It's almost unfair how normal everyone can be while I'm here, freaking the hell out. Like, what the frick? Logan and Zach, beefhead bros, toss their pigskin back and forth like they've got nothing more important to do. Alyssa's just reading her book, in the sun, as if it's the only thing in her world. And here I am. Standing in the perfectly normal dormitory courtyard. With time manipulation powers. This day couldn't get any fucking weirder if it tried.
I always thought having my own dorm would be exciting. Funny how quickly we get bored of things. Maybe I'll get used to my powers eventually, too. Well, if it's like living in a dorm, it'll be a day before I'm complaining about it.
I can't hear Zach down the field, but Logan's making enough noise for both of them. I swear, he just likes to hear his own voice, not unlike so many others in the Vortex Club. At least some of them sound better than him.
I crane my neck totally inconspicuously to catch a glimpse at Alyssa's novella she's reading. Love something die- oh! That's that really silly and very emo sounding book called "Love Today or Die Tomorrow." It's a best-seller, so it must have some good qualities. But so is 50 Shades of shitty-BDSM-representation so maybe not. I like to think Alyssa has better tastes than that, though. She doesn't even notice as I walk by. I've always been invisible, I guess.
I was so lucky to make the friends I did in Seattle. They just happened to be hiding in the same place I was and we all decided it would be best to hide together than take turns. I like to think I've become more social, in large part because of those guys. I approached Kate on my own when I saw how she got harassed day in and day out. No one deserves that, no matter what they believe. Unless it like, you know, hurts people. But preaching abstinence doesn't hurt anyone. I've been talking to a lot more people today, as well. Maybe this time stuff makes me bold.
It's really dark in the corner, where the boys' dorm casts a shadow over the entrance to the girls'. I saw men put up these scaffolds the other day. They weren't letting anyone in until it was up and I was out late buying food. Seems stable enough. They said the painting would be done by tonight. Guess Samuel's gotta get on that.
I walk up, eyes drifting over the scaffolding, then look forward to- oh shit. There's Victoria and her "mean girls." What, do they just hang outside places to piss people off on purpose? They must know no one likes them and the shit they pull every day. I can't believe Victoria gets away with acting how she does just because her family pays the school. Fucking rich kids.
She's too busy flaunting herself to her posse to notice me. Figures. But I can't just avoid them. This building's old as hell and Vicbitchia blocks the only way in. If there's ever a fire, we're all screwed.
Their pretty little purses are all pushed to the right of the entrance. Honestly, who's jerk enough to block the door to people's living spaces? I'm so done with her.
Looking like I want in certainly grabs her attention. I can't open my mouth before she starts running hers.
"Oh look, it's Max Caulfield, the selfie-ho of Blackwell," she says, her tone reeking of superiority, like she knows everything worth knowing. Such a lame insult, too. Well, your mother's cat.
She stands up and gets in my face, sweeping to my left. "What a lame gimmick. Even Mark," talking like she knows the man. "Mer. Jefferson - falls for your waif hipster bullshit." My skin tingles knowing she's standing behind me. I don't trust her back there. Like she'll send me flying into her posse and beat my pulp out. Her scent surrounds me and it's… not unpleasant. Definitely not cheap stuff, that's for sure. Her attitude may be cheap but her wardrobe certainly isn't.
I tilt my head away as she comes back around, only seeing her in my peripheral. She sticks her face at me, my cheek my only protection against her sneer. She's obviously being snide, but I can't help but notice how good she looks. Why do beautiful people have to be such bitches? Not that you aren't pretty, Kate. Love you. I'm so thankful my mind is my own. I swear I'd be shot if we shouted our thoughts. I wonder if Victoria would be better or worse.
She crosses her arms and poises her nose in that classic snotty fashion. "'The Daguerrian Process, Sir!' You could barely even say that." You were gonna say the same thing. Only reason I knew to say it. So thanks, miss know-it-all. "I guess you got your meds filled." She swings her head back, soaking in the laughter of her posse at her totally not-funny joke. I can't even get a word in with her, those girls backing her up. I'm afraid they'll attack me if I try to speak.
Her butt hits the concrete steps, retaking her position in my way. And she clearly knows it. "Since you know all the answers, I guess you'll have to find another way into the dorm. We ain't moving." Aren't. Bitch. Then she proceeds to prove me right.
