth had tasted like warm water that had been sitting in a hot car all day long. She sneers. What a joke their relationship is.

Boys like him are so easy, only caring about girls as an item to possess and a tool to fuck, and boys like him would willingly trade up the instant a more attractive option (Victoria) presents herself at their feet. Or they get greedy, stocking their inventory with as many girls as they can juggle before their whole operation implodes on them. It doesn't matter which one of the two Zach is. All that matters is that he is one of them.

Sexting him?

Honestly, Victoria is doing a Juliet a favor.

Blaming it on Dana to rip apart Juliet's closest friendship at Blackwell and thereby allowing Victoria to easily dismantle Juliet's reputation and emotional security?

Retribution.

Kate Marsh, Church Girl Extraordinaire, starts an abstinence campaign over campus in which she is the sole participant. As if her goody-goody presence in class wasn't irritating enough. Now Victoria has to listen to her preach about conservative bullshit about how she's going to Hell unless she "saves herself" until marriage or preserves her "womanhood" or some other disgusting, outdated nonsense.

This whole campaign reminds Victoria of the same talk her mother gave her about the importance of maintaining her "purity." As if having sex before marriage somehow cheapens her value as a person. It's sickening. Kate's probably a giant fucking homophobe too. It wouldn't be shocking, considering how Kate so blatantly flaunts her righteousness out in the open.

Fuck Kate, fuck everything she believes in, and fuck everyone who is just like her for making Victoria feel ashamed for wanting to express herself sexually like she does and making it even more difficult for Victoria to accept herself and feel comfortable in her own skin.

Victoria is constantly reminded of that shame each time she comes across one of Kate's shitty posters. It's like her parents are still with her, still have dominion over her even though they aren't here. It's like she can't shake the notion that the way she feels is wrong, that wanting to have sex is wrong, that wanting to have sex with girls as a girl is wrong.

Kate Marsh is a loud reminder that there are people in the world that will shame her for it, that will hate her for it, and that there are many more people like her parents out there, who won't hesitate to voice their distaste for what they don't know that Victoria is.

This is why Victoria can't whip out her phone fast enough when Kate stumbles around drunk at a Vortex Club party and unknowingly locks lips with every guy she comes in contact with.

Kate is so fucking wasted. It's priceless. Divine intervention, just deserts, karma, whatever the fuck you wanna call it. The stars have aligned tonight and they are in Victoria's favor because this shit is gold.

"Practice what you preach, church whore," Victoria says to herself, face twisted in a devious smile and phone in hand as she captures Kate nearly tripping over her feet. It doesn't matter how shitty the lighting is or how deafening the music is: all that matters is that it's clearly Kate, and she's clearly trashed.

Victoria stands with one hand on her hip as Kate staggers into the arms of some random guy. He laughs amusedly as he catches her, like he doesn't know what's going on but he's not gonna complain about it. A circle of people gradually forms around the two of them, hollering and cheering for them to kiss. The guy yanks Kate roughly and forces his lips onto hers.

"Can you believe this?" Taylor squeals from behind, jaw looking like it's about to drop to the floor and her eyes lighting up with awe as she points a finger in the direction of Kate's sloppy makeout session. She gasps as she pokes her head over Victoria's arm to get a better look at the video. "Ooh you're recording? You're so evil! Gonna post it online?"

Victoria's eyes flit to Taylor, her lips still carved in a malicious grin. "Y'know it, T. Abstinence girl gone wild? This shit's going viral."

This is what Kate deserves.

(This is what Victoria needs).

She remembers that day so clearly.

As if it is a vivid movie replaying in her mind over and over and over again.

As if it is a continuous loop, broken, not wanting to transition to the next scene, not wanting her to move forward.

Stuck.

She remembers talking to Jefferson about the Everyday Heroes contest when it happened. She remembers the dread rushing over her as that gunshot reverberated throughout the halls, remembers the horde of frightened students racing into the classroom and huddling under the tables as Jefferson locked the door and turned off the lights, hissing at everyone to remain quiet.

She remembers being frozen. Not knowing if her life was going to end then and there. Not wanting to die.

Being uncertain if she was going to live.

Victoria remembers it all.

The sinking feeling in her gut as she watched the police drag Nathan away. The sleeves of his jacket, caked in dried blood. His hands, trembling in handcuffs. His eyes, filled with terror. Guilt. Defeat. His lips, stammering how he didn't mean for this to happen, how it was all just an accident, how he was just being pushed around, how he was just pushed too far this time.

Victoria never knew how unhinged he truly was. He has always been unstable, but never a killer, never a monster. But now? She can't be so sure. Not because of the shooting. No. The look on his face back then wasn't that of apathy nor delight. But kidnapping and drugging girls and being able to go about his normal life, right under everyone's noses, right under Victoria's?

Terrifying.

Her best friend. Laughing with her. Partying beside her. Even as he knowingly kidnapped and drugged helpless girls. Just to be an artist. Just to seek validation. He did that.

And Jefferson. A trusted faculty member. An artistic role model. Exceptional in his field.

He propagated all this. Taking advantage of Nathan's crumbling relationship with his father. Giving Nathan the praise that he so desperately sought. It really makes Victoria reflect on the lengths people will go for their art, for others' approval. Victoria can't let herself succumb to such lengths.

Not like that. Not like them. Victoria is not like them.

Whenever Victoria watches Max and Kate from her seat in photography class and sees their dead eyes, she wonders if she's making a monster. Maybe out of them. Maybe out of herself. Maybe both.

Victoria takes down the video of Kate Marsh. Her peers don't care; their interests are fleeting, already moved on from yesterday's news onto the latest topic of discussion, the one that everyone knows all too well, the one of a psychopathic former teacher and his protege.

But Kate Marsh notices. She gives Victoria her thanks. Even though Victoria doesn't deserve it.

It's in all the headlines of every local news station. It's in every newspaper that reaches someone's driveway. It's in social media, in online articles, in the exchanges between every Blackwell student as they gossip beside their lockers.

RACHEL AMBER FOUND DEAD

Victoria remembers the last time she saw Rachel. At lunch. Nathan, asking Rachel if she would be coming to the Vortex Club party that night. Rachel, giving him her word that she would.

Her death sentence.

Curled up underneath her sheets, Victoria cries. Victoria hasn't cried like this in years.

Victoria looks in the mirror and thinks that maybe, one day, she can like the person staring back at her.

Not today. But someday.

(Maybe).

Fin.