A/N: A huge thanks to genesiswings who allowed me to use their work as a cover for this story! Thanks again! :D

AT STAKE [VICTORIA]

The path to school seems unusually short today, a sheer contrast to any other Monday morning.

'I don't want to go' I tell myself, and a second later I am faced with the door to the main school building. I stride in, a handful of confidence lacking in my steps. Courtney, walking by my side, doesn't seem to notice, her gaze stuck on the screen of her phone. I frown a little as I keep heading to class – she is curiously silent, which I find both fortunate and suspicious.

We finally arrive in the classroom, a certain discomfort weighting in my chest as I take my seat next to Courtney. I immediately glance around and feel my insides churn. I haven't seen Max yet. Worse than that, I can't quite decide how that fact makes me feel. A light sensation, similar to relief, tingles my back whereas a heavy feeling presses on my shoulders. Is it disappointment? It makes no sense.

I want to check my schedule again, confirm that we really are on Monday and we do have World History class, which Max is supposed to attend – but I fight the urge. As unperceptive as Courtney can be, there is only so much that could go unnoticed.

I see Kate walk through the door. Her eyes, full of hope, scan the room, before ending on the floor with a sigh. So she was looking for Caulfield, too? Clearly, she hoped Max would be here. And she is not.

And damn, as contradictory as my emotions are, they still persist, obstinately. Time passes by, slower than ever now, and I swear I can feel my insides swirling and swaying, desperately reaching for two extremes that cannot meet. Saying it feels awful would be mild.

Then the bell rings. And I feel sick.

The teacher enters soon after, immediately taking attendance. As expected, no little hipster voice rises to answer to 'Max Caulfield'. As if. What was I thinking?

"Well, that's not really a surprise, is it?" I hear beside me.

I raise my hand when I hear my name before I turn to look at Courtney, who sends me a devious, knowing smile.

"She's probably still mourning over that hot chocolate."

She grins at me, and it takes all my will not to cringe. She stares at me, expectantly, waiting for some sort of approval. My hands are shaking.

"I would too, if I had to choose between hot chocolate and a sense of fashion."

How am I even capable of allowing these words to slip so flawlessly through my lips? I even flash a smile, all the while retaining myself from barfing on the spot.

Courtney sniggers nonetheless, evidently pleased with my repartee. But her laugh turns out to be a punishment more than a reward. A painful slap on the back rather than a congratulating pat. It feels wrong, so wrong. Max may dress poorly but she doesn't deserve this. She really is mourning.

"Are you sure you don't want me to upload that video?"

My breath runs short, as if her words had hit me square in the chest. The video, I just remembered. She had recorded everything. My skin begins to itch with irritation, as I know I'm the only one to blame for this behavior. Had I not recorded and uploaded a video of Kate at the last party, Courtney would have never had that idea. Except this time, it's different. This time isn't about the embodiment of chastity lusting over a couple of boys. This time, it's a girl tearing up over a spilled drink after she just lost her friend. It's not interesting. It's just… gloomy. And heartbreaking.

But of course, success doesn't rhyme with compassion. It is a lesson I flaunt around with pride, and she has faultlessly taken note. What an idiot I am.

"Courtney", I articulate sternly. "I told you to delete it."

"I know, I know, but…"

She is interrupted by the teacher calling her name, which she replies to with a 'here'.

"But why?" She continues. "I mean, like, why Kate and not Max?"

Isn't it obvious? I feel my heart shrink at her question, ashamed and cornered. Obvious, yes, it is. I clutch at my stomach, ordering the damn butterfliesto just fucking stop. I gulp. I need to stay composed. Breathe.

"Exactly because of Kate. It's… enough."

"You didn't find it fun?"

The disappointment in her voice sends a shiver down my spine. It stings where her hopes couldn't reach. It bruises a part of me that is as perceptible as air to her. So why do I bend to fit what she can see, rather than imposing my own vision?

"Is it because of the funerals?" She urges on.

