October 19
Chloe Price
"You don't get it! You'll never understand." I scream, knowing I'm headed nowhere fast. If I'm going to end up in the fourth ridiculous brawl with my step-douche this week alone, I'm going to at least make sure I utilize all the classic comebacks before storming off.
"Chloe, I was a teenager once, too. But this is just stupid."
"Stupid? What's stupid is you acting you've never smoked pot or drank. Like you don't have a few beers every now and then when you're locked up in the garage all day with your silly little surveillance cameras. Did you ever really come back from the military? Or are you still playing drill sergeant?"
"Jesus, Chloe..."
"Leave me alone!" I can hear myself somewhere among a chorus of every angst-ridden teenager in the world, but I don't give a damn about my lack of originality. You can't go wrong ending a fight this way. Works every time.
Having successfully clipped our conversation short, I push open the sliding glass door and abscond into the peace of my backyard. The fresh air against my skin is a lot more welcome than the intense heat of the house, and of the pointless argument with David. He isn't going to change anytime soon. Neither am I. That's the beginning of things and the end of things. In my head, it was as simple as that. In reality, it was slightly more complicated.
Calm down, Chloe.
A mental note: I've been telling myself to do that a lot lately, a prime example being last summer, when Rachel and I had a quarrel so scorching and upsetting that she took the ashes of the fire with her and fled, leaving me out in the cold.
A mental footnote: This is proof that calming down never fucking works.
Unless I call Max.
I'm done tricking myself. I'm so happy that we're bonding again, the ecstasy is honestly sickening. I can sense thrills in my stomach even thinking on her for longer than a second. It's like an impossible wish, bubbling over in my brain, spiraling me towards this natural high. It's amazing.
And it's disgusting.
I have to call once or twice to get her to answer. I know I'm pestering her. But as long as she doesn't say anything, I see no harm in it. I'm not having a monotonous repeat of every other crappy relationship in my life.
"Hey, Chloe!" Max seems like she's preoccupied. "Sorry it took me a minute to answer, I'm skimming through some of my pictures. How are you?"
"Eh," I shrug, like that's an acceptable response. It should be, anyway. "My step-dad hates me. I hate my step-dad. Typical everyday stuff. It's hardly a cover story for the newspaper."
"That's got to be rough." Max responds with care, and I can't help but linger on how nice it's been these past two weeks, just hearing her voice.
"Yeah. I think I've told you he's ex-military." To be frank, I don't remember everything I've told Max since we started talking again. The details about what she's said, however—compliments cradled in conversations like scenes from a cheesy movie—have an irksome way of sticking to my memory.
"Whoa. So he's probably extra strict, isn't he?"
"Yeah. He never really learned how to live life outside of combat. Even now. He's got this job as a security officer at Blackwell."
Max pauses. I wonder why as the seconds pass.
"Is his name David Madsen?"
"That's the bitch." I verify, successfully confused. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason." Max assures me. I'm not buying it, but I let her continue. "I've just seen him around." Every word seems like it takes hard work for her to say, like she's determining whether or not she should speak. Yeah, I'm a bit intrigued, but I decide I'd rather not investigate. Investigating is David's job, not mine.
Instead, I ask a less invasive question. "Speaking of Blackwell, what's up in the world of Super Max? Prep school got you down yet?"
"You could say that. Hold on a minute..." She strays from the phone and I hear shuffling. I would joke with her about it, but I'm pretty sure she's rummaging through scrapbooks and folders for photos. At least, that's what she said she was doing.
"Okay, I'm back, and I still have nothing."
"Nothing for what?"
"It's just...this contest. I've heard that most of the photography students here are planning to enter it. It's called the Everyday Heroes contest."
I snicker. "How valiant. A perfect contest for Super Max."
"You would think. But I'm not even really sure if I should enter. The camera equipment the substitutes have been letting me borrow is really nice, but..." She gives a sigh, silently exasperated. "I don't know. The newer pictures aren't...me. They're all shiny and glossed over."
"Too basic for you, right?"
"I guess. At least our class finally got a permanent teacher today. No more substitutes. It seems like she's going to keep letting me use the equipment, too. It's not mine, but it's what I have."
I'm psyched to hear that at least a section of Blackwell Academy is finally collecting itself. It must have been hard to find a new photography teacher right after the last one ended up being a secret top-shelf pervert, but two weeks is a significant chunk of a school semester. I'm glad to hear that things are partially back to normal...as normal as life can be right now.
"Finally. I thought they'd never find someone who could replace the infamous Mark Jefferson." I roll my eyes and gag, to let her know my infatuated schoolgirl routine is one-hundred percent fake. I'd seen the news. Everybody had. "What a load of bull. The thought of a bunch of clueless students in the same classroom as him...the thought of you in the same classroom as him..." I shiver. "If I had known earlier, I would have offed him myself. He better be thankful somebody threw his ass in the slammer instead."