Her hand reaches back as she leans forward, looking so giddy with excitement I'd think Mr. Jefferson was proposing to her. "Wait, hold that pose," she says, making the universal 'stop' sign with her hand. She's quick to reveal her smartphone, held horizontally and held up in traditional camera-phone pose. Of course she would. Of fucking course. Her digital shutter makes the audible camera noise all those silly phones make to let idiots know it's "like a camera" and I'm caught with my left arm grabbing my right like I'm some lost dunce. My face probably isn't the most flattering, either. As if I've ever had a flattering picture taken of me.
I can hear Logan moaning over a throw and birds yelling away overhead as Victoria swipes her finger over the phone's touch screen. "So original." Is that a hipster joke? "Don't worry, Max, I'll put a vintage filter on it right before I post it all over social medias." That one was absolutely a hipster joke, and who says that? Just say facebook. Who's the hipster now? So lame. But I guess I'm not doing anything to stop her, am I? I'm just standing here all dumb letting her get away with treating me like an idiot.
"Now, why don't you go fuck your selfie?" She says it with such triumph I can't help but be impressed. I mean, come on, 'Go fuck your selfie?' That's pretty good. But I'm afraid I'm gonna move your bony ass, Victoria. And no, I'm not sorry.
I make a motion to try actually getting past her but, no, they won't budge.
"Do you understand English? Get lost." Her words echo behind me. She sounds like she's already fed up with my presence. Like she's got nothing left to say. I'll have the last laugh, yet.
Samuel's on his way down here from raking leaves. Poor guy. Everyone gives him so much crap and he's the only reason we aren't all sitting in empty Coke cans and cigarette butts. He sure isn't Speedy Gonzales, though. As he makes his way over here, the sprinklers in front of the girls' dorm turn on, quickly drenching the bushes in falling droplets. I guess it has gotten pretty late. But wait, the mist almost hits Victoria's gang. They pay it no mind, but it's giving me one hell of a devilish idea. Ha, hell and devil. I didn't even try for that one.
It's a simple task to dash behind Samuel's slow butt and crank the sprinkler valve. Just for a second, though. Don't want to hurt anyone else. Oh, I'm a terrible person, aren't I?
The screams of Victoria's posse travel across the courtyard. I'll bet it looks super funny, Victoria all wet and covered in water with her fancy ass shirt pressed against her- whoa, what the fuck am I going on about? Don't lose your cool, Max. Just get that self-righteous prick out of the way and get Warren's flash drive. Easy.
Going over to the front, I see the cats still haven't moved. Now they're just standing, off the wet steps, and Victoria looks pissed. Imagine if she knew it was me that did this. Still in my way, though. But, damn, does she still look good. Angry and soaked and she still pulls off that expensive-ass outfit. I've never spent so much time around her. It must be getting to my head.
Walking by her just gets me more snide remarks. "Keep walking, hippie." She even says 'None shall pass.' She just loves to torment me, huh?
Samuel climbs a ladder going through the scaffolding, carrying a paint bucket. He's even slower moving up that. 'I gave my life, not for honor, but for you!' Ladder boss, so overpowered. Terrible memories.
He places the bucket on a hook hanging just off the side of where Victoria is. Oh, my God. That's perfect. But it's already up there. Guess I could throw a rock at it, but that wouldn't be hella obvious. Unless it was never up there in the first place!
I stand back, so no one really notices that I'm not where I should be, take a deep breath, and extend my arm. Everything slows to a crawl then stops. No birds, no chatting, no wind, no painting strokes, no air. Then it all goes back. My vision fogs as all the sounds of the last five minutes reverse, like when you rewind a VHS and everyone talks backwards. My head stings, burning as I near my limit. Samuel's back at the end of the pavement just as darkness, like melted emulsion paper, creeps into my sight. I grip my head. It throbs, but fades fast enough, like it never hurt in the first place. Birds chirp again. I can hear Victoria squabble with her gang. They're back on the steps.
I take a couple breaths then begin. Samuel's watching the pavement and Victoria and co. are too involved with themselves to notice as I pull the handle on the paint bucket. It pops, but doesn't come off. It shouldn't break immediately. Hopefully. I don't know if I could live with myself if Samuel got hurt 'cause of me.
I walk past Samuel, looking totally normal, not suspicious at all, don't mind me, get back to the valve, and send Victoria's posse back off the steps in a chorus of shouts. I watch as Snake Eater takes an age in his ascent to justice. His bucket's holding, thank God. Just a little further. There. He places the bucket on the hook and it only takes a second for the action to jostle the loose handle. It snaps free.
It's almost slow motion. Like one of those magic movie moments, one of those times in your life that's just so incredible that your mind realizes it and goes, "Oh, this important? Here yeh go, you can watch nice and slow like." The bucket makes its mighty descent, completely unaware that it's sacrificing itself for a higher cause. It crashes in a fantastic display of white, like the clouds above, as it sprays out in a cloud of its own, free in the air, until it plasters Victoria's back. Shiz, this is better than I thought it was going to be!