My neck almost snaps as I turn to glare at her. I feel a 'yes' burn my throat, I taste it in my mouth, but it never reaches past my lips. Too dangerous. Definitely not with Courtney. Taylor, perhaps. Not Courtney. I can't predict how she would react. She might see my… compassion as weakness, and there is no assurance that she wouldn't turn her back on me if she sees no more reason to suck up to me.

No. Definitely a no.

"Don't be ridiculous."

The gears in my head turn so fast I can almost hear a strident din piercing my skull. The finally teacher starts her lesson, but her voice is muffled by my thoughts. Find something, fast.

"We already pulled the viral video antic. Once is funny. Twice is boring. We can't have people think we lack creativity, can we?"

"Okay, if you say so, I trust you."

"Then delete that video", I command.

"Alright, Victoria."

She waits until the teacher turns her back to slide her phone out of her pocket and tap on her screen until the video is permanently gone. I almost release a relieved sigh when she suddenly glances at me, her eyes shining with her need for recognition. I lean back on my seat, try to adapt to a more comfortable position as I shift my focus on the lesson. Not that World History is a particularly difficult course, but I wouldn't dare to risk my grades, and certainly not because of that hipster.

I hear Courtney chat with Hayden behind us, and I occasionally throw a remark or two into their conversation – enough to let them acknowledge my presence. I conceal my concerns behind the poker face I spent years mastering, I truly have no reason to be thinking about Max. No reason. None.

I grab my bag as the bell echoes loudly through the school. I step outside the room, not muttering a single 'bye' to Courtney.

I shortly arrive in my Media lab class, where I can hear a few hippies discussing in the back corner of the room. Without further due, I walk to my seat. I feel heavy, incredibly so, as each step proves itself to be more difficult than the previous one. I finally reach my table, letting my fingers graze the wood carefully, as if the touch alone would aggravate the pain in my chest.

It is Nathan's seat. It is where his pencils and sheets usually are, scattered all around the surface with no care for my own space. I knew that scolding him never changed his attitude, so at some point I had begun to steal his furniture. He never noticed. And now I have an entire drawer full of pens, pencils, rulers, erasers, highlighters… these were all unimportant tools. Until I realized I would never sit next to him, at this table. Now they are mementos, reminders of days that were gone too fast.

Maybe he did notice, actually. Maybe he let me.

I hurriedly push all of these thoughts, all of these memories aside, so I can finally sit down. Shortly after, I see Taylor walking in the classroom, waving at me as she makes her way to the table behind mine.

"You okay, Vic?" she whispers while sitting down.

I turn around, repositioning my body in an angle that allows me to at least see her face. I rest one foot on the chair beside me, grinning at my friend. But it wavers.

"Of course. How was Algebra?"

I see one of her eyebrow lift up, ever-so-slightly, carefully suspicious. Then it lowers again, as she finally considers my definitely-not-dodging question.

"It was so boring, I thought I was gonna rot."

She stretches with a whine, and I tap her arm reassuringly.

"Ugh, tell me about it."

Her mouth opens, but quickly shuts as Jayson trots to the seat next to hers.

"Hey ladies, what's up?"

"Taxes." I reply austerely.

He seems taken aback by my gibe, to which I shrug. I don't like this guy. He thinks he's hot shit since Hayden let him into the Vortex Club, and that transpires into his quasi-incessant blabbering. How can Taylor bear a lab partner like him? Even his voice is a personal assault to my ears.

"Very funny", he mumbles. "Did you get the news about Nate?"

How fucking dares he?

"Of course, what the hell do you think? I'm his best friend." This statement burns my throat. "And it's 'Nathan' for you."

"What are you gonna do though?" Taylor intervenes, seemingly not up to witness an argument. "I mean, for the project."

I grit my teeth, gulping strenuously in hopes of releasing the tension in my jaw.

"I talked to Ms. Dawson", I announce while trying to maintain perfect control over my voice – just the right pitch.

"Oh, what did she say?" Jayson inquired.

"She suggested I pair up with another duo to help them. I convinced her to let me work on my own, though."

