It took less than 24 hours for the phone calls to start. The voicemails left sounded very formal, as though the journalist was reading from a script. Just as Mr. Jefferson advised, Max ignored the calls. But her phone buzzed at any hour of the day. The more she ignored them, the more frequent the calls became. And it appeared the Beacon wasn't the only newspaper interested. A couple of nearby towns had read the story and wanted their own interview.

Since nearly confessing her feelings, Max hadn't a moment alone with Mr. Jefferson. Not that she had sought it out. She figured that if there was something important, he would email her about it. Or pull her aside. Frankly speaking, though, she wasn't ready for the latter. His stony tone was still clear in her mind. She just needed to get over her schoolgirl crush.

"You alright there, Max?"

Blinking a few times, Max turned to see Dana looking at her with some concern. She had spaced out in the middle of the hall, in front of a "Go Otters!" poster. Classes were done for the day, and Max's brain was pretty much fried from everything she was trying to deal with. She must have looked so dazed for someone like Dana to notice her. Dana, although the nicest person in the Vortex Club, had a tendency to seem trapped in her own thoughts.

"Hey, Dana, yeah. I just was looking at this poster," Max explained.

"More like studying it for an upcoming exam," Dana teased her. She looked at the poster as well before tilting her head slightly. "Otters are cute, but the Bigfoots are so much more fun to cheer for. You going to come to the game this weekend?"

"Probably not. I'm not much of a sports fan. And I don't have a lot of school spirit," Max confessed with a frown. She felt like she should be more into it, especially since the Bigfoots were doing particularly well this year.

Dana hummed. "You should reconsider. It might do you some good to feel like a student again." Startled by the statement, Max looked over to find Dana already walking off. She waved. "See you around, Max!"

Max was starting to wonder what "normal students" felt like at Blackwell. What did they worry about if it wasn't reporters? What did they do outside of homework? Was concentrating in classes easier? Were their relationships a hindrance or a blessing? Were they frustrated about not having the spotlight?

I would gladly give it to them.

After all, Max never wanted this spotlight. She had tried to avoid it until Principal Wells and Victoria Chase decided to ruin any chance of people forgetting. Why couldn't they have just left well enough alone? Max's phone buzzed. Dread pooling in her belly, she braced herself for yet another call from an unknown number. Instead, though, she found a text from Warren.

Yoooooo, there's a drive-in movie theatre opening a town over.
When I get my car, u wanna go?

*theater
(accidentally British)

Max giggled at the texts. At least Warren made her feel like she was just a normal student. He hadn't said a thing about the newspaper article since it was released. Although whether or not that was because he knew about it was a different story. Max knew that "dinner and a movie" was a stereotypical first date, but Warren was so nice to ask her… and he didn't even have his car yet. And if they just went as friends, there would be no harm in it.

Sounds like it could be fun. :)

"Max!"

Startled, Max looked up to find a breathless Kate standing in front of her. The usually pristine girl had disheveled hair and wide eyes. "What's wrong?"

"There's a - reporter outside. She says she - works for the - Beacon," Kate informed her between breaths. Her hands were on her knees as she gulped in air. "She's been - asking around - about you."

Max felt her blood race. It seemed they were no longer content to just wait for a response. And there was no doubt in her mind that Victoria would lead her right to Max's dorm room if given the chance. She couldn't go to Principal Wells. After all, he was the reason the reporter was here. And she didn't feel right asking Mr. Jefferson for help. Not after their last incident. Besides, he had enough to worry about. For a moment, she was at a complete loss. And she felt more alone than ever before.

"You'll have to take the back door," Kate said. Max knew the door she was talking about. It as the same one Mr. Jefferson had used to get away from Victoria. "Brooke's stalling her right now, and Warren's on his way to help. You can hide in my room if you need."

"I don't want to be trapped in your room the rest of the night if she decided to camp the place," Max confessed, worrying her lower lip.

Kate's phone buzzed, and she quickly looked at it. "Oh, hold on, it's Mr. Jefferson. I need to take this."

"He's calling you?" Max asked incredulously. She had no idea Mr. Jefferson was on phoning terms with Kate.

"I'm his class assistant. He usually just texts if he needs something. But I told him about the reporter. Hold on," Kate murmured before answering the call. "Hello? Yes. Yes, I found her. She's right next to me. O-oh. Okay. Hold on." She held out her phone. "He wants to talk to you."

Max hesitated before gingerly picking the phone up. Cradling it to her ear, she said in a quiet voice, "Hello?"

"Max, Kate's told me about the reporter. I'm on my way back to school now. My office is still unlocked, so go in there and lock it, and hang out there until I come. Cool?" Mr. Jefferson ordered. His tone told her that he wasn't to be trifled with right now. She could hear the rev of his engine even through the phone.

Max nodded before realizing he couldn't see her. "Yes. I'll go now."

"Good. And remember, just stay there until I come. She might come by if she thinks I'm there, but she won't be able to get in," Mr. Jefferson reiterated.

"Okay." With that, Max handed Kate back her phone.

Kate pressed it back to her ear. "Mr. Jefferson? It's Kate again."