"No way! No fucking way!" She screams as she backs away from the mess. Too late, ass. She's totally covered in the stuff. She tries shaking it off but only manages to shave a few drops. The rest are there to stay. Stuck to her stupidly expensive cashmere. Her cronies try calming her down, only irritating her more in the process. Poor Samuel, he gets yelled at as he tries to apologize. Sorry, buddy, but you're taking the fall for me on this one. I should make it up to him, later. Anonymously, of course.
Victoria's handmaiden with the violet highlights promises to bring back towels. Like that'll help. That sweater is gone, trust me. I've ruined my fair share of clothes by smearing paint on them. And even if you could save it, bringing it to a washing machine would be a better idea. So close but no cigar.
"So move your ass before I dry," she says as the other two run into the dorm. At least she tries to be optimistic in her own messed up way. Now's my chance.
I walk up to her and stand less than a foot from her designer shoes, coated with paint now. She doesn't make any motion to acknowledge I'm here. The steps still shimmer with the water I shed on them a couple minutes ago, her included. Their purses were victimized, too. There's this void of space surrounding her. Graffiti stands out to me now on the walls behind Victoria. One eloquently reads 'POO' and the other, right next to her, says 'WELCOME TO SLUTS 'R' US.' I'm inclined to agree but maybe not. Maybe that's a little unfair.
She's just sitting there, her arms wrapped around her midsection, cradling herself. Her head's down. She looks so uncomfortable. All this unfortunate crap happened to her and all she can do is yell at and blame others, but here I am feeling sorry for her? Just because a tiger's backed into a corner doesn't mean it isn't dangerous.
Let's try this again. Time to move, Victoria. Even if you do look really flippin' pitiful right now like I just want to hold her and tell she's- MAX. FLASH DRIVE. GO.
"Uh," I start. "Hey… Victoria." Just because I can rewind time and save someone's life doesn't mean I'm good at interacting with people. I can already feel sweat building on my brow. I'm much better with a camera than my words.
"What do you want, Max?" Now she faces me, pulling up. She tries to look intimidating, but I can tell her façade is failing. I can almost see tears in her eyes. She white-knuckles her knees as her eyes stare me down. She's trying to look aggressive, like she knows to be upset with me, but she also looks… alone.
I was gonna whip out my camera, give her a taste of her own damn medicine, humiliate her in a way she could only dream of getting on me, but now I don't know. The look in her eyes, like a sick puppy, or a cat that fell in the tub. Yeah, like the cat. She's still so pretty, especially with her bangs sticking to her forehead. A splotch of paint adorns her right cheek, where the paint flew particularly high. Some stains her hair, too. I make a decision.
"I am sorry," I say, apologizing for more than just the social action of telling someone sorry for something that happened to them rather than something you did. Mine's a little more genuine than others' would be, I guess. And I think I actually feel sorry for it. Like I should rewind and- but no. She wouldn't move, then. This is the only way with what I have available.
"That's an awesome cashmere coat…" A compliment to let her know I mean well. I surprisingly do. She looks down at the article of clothing in question. She gives me a look that says more than her words. Like she's… grateful
"It was. But there will be another." She doesn't seem too keen to continue. I'm so bad at this. Ugh, talking. I hitch my thumbs on my jeans.
"Well, you always seem to know how to pick the right outfits."
"I do have some talent." Brushing me off. Typical. "Mr. Jefferson told me-" She starts but I catch her deflection.
"I've seen your pictures. You have a great eye. Richard Avedon-esque." The words spill out of my mouth like cream from a spout. They drift through the air and flow like silk into her ears. I mean every word. Even though her photography's completely self-absorbed, it's well-done. Avedon knew how to shoot a fucking portrait. That's how he got in Vogue, did all those famous shots of celebrities. She has that same knack for the perfect angle, the perfect pose. She has potential. I just hope she sees it past her selfish mask.
"He's one of my heroes… Thanks, Max." Her eyes grow wide as she speaks. Her nose isn't sticking up like she's condescending me anymore. Guess my praise finally sunk in. Then she looks at me, straight in the eye. There's not a single negative emotion in those shiny spheres. She's being as real as me, right now. My heart clenches. I struggle getting a gasp of air into my lungs. I can't say anything to that gaze.
