Max's alarm goes off twice the next morning. Once to wake her for school. And another time to remind her of her meds.
Don't take the small ones.
But the small ones are the ones she's prescribed. They make the world feel fuzzy and at a time when all she wants is to feel is how hard the floor is beneath her feet, it's much more difficult.
Lincoln High is the school she's supposedly been to for four years now. She doesn't remember it. The hallways are like a maze before her and even as the secretary printed out a new schedule and map for her, she still can't navigate her way around.
"Well, hello, young Max," a voice speaks up from behind her. She turns to see Samuel pushing a broom slowly across the hallway, the crowd of students stepping around him as he passes through.
His familiar face catches her off guard and Max stares at him, her mouth falling open.
"Glad to see you back here. I hope you feel better."
"Th-thanks," she manages to say and backs away. She feels herself slipping again, confusing timelines, confusing here. She lays a hand against the wall to keep her balance.
"Well, if it isn't the resident psycho," a snide voice greets her. Max looks up to see Victoria Chase in the middle of her cronies. She only recognizes Taylor and Courtney. They all stare through her with similar sneers. Victoria, though, studies her with the carefulness of a predator.
"Not now, Victoria," Max mumbles and brushes past her. But Victoria follows closely behind.
"Didn't think I'd see you back after your last stunt. I mean, you tried pretty hard to bash your brains in." Her smirk falters a minute. "It was kind of gross, actually." She sniffs and bumps into Max's shoulder as she walks past her. "If you wanted to off yourself, you could have gone a better route. Try not to brain yourself on my locker, if there's a next time. I don't think I could stand the blood."
Max bites her lip, but keeps walking. There's a challenge in Victoria's sway as she walks, and Max knows if she keeps her eyes forward, and her jaw clenched, that her words won't matter.
Her locker is 152, but she has no idea what hall that's in. She holds the map closer to her face and squints at the small print. "This way?" she whispers, stumbling as she turns left.
She crashes into someone's chest who grabs hold of her arms and spins her away from him. "Watch out there," he says gently. She looks up into Warren's startled eyes.
Max yelps and backs away, stumbling into someone else behind her.
"Sorry, did I scare you?" Warren asks, confused. "I was just looking for you. Miss Newton said you needed a tutor to help you catch up on the work you missed?"
Max's expression doesn't change. She feels as if her face has stuck that way.
"Or maybe you didn't talk to her about it yet?" he tries.
"Who?" she finally manages to ask.
"Miss Newton? The counselor?"
She wonders if he ever talks without asking a question.
He reaches for the paper in her hands and she drops it, backing up to the wall.
"Hey, whoa, sorry. I'm just…" He holds up the paper and points to her locker number. "Must have been a crazy few weeks to forget all this. Your locker's down that hall." And he points towards the hallway opposite from where she was heading. "Anyway, I'm free on Fridays and—" He reaches for her hand, which she promptly hides behind her back. He shrugs and pulls out a pen from his pocket and writes something on the paper. "Call me and we can discuss rates and stuff." He hands the paper back to her and jogs off, throwing her a small wave.
She can feel the stares as she makes her way to her locker. Pair after pair of eyes follow her as if they're waiting for her to break down again. She can feel her heartbeat stuttering in her throat. She juggles books and cycles through her classes on autopilot. Biology. Algebra. English. They have a substitute in English, who seems to have been here for a while as she easily calls on students to answer her questions on Dante's Inferno.
Victoria sits in the chair in front of her and leans to the girl next to her. "It's too bad Jefferson's not still here. He wouldn't deal with this bullshit." She gestures to the boy nearby who's been on his soapbox for at least five minutes now. The substitute seems to be debating on cutting him off.
"No, don't say that. You really want Jefferson back here after all that?" the girl whispers back.
"It was just a stupid rumor," Victoria murmurs, rolling her eyes.
"Wouldn't be a rumor if they arrested him."
Victoria sets her mouth in a firm line. "So what if he did sleep with a student?"
"Vic, come on. The girl killed herself. Be a little sympathetic, at least."
Victoria turns towards the window, sighing. She rests her chin in her hands, ignoring whatever question their substitute is asking now.
When Max shifts in her seat, the chair squeaking loudly against the tiled floor, Victoria turns around to glare at her. She circles her finger in the universal "crazy" gesture and whispers something to the girl next to her. They laugh pointedly at Max.
Max just ignores her, scribbling furiously in her notebook until the page is covered in a swirl of black ink.
Ms. Newton calls for her when she leaves History to check on her, reminding her what she needs to catch up on, and seems delighted that Warren has already told her about the tutoring plan. "He's one of our best students and your parents were pretty impressed by him."
"He met my parents?" Max asked, bewildered.
"We all had a chat while you were in the hospital." Ms. Newton smiles softly at her.
Max feels like screaming just to keep everyone from smiling at her. She's not sure what's worse, the smiles or the glares. She almost wishes she could blend in with the paint on the wall just so everyone would ignore her. Her head is starting to ache and by the end of the day, it feels as if her heart is going to burst up and out of her chest. Her palms are covered in a sheen of sweat.
She waits for her mom to pick her up and leans her forehead against the cool glass of the door. It's summer, but it shouldn't be this hot. She feels as if she might burst into flame. Someone slams the door open, banging it against her head and sending her tumbling to the ground.