"Are you sure? Wouldn't it be too hard?"

My friend sounds concerned, unsurprisingly. Taylor has been nothing but a dotting mother since Monday. I shrug, before adorning a confident grin.

"I'll be fine, we were almost done anyway."

But that's a lie. We were midway through our project, at best. Working as a team is difficult when your partner is easily subject to panic and you spend your study sessions trying to reassure him. I lost count of how many hours I spent cradling him while my coffee grew cold by a blank sheet.

Everything I have done, I have done by myself. Confined in my room, with just the right amount of caffeine in my blood. If not too much.

So, even with him being in jail, it shouldn't be much different, should it? I literally go from 'working alone' to, well, 'working alone'. And yet, while objectively, I know the amount of work has not increased, I still feel as if what used to be a slightly inclined hill had been suddenly cut into a cliff. A cliff I am left to climb on my own.

Ms. Dawson enters the classroom, as agitated as ever, papers already in hand. I shift on my chair, turning my back to my classmates so I can face her – I know she never takes attendance, never does, always jumping straight into the lesson. A lesson I surprisingly find difficult to grasp this time.

The speed at which she jabbers mauls my brain. I can begin to feel my skull throbbing, which only increases my frustration – I am one of the best student in this damned shithole, I should be able to understand this. I should know about the proper ways to interpret audience statistics, or how to superimpose multiple factors and elements to make sense of those numbers. I should know, for fuck's sake, it's what I've been doing when Nathan wasn't drowning me under a few dozens of alarming text messages.

Yet, her words violently pierces through my head, crawling at every nerve as they slide out, never succeeding in getting a firm grip that would allow them to stay. I try to remember the content of my assignment so far, but the only thing present in my mind is the distant echo of words refusing to be drown.

You should know this.

What are you, an idiot?

You will never be that good.

You suck.

"Victoria, you can call me later if you need help with your project."

I startle at the sound of Taylor's voice, whispering frantically behind my back. I sneak a glance at her, see the corner of her lips perk up. Do I really need her help? Is that the only way I can hold on? My hand almost twitches, but closes into a fist instead. Concealed by the table, I know for certain that no one would notice, yet I still spread my fingers apart as soon as I grow conscious of my nails digging into my palm.

I shrug at her, before returning my attention to the class. Or at least, I try. I claw at the cliff the same way these numbers claw at my brain. Hopelessly. And in the same manner, I slide off, I slip, and fall.

Hours pass by, along with words that never linger.

I defiantly avoid the cafeteria at lunch, reminiscent of memories too fresh for me to bury. I hear gossips, jibes, and other trivialities I can't bother to partake in. Both in and out of the classrooms, I try to concentrate on my objective – achieve that perfect GPA. It doesn't matter how chaotic this week has been, I will never succeed if I let outside elements affect my grades.

And still, I am incapable of preventing my mind from wandering off to matters that are strategically unimportant.

It seems that a superior force has taken control of my body, forcing me to glance right, left, maybe behind me. I stare past my friends, past everyone else, expecting to see a face covered in freckles. And that same superior force teases my heart whenever I spot some washed-out hoodie, or messy brown locks of hair. Only to feel my guts drop when I realize that it wasn't who I hoped to see.

I find her in the corner of my mind, but never in the corner of my eyes.

And it infuriates me – both of these facts, actually, infuriate me to no extent. It shouldn't be so difficult for me to sweep her off my thoughts, and she definitely isn't supposed to be anywhere but within my sight. Not in this school. I rule this school, I should be aware of everything that is going on in here – and that includes her position.

I swear to God, where the hell is she?

As time goes by, with no hipster in sight, irritation begins to prickle at my skin, and I'm positive that my frown is now permanent. I take my tooth off my lower lip, realizing I had been chewing it for who knows how long. I eventually have to head back to class, one I don't share with the hipster. And yet, my mind drifts back to her, helplessly. I want to shout. I have no idea where that desire stems from, but I'm having a surprisingly hard time controlling it. That's it, I'm going crazy. I've lost control.