Her knee quakes as she slaps it, looking over her shoulder at the door, the directions her buddies ran down. "I hope those sluts get me a towel before they hang a sign on me." Her eyes flash between the paint-stained ground and my raggedy ass face. The sounds around us fall away. No birds, no jocks, no wind. I look down at my hand to make sure I'm not stopping time. Victoria's still moving. Weird. The look in her eye captivates me. Her eyes widen then squint. I don't know what she's looking at so intently. Heat simmers on my cheeks. I look away. I wish the sun was throwing light onto her. It'd dry her faster, for sure. Among… other things. She swings back, pulling out her phone.
Her nimble fingers tap away at it as she speaks. "You deserve a better shot." My eyebrows rise. Oh, is she deleting that awful picture? I'm… wow. Holy shit. I should be nice more often. "Sorry about blocking you and…" She swipes her hand over it again, like she's flicking away a tick. "And the 'Go fuck your selfie.'"
"That was mean." I'm grinning. Why am I smiling like a douche-bag? My cheeks hurt from this big grin piercing my dimples. "But, pretty funny." I'm making small talk, or something. I'm being really super nice to this really super mean girl. And I'm fucking smiling. She looks… content, at least. Just makes me smile wider. I tone it down when she flashes me a look. Then her eyes lighten. At this moment, I can't imagine her saying anything mean to me ever again. She feels so real, so authentic. With that paint on her face and her ruined cashmere coat sticking to her skin. God, help me.
She sits back, her bitch persona grabbing a hold of her again. Though, happier, I think. "Just one of those days, you know?" She's smiling now, too.
"I know exactly what you mean, Victoria." Her smile's so dazzling. I've never seen her smile like that before. She was being super smug when she taunted me earlier, definitely smiling then, but not like this. I've never seen this before. I want to see it more. My cheeks burn. "I'll see you later." I motion to move past her and she makes no attempt to stop me. She scoots over, onto a slightly drier part of the steps.
"Au Revoir." Her smile sticks until she sits for a couple seconds. Our conversation's over. Her mind moves on. Logan calls out in the background. Our avian cousins shriek from the trees surrounding the school. I can even hear the pages of Alyssa's book turning. Victoria's smile fades as she stares out across the yard. A pit drops in my stomach. My skin burns; it hurts like a rash. I scratch at my arm, but it doesn't go away. Tiny wings clog my throat and I know words won't come out if I try. What's happening to me? I didn't even feel this weird when I woke up from that vision, reversed time, saved that girl's life.
She at least looks a little better than before. I shouldn't be pleased about that. I should rub her face in it, make her feel like shit for all the bullshit she's done. I should. I look down at my hand. I have that capability. I can do it. I can go back, take back everything I said, and make her regret being who she is. The mere thought churns my belly like bad stew. My fist falls to my side. No, I'm owning this one. I… don't regret a word I said. The only thing I regret is having to coat her in water and paint. Her friends really are taking a long time. I'm not done here. Warren can wait a little while longer.
I walk up the steps and Victoria looks down, her shoes tapping together. Tiny rivulets of water slide off the rubber onto the cement. I watch her, but she doesn't look back up. She's waiting for me to leave. I try to say something, open my mouth, and only cotton balls form, drying my mouth in seconds. A sigh escapes. I hurry inside before I make a fool of myself.
Back in the dorms. I find my way to the stairs, ignoring all the rooms down here. I don't even know the people down here. My feet clomp as I trod the steps. Pumping air into my lungs feels nice. I should run more. The door to my wing swings open and I'm presented with the sight of this sorry fucking hallway. No lights are on at this hour, the only light coming in from the window at the far end and the window down the route to the right that leads to the showers that I never use. Or, try not to. I don't like showing my body to others. I don't like showing it to myself, let alone these freaks. Sorry, Kate.
My room's at the end of the hall, right across from Victoria's, actually. A couple of seconds after I enter, Victoria's "friends" stumble out from her room, the highlights girl bringing up the rear toting a towel. Suddenly, I feel like a total bitch. Why can't I do something I want to do? Something for me? Not to get Warren's drive, or save a girl, or answer someone's interests as if I give a damn, but for me. I want… I hella want that towel.
I swallow the cotton balls in a heavy gulp, licking my cheeks and teeth. My feet plant in the carpet, matted into the ground from years of foot traffic. The two approach and look like they're about to run me over. Now or never, Max.
"He-." Awful. I fill my mouth with saliva. "Hey." The blonde stops short. They fidget, feet tapping rapidly.