"What the fuck," the offender exclaims and kneels down, "are you doing standing in front of the door?"
She glances up at Nathan in a daze. "Trying to cool down," she tries to explain. The words stick in her mouth.
He studies her slowly, then frowns. "What do they have you on?" He holds out a hand to help her up but she just stares at it. Her head feels heavy now, as if she's underwater and someone is pushing her further down.
"What?" she asks, holding her head.
He sighs and crouches down next to her. "Your meds, crazy bitch. What are you taking?"
"I don't know. I can't remember."
Nathan says something else but the words don't seem to make sense. She feels her head grow heavier and droop and then it's as if her entire body falls apart. She's vaguely aware of Nathan's arms around her as she topples to the side, and then there's darkness.
She swims in a film of pink and gray that sticks to her arms and legs. She tries to move faster but the film grows thicker, murkier, and it invades her mouth, her nose, her ears.
Don't take the small ones, Warren's voice tells her and then she's thrown back into the darkness.
"—feeling?"
Max blinks at the bright light being shone into her eyes. "What happened?" she croaks. The light moves away and a doctor frowns down at her.
"You had a small seizure at school. Do you remember anything before that? Did you feel sick or dizzy before you passed out?"
"Yeah, I felt pretty crappy the whole day. Hot, sweaty, dizzy."
"Hmm, I'm going to consult with Doctor Adams, but we'll probably switch your medication. It's pretty rare that this happens, but it does sometimes. If you start to feel sick like this again, don't try to stick it out. Let the nurse at school know or call your doctor. Lucky you had a friend with you who knew the drill."
Max feels her cheeks redden at the thought of Nathan witnessing the entire thing. Now he has more ammo to taunt her with. She's not going to survive the school year at this rate.
"How are you feeling now?" The doctor checks her pulse again.
"Like I got hit by a truck," she replies and when his eyebrows raise in concern, she rushes to add, "but okay. It's okay."
A light smile crosses the doctor's face as he pulls out his notepad and jots something down. "Don't worry, kid. It will be."
"I'm so sorry," Vanessa says for the fifth time since she and Max have left the hospital.
"Mom, please. It's all right," Max mumbles with her face pressed against the passenger window.
"Your first day back and you had to go through that. God, I just wish..." She blows a strand of hair away from her face. "Well, I hope the rest of your day was better."
I can't do it, Max wants to say, but her mom smiles weakly at her, and the words catch in her throat. "It was okay," she whispers. She could build her entire world around okay. And just like her hallucinations and when she told her mom that she'd smashed her face while falling down the stairs, she keeps them all locked up and quiet in her head.
"Good. See, things are looking up. They'll get better. I promise."
"Yeah," Max says softly and presses her face against the window again. "I bet they will."
It's not small pills, but long and oval shaped ones that she's prescribed. She almost laughs when she pops open the bottle to examine them, but then she remembers that horrible creature on her laptop and her head smashed against the wall and the sound dies before it even reaches her mouth.
She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath to push it back. "Hey, Miss Newton said you guys wanted me to have a tutor," she says instead. She tries to keep her voice even.
"We thought it'd make the transition easier. I thought jumping back into school after a few weeks off would be pretty daunting with the school work."
"Yeah, well, Warren told me he'd help out. He gave me his number to call so we can figure out the rate and stuff."
"Oh?" Vanessa looks confused for a moment before an amused smile crosses her face. "We already decided on the rate."
"Then why—"
"What do you think?" she asks Max smugly and Max's face grows beet red.
"I guess some things don't change," she mutters to herself.
Max is buried elbows deep in homework when she pulls her phone out. She debates on calling Warren, just for the sake of a familiar voice, and for one insane moment, she wishes she had Nathan's number. There is one number she wishes she had more than anyone's though. Chloe's number is not in her phone. She thinks it might be in her journal, but she hasn't seen it since coming home from the hospital. She rifles through the papers on her desk and on her nightstand before yelling down, "Mom, have you seen my journal?" There's no answer but Vanessa comes upstairs a moment later wearing a confused expression.
"What journal?" she asks.
"Mom, my journal. It's the only one I have. I thought..." She trails off, seeing the worry that's crossed her mom's face now.
"The only journal I can think of is the one you had when you were thirteen. You threw it out after we moved."
"What?" She stops shuffling through the papers on her nightstand. "What about my polaroids?"
Vanessa taps a finger on her chin. "You mean the instant camera you had? You tossed that out, too. Max, what's going on? What's got you stuck on reminiscing all these things?"
"No," Max mutters and her fingers grow numb. No journal. No camera. She casts a quick glance at the mirror because she doesn't even recognize this Max. How did she get to this place? "I just...I wanted to call Chloe."
"Oh, Max," her mother steps into the room and scoops her into a hug. "Are you sure you want to go down that path now?"
Max nods against her mother's chest and pulls her closer to her. The smell of lavender and dish soap hits her so strongly that she nearly stumbles backwards. It's the realist thing she's felt since waking up in the hospital.
"I think I have her number written down in the address book downstairs. Let me check."
When Max types the number into her phone, she runs through all the words she wants to say, all the apologies she can think of, but the voice that immediately answers is not Chloe. It's the automated "the number you've dialed is no longer available," and she throws the phone down loudly on her desk.
"How do I get back?" she whispers to the mirror. Her reflection glares back her just as silently, just as confused.