Where the fuck is she?

I groan, absentmindedly listening to my pen tapping against the desk. At this point, I think I've given up on trying to appear calm. I can see Taylor and Courtney eyeing me nervously. If anyone asks, I'll just find something. Like, 'I'm so nervous about the new teacher' or something. 'I've looked her up and I really don't think she can handle our class'. 'Mr. Jefferson was much more interesting, what a shame.'

I glance at my watch. Ten minutes. Ten minutes until the ring bells and I have to make my way to the photography classroom.

I try to focus on the class again, threaten myself with the goal I have set and need to reach. But my worries have grown, big, way too big, there is no way I can toss it aside somewhere in my mind. It is there, very much present, and very much annoying the hell out of me – fuck that, if she doesn't show up in the Photography class, I'll destroy the door to her room. And smack a bitch or two on the way. Maybe set fire to the dorms, just to make sure she'll attend classes. Wait, no, if she has no where to live, she'll probably fly back to Seattle. Heh, I can always buy a house in the area and host her. Wait, no. No. What the fuck? There is no way that I could – even if I – or maybe – that would never – fuck.

Ugh. I would never have to consider all of these crazy possibilities if the damn loser would fucking show up to classes, for fuck's sake.

I look at the time again. Four minutes. Max Caulfield, you have four minutes to move your skinny ass to class. For the sake of the dorms. Three now. I begin to gather my furniture – not that I have written anything during this class. I'll ask Courtney for her notes later.

One last minute.

I jump on my feet the exact millisecond the sound of the bell reaches my ears. Taylor runs after me, the strap of her bag hanging loosely off her shoulder.

"Vic? What's the hurry?"

"New teacher – looked her up – not so good – ugh." I barely even feel the words leaving my mouth.

"Uh… okay..."

I reach for the doorknob, only to notice the door is locked.

"Fuck!" I mutter.

I lean back against the wall, crossing my arms firmly against my chest. I feel the adrenaline decrease, and I am only now able to process the concern look Taylor is giving me – but she doesn't say anything, which I am grateful for.

My body shivers, and I rub my hands against my arms to pass it off as the corridor being too cold – even though my cashmere sweater is definitely warm enough. I shift my weight from one leg to the other, forcing my body to remain somewhat motionless as to not worry my friend any more.

And finally, I see a woman walk to the doors, inserting her keys in it to spread it open. I am first to walk into the room. I hear a "Hello, students" that I carefully nod to, before grabbing a chair to sit down at my usual place, Taylor by my side.

I squint at the teacher for a moment. Chestnut hair, brown eyes, she looks rather young – twenty-six according to my research. She fumbles through a stack of paper, muttering something to herself in the mean time.

Now, Caulfield. Now is the moment you are supposed to stumble in like the nerd you always are. Leave the dorms before I burn it down.

My feelings keep stretching my heart apart, torn between the 'want' and the 'shouldn't'. Between 'I want to see her' and 'what if I actually do see her'. How would I even react? After spending hours waiting to see her, what would happen if she does step in?

But then she does.

She does.

With her washed-out sweater, washed-out jeans, washed-out scarf. With her messy hair, her little nose, and her freckles. She actually came. She is here, in this room, and the sight of her lightens my entire body, almost makes me believe I am floating in alleviation. But then I see the way she carefully steps to her seat, the way her eyes remain stuck on the floor, the way she actively avoids my gaze.

I gulp, uneasy. I should have known – in truth, I had expected as much.

"Alright, class." The teacher speaks up. "I am Stacy Schauer, I have been a photographer for the past six years and as you know, I will now assure your lessons in the stead of your previous teacher."

A few mutters arise in the classroom, which I block out.

The teacher goes on with the course – she proceeds to explain the world of photography, which universities to apply to once we graduate from Blackwell, how important it is to socialize in the art world… She addresses more information that I already know of, and, eventually, I block the sound of her voice as well.