"What, hippie? Can't you see we're busy?" My fingers flex. I don't need to deal with this. I can rewind, I can-
They zip back down the hallway and I snatch my hand from the air before they disappear back into Victoria's room. Do they even have permission to go in there? I hold my throbbing temples as they run back down. I can't just run away from everything because I can. I can't abuse this. If I want to do something, I need to gab the bull by the horns. Or hos, in this case. This time, I won't run.
This time, I'm ready. "Hey!" They're further now and have time to slow.
"What do you want, loser?" Oh, harsh. She cocks her hip but the highlights girl looks a little less concerned with me.
"Victoria's not outside, if that's where you're going." I can't stop these words. They just pour out like a raging waterfall. They're not even aware of what I'm doing.
"What? Where did she go?" Highlights asks.
"I don't know. She said something about you guys taking too long. I think she, um, yeah, she said something about the laundromat. Probably to take her clothes to. I mean, we don't have washers here." They both look at each other. I don't have time to vomit as they both shove past me, slower this time.
"Figures. She can be such a brat sometimes. Come on, Courtney." The other girl drops the towel, like their task is meaningless, and vanish from the second story. The closing door echoes down the forgotten hall. I pick up the discarded towel, dusting it off with the back of my hand.
I can't believe I did that. I cannot believe I just did that. What the hell did I do that for? I can rewind time again. My muscles pulse. I have that power. No, no, I'm biting this. I clutch the towel to my chest and turn around.
I stop by the bathroom to soak half of the towel in warm water. Those girls talk down the hall as I walk out of the restroom. I can't hear what they're saying, but they sound annoyed. Serves them right. I think. I mean, they did laugh at me. At least Victoria apologized.
I open the entrance and there she is. Victoria sits in the same position I left her in. I cough, making her swivel. I can only describe her look as astonishment, maybe even disbelief. I fail to suppress a grin.
"Sorry. I, um, I think your friends left. I didn't see them anywhere so I thought I'd, you know…" She scrunches her face, drawing her brow close. She snatches the towel from my hands, grappling the dry side and padding herself. The paint doesn't move but I'm sure it makes it more bearable to wear.
"I can't believe them. Should've seen it coming, though, honestly."
"Hey, uh, you might dry faster if you do this in the sun." She glances up at me. "Shade really holds in the cold, right?" I gesture to an empty bench to our right. I think Kate was sitting over there earlier. I'll have to catch up to her later. Victoria doesn't say anything, just gets up and marches over there, towel slung over an arm. I grab her bag and follow.
We're halfway there when I hear the door open. Those girls walk out. They don't even look around. They just pick up their own purses and run out the courtyard. They're gone before Victoria turns back around, sitting down. She flashes me another strange look. Not angry. Not feeling anything, I think. Just… looking. I hold out her purse. She snags it, looks down at its sodden form, then sighs and tosses it under the bench. She scoots a couple inches to the side. I sit in the open space she made to her right.
We watch as Logan and Zachary do that weird bro-hug thing. It looks painful, honestly. Why would you hit someone's back like that? Logan makes a flashy peace sign at him as he walks away and heads into the boys' dorm. Alyssa's still glued to her chick-lit and Samuel's gone. I consider asking Victoria where he went but I don't think she cares.
She resumes padding herself down. "You're right."
"Huh?" I say, turning to face her. She doesn't look up from her shirt. The towel presses into her stockings. Her skin leaks through it, showing off her flawless pours. Drying the stockings tints them, hiding them from view. I cough. There's still paint on her cheeks, wrinkled from having been on skin for so long.
"The sun helps." She stops. Her eyes catch mine. It's hard to breath. Her face is so close. I could almost… I don't know. I'm sure I'm blushing again. "Why are you being nice to me? I hate you, remember? Shouldn't you have, like, taken advantage of that?" She points to the steps to our dorm.
"I don't hate you, Victoria. And… you were in trouble, kinda. I wanted to help. I meant everything I said." My heart pounds in my chest. Her gaze falls back down.
"Oh. Thanks." She doesn't say anything else. Just sits there, drying. I think the warm part of the towel isn't warm anymore.
"Why is part of the towel already wet?" Now she asks?
"Here," I say, holding out my hand. She stares at me but hands it over a moment later. "Look forward." She does as I say, but I see the concern in her eyes, brow drawn tight. A cute pout crosses her lips. "Hold still, please."
I take the lukewarm damp section with one hand and hold her neck with my left. She flinches at first then settles. I'm touching her. I'm really… my skin is on Victoria's. The only time I'd ever imagined this happening would be if she slapped me. This certainly feels like a slap, but not to the cheek. I press the towel to her face and rub in methodical strokes, firm but gentle. The paint begins to come off. Luckily, it's the same hue as the towel. Shouldn't show up once it's washed.