"He...he got what he deserved." Max trips through yet another sentence, a clear indicator that she's not telling me the whole story. Whatever. Better we talk about other things...things that don't make me want to give up on humanity entirely. Do things like that even exist nowadays?
"What's the new teacher's name?" I ask, meandering over towards my ancient swing set, sitting down and kicking my feet up in the air. "Is she hot?"
"Please. She's easily had a nose job or two, and maybe a few doses of Botox." Max clarifies. "I don't even think she's hit the other side of her thirties yet, but she thinks she needs it. Her name's Ms. Faye."
And now it's my turn to pause. Faye. One of Rachel's old modeling agents.
"Felicity Faye?"
"Why do you ask?" Max questions, and I steal her line like it's the candy bowl lazy parents leave out on Halloween.
"No reason."
"Alright, if you say so." Max says, as equally unconvinced as I was when she mentioned David. No matter how cozy Max and I have been getting, it's difficult to ignore the fact that we're also both incredibly involved in our new lives. She's become a hipster, and I've become about ten times angrier. Development.
"Anyway, so what if your teacher's got a youth complex and your equipment won't give you the right "aesthetic"? You should still totally enter the contest thing. Why else would you have earned a scholarship to Blackwell? You're hella talented."
"Chloe..." Max turns bashful. "I haven't even shown you my best work."
"Come on! You should just send them one of your selfies! It shouldn't be some big challenge to make it look artistic. Art is supposed to be subjective. Right?"
"It's not a game. It's a national competition."
"So what? You've got what it takes. All you need now is initiative."
"No offense, but since when are you bouncy and encouraging?"
She's got a good point. What's even happening to me? I was so furious only a while ago... My mind reels for a response, focusing on the recent memory of fighting back against David's harsh opinions of me. I think about each time I've stood up to him instead of backing down, and I'm surprised to find that I feel a bit heroic myself.
"I guess I'm just trying to say that anyone can be a hero with a push in the right direction. Especially you. You have...morals and stuff."
"I'm sure you have morals of your own, Chloe."
It's funny, how much faith she has in me, and vice-versa, when we've only been friends again for a little more than two weeks. Deep inside, I want to smile big and wide, so that she might be able to envision the look on my face.
"Max, you are so cute. You haven't changed a bit."
Have I made my best friend blush yet? The world may never know.
"Besides," She continues. "If...if I were a hero...I wouldn't dare tell anyone. Too much attention. The spotlight would be majorly terrifying." It's almost like she's speaking from experience until she adds, "Uh, hypothetically, of course."
"Of course." I smirk. "You imagine the spotlight would be terrifying."
"Yeah. But...you're right. I should at least give the contest a shot. It wouldn't hurt anything. Thanks for the motivation."
"Hey, I'm always here to make sure my friends take risks and do crazy shit." Just like I've made sure that we're growing dangerously close to becoming close with each other again.
"I'm glad."
The third silence between us today isn't awkward. It's almost not even noticeable. It just kind of...happens. And even knowing that this swing set was rooted beneath this overgrown grass years ago, it doesn't stop me from feeling as if I'm rocketing into the sky, spinning far, far away.
"Max?"
"What?"
"You could always submit a nude."
"Chloe!"
"Kidding, kidding!" I say, my gut aching with laughter. "But seriously. You should get searching for a picture! And I'll keep being boring here at Casa de la Price. Keep me updated, okay?"
"Always." She says, like she really means it.
I start to feel bummed when I realize that I have no excuse to hang up first. What else do I have to do? Scream at David again? Think too hard on what used to be my life with Rachel?
Think about what could be endless possibilities between Max and I?
"Wait. I'll help you out." Because I can't stand concealing how much I want to keep talking to her any longer, I decide how I want to spend the rest of my afternoon with ease. "You can tell me what each photo looks like, and I'll attempt to see them in my head. Trust me. It'll be hilarious."
notes: Good afternoon everyone! Anna here. I know it's been a while since the last chapter, but Sarah and I wanted to keep corresponding with the dates from the story as much as possible. (Also, I'm in college and have hella homework. I wanted to try writing a one-shot to post in the meantime, but alas...) Anyway, I chose to put notes at the end of this chapter because I wanted to talk a little bit about how it builds the story up some more. Basically, Max and Chloe are discovering just how much they don't know about one another yet (and determining what they're willing to tell each other)... I didn't wanna spoil what the chapter was about before our viewers started reading! We want to keep some things elusive ;) But don't worry; more will be explained in Chapter 5!
(An additional note: Sarah wants me to inform ya'll about her plans for Halloween; she's dressing up as Chloe and her blue wig just came in the mail yesterday! I'm switching back and forth between ideas, but I'm either going to take the Life Is Strange route as well [by dressing up as Rachel or Max, but probably Rachel] or try my hand at being Heather McNamara from Heathers [the movie is great and the musical owns my soul...] Either way, these scary punk ghosts are gonna have a scary good time. :P)