I glance to the side, and I see Max, at the corner of my eye. She seems distracted – as always. But there is something more to her inattention… I squint at her, as I try to take in her facial expression, the way she sighs, or how her shoulders have slumped… Then I notice the bags under her eyes, the emptiness in those, the absence of color on her cheek. I realize how petite she is, how fragile she looks. As if a ball of paper could shatter her apart, as if she had no longer the strength to pick up the pieces.

She looks… almost lifeless.

And I cringe at the realization. I have been so unfair to her, in a moment of weakness, when I could have helped instead, I could have changed it all – could have saved her from the embarrassment, shielded her from the mockeries, alleviated the burden she carries alone. I could have. Now, the damage is done, and I have to dig deep within myself to find the strength to prevent myself from holding her. If she can't pick up the pieces, then I would.

If I could.

And I can't.

Too risky. Too dangerous. Too much at stake – my reputation, my friends, her friends, my self-control. My feelings.

She lifts her head up, her eyes locking with mine. And the world stops as I grow aware of each nanosecond passing when my heart drops, low, low enough that my breath runs short, that my stomach churns, that my knees shiver and the floor swallows my feet.

I can see the exact second her empty eyes are filled with questions, incomprehension swirling in her blue pupils, and I am forced to look away. I can't stand her gaze. I can't stand her presence at all, as much as I want it, exactly because I want it. Too much at stake.

I pretend not to feel her stare and I pretend she cannot feel mine. And during the rest of the course, I pretend our eyes only met on accident, only a few dozen times.

The lesson eventually draws to an end, as the teacher slams her binder carelessly against her desk.

"Okay, there are only about five minutes left, and before you go, I'd like to give you an assignment."

A few sighs and groans, but my ears perk up.

"It seems to me that the last subject you have studied was chiaroscuro. I would like all of you to take one picture following this technique. I have taken a look into your previous assignments, but I would like to get acquainted with your work myself."

She claps her hand excitedly, offering a smile that seemed way to quivery to be sincere.

Chiaroscuro. I have always enjoyed toying with lights and shadows, using the contrast to emphasize on the subject exactly the way I want. Although this assignment should not be too difficult, I am not acquainted with this teacher. I should not rest until I can guarantee that A+.

"I will give you two weeks, and will not accept any delay."

I shift my gaze to my rival, my nemesis, the one person I know who could surpass my work without even trying. I expect her to look as distant as always, to release a sigh as she tries to shrink away from the extra work.

But she actually looks… really pale. Completely out-of-it. Something is obviously wrong. Could it be the assignment? She has never cared much about these, but she really looks bothered.

Her face turns to Kate Marsh, and they exchange a smile. Why? That is when I look underneath their table. Marsh's hand rests above Max's, both on her knee. Of course. I knew she would turn to the religious freak. They are friends, after all.

I feel sick, as parasitic thoughts invade my brain and I am defenseless. She is receiving support, a support she probably would not want from me again, but one I long to provide nonetheless.

So I ask Taylor not to wait for me, as I run to where the last incident took place – to the cafeteria.

I order, before I rush off. I almost fall on my way, but I smile as I manage to maintain my balance. I accelerate the pacing of my steps, panting heavily, each breath I take freezing my lungs. My legs hurt as I climb the stairs, but I finally reach the door facing my room. I press a hand to it, hesitantly. But there is no time to hesitate. I have made my decision, and time is against me. Everything is against me. All that is at stake repeats in my head like a broken record, reminding me of the risks I have resolved myself to take.

The risk I am willing to take, for her sake.

I step inside her room, in a haste. And I depart shortly after, my hands empty, and leaving the sweet aroma of hot chocolate behind.

A/N: There will be a few original characters here and there (mostly teachers, but also a few students of the Vortex Club). They won't become important, don't worry, they're mostly here to fill the space and hopefully a more realistic feeling to the story.

Note that I don't know much about the American school system or the subjects studied at Blackwell so I'm mostly imagining here. Sorry.

(AlsoVictoriaiscrushingreallyhardjustsayin')