Neither one of us says a word. I want to talk but I don't know what to say. "How was your day" sounds like the silliest fucking thing to ask her. We've already fought openly four times today and countless times every day since the first time we met a few months ago. She's a textbook high school bully and I'm an indie-loving geek. Well, we do have one thing in common.
I strike at a spot on her neck. She shivers but I don't stop. I focus on keeping my breathing stable. Her eyes stare ahead.
"Have you, that is, uh."
"Just talk, hipster." It's an insult, obviously, but her tone wafts through the breeze, lighter than air. A smirk springs up on my lips.
"Have you seen Irving Penn's work?"
She scoffs, jittering my hands. I start smoothing out her skin, looking for more paint spots. Ooh, there's another one. Her ear lobe won't clean itself.
"Duh, weirdo. You think I haven't?"
"I just, well, your pictures look very Avedon but, like, lonelier, I guess, like Penn's." She blinks. Should I rewind that? That sounded uber mean.
"Yes. I suppose my photos are… that way. I appreciate Penn's Corner a lot. He gets me. Feeling distant from your subject. He let them do whatever they wanted in that tight corner of his. Sometimes they acted scared, or actually were scared, others spread their wings even in such a confined space." Her skin's clean, but I'm not ready to move my hands just yet. I move to a section I haven't run the towel over. She won't notice the difference.
"But how can you feel distant from your subject? You're the subject in over half of your photos." I feel her swallow, her throat bobbing. She just stares forward. Not responding. Oh. I look down, removing my hands and towel. "Um, you're all cleaned up. Sorry that took so long." She sighs.
"No, no sorrys. Thanks, Max. You didn't have to do any of this. I thought for sure you were going to pull out that filthy Polaroid of yours and smack me on Instagram. But here you are." She folds her hand in her lap, knees close. A blue bird soars above us, tweeting as it goes. It snatches a fly mid-air before sailing into a nearby tree to enjoy its catch. I breathe deeply.
"Yeah. Heh. No problem. I just thought that someone being mean to you was the last thing you needed right there." Guilt grips me. Like I have the right to say that. I tricked her friends away, and for what? But would they have gotten this much out of her? They hardly seem like friends to me. I hope I did her a favor.
She looks at me. No emotion, no concern or annoyance, just looking. Her eyes track the features on my face. My heart thumps as her pupils trace the line of my lips, slowly sliding over every curve. I feel like I'm gonna throw up. Oh God, no. I'm throwing up. I taste it first, then I feel it. I launch myself from the bench, double over behind it on the grass, and hurl. My lunch spills from my mouth, splattering all over the poor, innocent ground. It isn't too bad, I think. I had a small lunch. But it's still nasty as hell.
"Ew, Max, seriously?" She yells, jumping from the bench. Oh no. I fucked up. I wipe my mouth as fast as I can with my sleeve then scrape that off on the grass.
"Wait, sorry, I just got really nervous. I do that." I hold my hands out to her. I really should reverse time. Yes. Oh shit, yes. This is the best moment to use that unexplainable power. I can vomit whenever I want to and no one will ever know. I angle one of my outstretched hands, preparing for a major headache, then I hear a laugh. A loud one.
Victoria's laughing. Like, holding her stomach guffawing. She falls into a fit of giggles before calming down with a snort. I almost laugh, too. I smile, though. Her laugh is so pleasant.
"People really do that? Wow, what a fucking weirdo, Max! You're such a hipster, your body does it, too!" She laughs again. I drop my hands, laughing with her.
Soon, we're two girls standing next to a pile of puke laughing for no apparent reason. And this feels so real, so natural. I want to cry, this feels so good. I mean, I'm starving now that my food's escaped me, but my whole body tingles. I don't want this moment to end.
We eventually stop, sides and cheeks hurting. We walk back to the dorms, I with the towel and her with her purse.
"Now we match. I have paint and you, the hipster, have vomit. Pukey," she chides, glancing over her shoulder at me as we enter the building and ascend the stairs. I rub the back of my neck. The hairs on end stab my palm.
"Yeah. Funny."
We walk the rest of the way in silence, but a nice silence. I wouldn't dream of breaking this with clumsy words.
Our hall isn't the way I left it.
"You can't get out now, Dana!" A girl shouts as she shuts a door behind her and slams her fist against it. "So tell me the truth, or rot in there!" After spewing her hatred, she pulls out a phone and calls someone. Wait, I know her. That's Juliet Watson. She's a journalist for the school paper. I never read the thing. It's too, you know, high school. She seemed nice, though. Victoria heaves a heavy sigh beside me.
