Heading home feels strange to Max. Her favorite tree still sits in the backyard, where's she climbed to shoot photos over and over again. The stairs creak exactly as they have for the past five years. Her room is plastered in the same smear of posters as the day she left. Everything feels the same but remarkably different, as if something has shifted slightly out of focus. She is not the same person she was when she left, which feels like a million lifetimes ago.

She had spent most of her teenage years locked in her room, surrounding herself in music and movies until the urge to leave would jump at her. Then she would go where the wind, her wallet, and her friends would take her.

But now, she finds that her room is too small, too confining. She spends most of her days hunting for photo opportunities. She loses herself in the bump and grind of the city, sometimes riding the transit just so she can see the whirl of buildings pass her. There's a small patch of trees behind her suburban neighborhood and when the city is too much, she trails through them, a small pocket of quiet in the storm of her mind. She is restless, though it's not entirely a bad concept. It's as if she's making up for the months she has spent lost in the fog. She craves constant movement.

Warren visits often and her mom is absolutely enamored with him. She makes them snacks and ruffles his hair. Her dad rolls his eyes at her hovering but she ignores him. Max gives her twenty minutes before yanking him outside to have him all to herself.

They drive off, exploring roads she hasn't taken before. That's their favorite activity, and they hunt down abandoned buildings for Max to take photos of. She notices her selfies are becoming a little less prominent these days as she gravitates to the lost stories of these buildings. She vaguely remembers the Prescott barn, which she has shoved deep into the closet of her subconscious, but she leaves it there in the darkness. She sees a bit of herself in these buildings and each photo she snaps is a record of her growth, of her stepping out of the shadows. She sees Chloe there as well. Her personality is intertwined in the grit of the buildings, immortalized in places she's never been. She takes these photos for Chloe, as well, bringing her to each place to leave her mark.

"I think my mom's going to propose to you," she tells Warren as the summer air hits her face through the open window. His air-conditioning is broken again, but she doesn't mind the luke-warm breeze.

"Well, I guess that saves me from having to do it," he says and after seeing her paling face, adds "if the time ever came, I mean." Their relationship is a back-and-forth battle between the familiar and the unknown. They fall into each other easily, puzzle pieces snapped into place, but she's not ready for the entirety of his eagerness. There's a finality to it that frightens her as much as locking herself in her bedroom does. She doesn't like predictable endings.

But Warren surprises her in ways she never thought. He shows up on random days, with movie tickets or dinner. They sneak into a park after hours and watch the stars. One time they slip into a club that they end up leaving ten minutes later, disappointed by the loud chaos and stink of sweat and beer.

He never pressures her, intentionally, but jokes like that make her skin crawl with anxiety.

"Hey," he murmurs, pulling over near an old corner store. He kisses her, his hand nestled in her hair and wraps a strand loosely around his fingers. "We've only been together all of three months. I'm happy with whatever this is. If we get married, if we don't, if we're still cruising down this road five weeks or five years from now, as long as you're happy, then I'll take it." She thinks there is more to that, but she's grateful that he doesn't say it. Instead, she leans into him and thinks of the adventures they'd had that summer and the ones that will surely come in autumn, when school starts again. It's enough, which is all she wants right now, and kisses him with a fierceness that surprises them both. In this moment, she is free, and that is enough.