The face she gives me is the sternest look I have ever seen her sport. I'm afraid she's about to slug me into next week. "Don't mention what I'm about to do. Ever!" With that, she walks over to Juliet, who's still blocking the door to Dana's room, and stops in front of her. I glue myself to the wall as I creep closer, just close enough to be in earshot but not get involved.
"Victoria? Hey. This looks so off, okay. But it's like you said. I'm just punishing her for-"
"Stop." Victoria crosses her arms. I've never seen her sigh so much.
"Um… why?" Juliet's stops messing with her phone.
"I lied to you." I can't see Juliet's face from this angle, but I'm sure her eyes are the size of saucers. Mine certainly are. "There was no real sext. Dana hates Zach. You wrote something… false in the school paper. So I made all this up to get you mad at the person closest to you."
"Wait, hold up, this is revenge at me? And why bring Zach into this? You bitch!"
"No, idiot. Zach only likes you for your tits." She says that so calmly my mouth drops. Juliet's does, too. She looks like she's about to slap her. "I got Zach to do it with no complaints on his end. He doesn't really care about you. I was much more concerned about that person." Victoria points at the door to Dana's room.
"Victoria, you swine! What'd I ever do to you? Don't draw me into your antics just because Julie's being a numbskull!" Dana's shouts get through the flimsy dorm door.
"Don't expect this courtesy in the future. I'd much rather watch you two stew, but today was…" She looks at me. Right at my eyes. My heart flutters. Don't throw up again you fat piece of filth. "Different," she says, facing Juliet again. "Don't mention this to anyone, 'kay? Thanks. Bye." She flaps her fingers at this in old prep girl style, walking away with a sway in her hips. Even with that paint on her, she can rock that strut.
She's a little ways down the hall before Juliet opens the door.
"Jesus, Juliet. I can't believe you! You fell for such an amateur prank."
"I know, I'm super sorry. I'm lucky Victoria felt like taking it back or you'd still be in there. Ow!" Dana smacks Juliet over the back of the head.
"I'm your best friend. You know me better than that. You can be a real idiot sometimes. Oh, hey, Max."
I walk in front of them, holding the towel to my chest. It's dampening the chest of my shirt, but my heart's beating too fast for me to move it.
"Hey Dana. Hi, Juliet. I'm sorry about all this."
"Oh, wait, that reminds me. Hold on a sec." Dana runs back into her room.
"Victoria was looking at you earlier. Did you have anything to do with this?"
"Not the prank, no. I just talked to Victoria. A bit. I guess. After that paint fell on her."
Juliet's eyes widen. "Wow. Like some frickin' ninja. I thought you two hated each other." Dana reappears at her side.
"We do. Did. I mean, I think so. She's a bitch. Mostly. I don't, okay? It's been a really, really weird day. I can hardly think right now." My legs fidget, my feet tapping side to side.
"Here," Dana says, holding out a green jump drive. Warren's drive! "I borrowed it without asking, sorry. I was going to give it back until this idiot locked me in my own room. Who does that, by the way?" Juliet looks like she's about to say something, but it isn't my place to be in it. I grab the drive from Dana's grasp.
"I'm sorry, okay? Thank you so much, Max. Dana? I owe you dinner."
"And do my laundry." Dana crosses her arms. Juliet smiles back.
"Anything you need."
Feeling my work, I guess, is done, I walk away. Juliet waves, I wave back, then saunter on down to Victoria's room.
The door's ajar. I guess she wants me to come in. I open without knocking or declaring my arrival or whatever's expected of me. I nearly vomit again. Victoria's wearing nothing but her underwear, her back turned to me. Her lightly tanned, flawless skin shines in the light coming from her window. She's a goddess. A fucking half-naked goddess. My jaw's reaching my collar bone, I'm getting a fever, someone call an ambulance. She has such a perfect body.
She tosses her soiled stockings onto her bed then turns to me. She makes no motion to cover herself. My eyes bolt instantly to her chest. That's at least a C. Minimum. Look at the belly. I had no idea she worked out. Is that a four pack? A cough brings my eyes back up.
"Shut the door, hippie. I don't let people in my room often. Especially not you." So she would be mad if she knew those girls came in here for the towel. I'd tell her if it didn't mean admitting I lied to her. Oh gosh, I lied to her. I swallow. I spin around, back to her, and close the door softly. My cheeks burn and I'd rather not talk to her with a tomato face.
I step aside and pop a squat on her sofa. She has a fucking sofa. A really nice one, too. Her bed's beside it, covered in crimson velvet pillows. I try to look at the rest of the room. There's a red lamp that's next to some weird blue wall with, um, suns on it, and there's this really nice chair beside her desk that has a, uh, is that a printer? Yes, a printer. And there's some of Jefferson's prints, ho, and oh! Is that a set of her photos? I've never seen so many of them. They're a bunch of personal shots. Or, selfie's, I guess. I actually hate the term, but just because I take my picture all the time and it just happens to be 2013, everyone assumes I'm some mainstream swag fag that uses the term 'selfie' and wants Instagram followers or other useless bullshit.
Victoria's pictures are vibrant, in-your-face, snotty, really, but also… sad. Not in a gothic sort of way, but a cold way. Like she doesn't care enough. Like she's wearing a mask. In all of them.
The woman in question holds out two shirts in front of her, likely comparing them. I think they'd both look lovely on her. The light shafts beaming from her windows turn her skin gold. I squeeze the towel.
"Where can I put this?"
"Put what?" She doesn't even glance at me.
"The towel."
"My bed. I'll take care of it later." Shrugging, I toss the damp, oversized rag onto her bed, landing it right on top of her ruined clothes. Every time I see them, I feel bad. But then I remember that I got to this place right now because of what I did. So, not-so-bad.
She's so fit. I kinda wanna run with her. I wonder if she listens to the same stuff I do. Probably not. I doubt she cares for Syd Matters or Amanda Palmer. I don't belong here. I'm gazing at this woman, Aphrodite, essentially, and I have places to be and a status quo to follow. Which means the hippie girl doesn't hang with the prep. Only, this isn't a movie and I only have to bring my friend a jump drive. My life is my own and I want to be here. Just a couple minutes won't hurt anyone. Besides, I can rewind time if anything serious happens.
I look to my left and spy a lovely little piece of photographic technology. It's a classic medium format camera with an awesome lens. I pick it up, pop off the lens cover, and stare at her through the view finder. It's in manual, thank God, so I twist the focus and zoom on her profile. She's such a bitch but so gorgeous. She's decided on a shirt and puts the other away. Holding up a skirt and the chosen shirt, she nods. She glances over at me and grimaces. I can't help but giggle.
"Stop playing with my stuff, Max." She sounds as confused as I feel. I replace the lens cap and replace the camera where I found it.
"Why am I here?" Might as well aim for the head.
She ignores my question, starting to put her skirt on. It's a pretty number with swirls that compliments her hair really well. The shirt flows, too. She's still barefoot after the shirt's on. It's thinner, no undershirt this time, with fanned out lacey cuffs. She buttons the length of it, the shirt slowly swallowing her unblemished skin. I want to run my hand down the length of her belly oh my God what am I saying.
"Why," she interrupts my thoughts, finishing the last button. Turning fully to me, she continues. "Did you do all that you did today? I never asked for your sympathy. What are you playing at?" Wait, she thinks I'm using her? To do what? Not get into the VC, I hope. I don't want anything from her. Or, didn't. I mean- wait, I'm just gonna stop myself before I think something I'll regret. Too bad I can't rewind my own mind.
"Nothing. I was- am being completely, totally, one hundred percent genuine. I swear." Her left eye brow raises. She crosses her arms over her chest as she shifts her weight to one leg. I can't stand it when she looks at me like this. I press my palm to my forehead. Definitely hot. Shit.
"That's hard to believe. No one does something for me without expecting something. My family's rich, they practically own half of Blackwell. I run the Vortex Club and I have pull with nearly every teacher on campus. Which one did you grace me with your generosity for?"
"You." The word drops from my throat like a bomb. It detonates, dropping Victoria's jaw to the floor. Mine quickly follows. Rewind, Max. Right now. But I can't. My hands won't move. I can hide the word, the stupid filthy statement from her, but not from me. I just said that out loud. I, Max Caulfield, just said that. What if I meant it in a different way? Like… I wanted her, um… camera. Yeah. I want that damn camera. Fudge, who am I kidding?
"What did you just- no, I didn't hear that. Get out."
"What, but I-"
"Get out!" She screams, thrusting her finger at the door. "I can't believe I let her see me," she mutters under her breath. She grips her head, her other hands still pointed at the door. I want to look at her more, see more of her room, I'm not done here, but her shouts send me out, door slamming shut behind me.
I can go back in there. Rewind and stop myself from saying that, watch her a little longer, say something… not as bad? Shit. I know what I want. I can't keep running from mistakes. I need to own this one. And, who knows? Maybe it isn't a mistake. Maybe it'll actually lead me somewhere. Baby steps, Max. My hands stay by my sides.