Max didn't linger. With every step she took, she started moving faster. A sense of urgency was sinking in. She felt vulnerable in the empty hallway. If the reporter walked in, she would be able to spot Max from a mile away. That thought left her stomach in loops. If she was caught, what would she say? Did the stereotypical "no comment" work? But then how would that reporter portray her to their readers? Before Max realized it, she was jogging. Her hand landed on his doorknob, and the door gave way. Closing it, Max locked the door.

The last time you were here, it didn't exactly end well.

She looked around Mr. Jefferson's office once more, taking in the huge room without the added pressure of someone bursting in. She examined the rows of photography and art books that adorned his shelves. He had them all carefully alphabetized, which was a feat in and of itself. Slowly, her fingers thumped across each individual spine, rounding their curves with ease.

I wonder how long it took him to organize it this way.

Opening the cabinets, Max found red binders with names written on the sides. She grabbed one, out of curiosity, and opened it. Inside were pictures of different scenes, most featuring some type of animal. Max's favorite was the fox with its pups in the woods. When she got to the end, she noticed an essay that explained the idea behind the project. It was the final portfolio for a student who Max had never met, she then realized. Either Mr. Jefferson or the school had kept a copy.

There's going to be no more cabinet space next year at the rate they're going.

She filed it back in its spot. Turning, she noticed he had his American Academy of Art diploma hanging on the wall. It was adorned with beautiful calligraphy and the university's seal at the bottom. Next year, Max would be off to earn her own diploma. She had yet to apply to any universities, though. She worried herself over the rejections bound to come back her way.

I need to build a proper portfolio. Not just send them a bunch of selfies.

Max turned to face his desk. Noticing the calendar, she turned it around. Today's quote was: "When we seek to discover the best in others, we somehow bring out the best in ourselves. - William Arthur Ward" She smiled at the quote before placing the calendar back down, facing out as it had been. Sitting down in his chair, she felt the cushion deflate some under her weight.

So this is what it feels like to be Mr. Jefferson.

Max noticed his mouse pad was a copy of van Gogh's painting "Starry Night." She lifted the mouse to get a better look at it, and the computer screen came to life. Upon seeing the new source of light, Max looked up. Her breath stopped. The background of Mr. Jefferson's computer was the picture she had taken of him the first day of school. Staring, she examined all the details, from his wide, surprised eyes to the photography book hanging by his side, almost slipping between his fingers. The picture she took wasn't particularly visible if someone didn't know what it was to start with.

"Wowsers," Max breathed out. She still couldn't believe what she was looking at. Had he truly liked her portraiture that much? A rush of pride made her shiver. Her hope rekindled. Mr. Jefferson saw something in her talent. That much was certain.

Perhaps she should have a bit more confidence in herself. She had had an idea for her 'everyday heroes' entry. It was a picture of herself looking at her wall of pictures. The idea sparked from the concept that she was just about as average as one could get. And weren't photographers, in their own right, everyday heroes? They went to the furthest reaches of Earth, to some of the most dangerous locations, and could still inspire the world with a single photograph. They were the recorders of history, from the front-lines to the headlines.

And wasn't it also a representation of their generation? The future of the country. Adults might mock them for their interest in social media and investment of "online friends," but they were making more connections around the world than any generation before. Shouldn't that mean something? It wasn't impossible that the next generation would be more sympathetic, more understanding, more worldly, even, without ever having traveled outside of their country. And in the end, photographs connected. People want to see each other, not just read words on a page.

But then the doubt had set in. Victoria knew Max was self-conscious about her selfies. She constantly mocked Max about them because of that. But now, looking at this picture - her first photo at Blackwell inside of her first assignment at Blackwell - she felt as though maybe, just maybe, she could take on the world with her vision.

Max knew that there was probably a file on her somewhere in the office. Her heart raced as she considered sneaking a peak. Wouldn't his true thoughts about her photography skills be there? She checked his desktop but there wasn't exactly a "STUDENT FILES" folder available. Quickly, she began to browse through his documents. He was just as meticulous in organizing his documents as he was his books. In no time at all, Max found exactly what she was looking for.

Max knew she could get suspended for this. Opening the folder, she found her file in it. She clicked it, and her academic profile came up. Scrolling down, she found the notes left at the bottom: "Promising vision but almost crippling lack of confidence. Is shy and does not like to participate in class and becomes more flustered when called upon. But has a pure element to her photographs unlike any of her classmates. She has a gift for the so-called "selfie" but her vision needs to be expanded upon into other categories. Would write a recommendation when she applies to photography school." Rereading the small note, Max couldn't help but smile.

He thinks you have a "gift."

Suddenly, the doorknob began to jiggle. Her heart raced. She quickly closed everything before turning off the computer monitor. Leaping to her feet, she rushed to the shelves and grabbed the first book she saw. She looked over just as the door opened. It opened to reveal Mr. Jefferson standing on the other side, looking rather exasperated. For a moment, they just stared at each other.

"Don't let her scare you, Max. She's gone," Mr. Jefferson said.

Max couldn't tell him why she had actually been so startled. Meekly, she nodded her head. "Thanks for coming back, Mr. Jefferson."

"I wasn't that far out when I got the call from Kate. You have some good friends here, Max," Mr. Jefferson informed her.

"Kate's a real sweet person," Max concurred.

"Not just Kate, though. Your boyfriend and Miss Scott kept her distracted while you hid," Mr. Jefferson offered. He took a step towards her. "I made it clear to the reporter that any further contact will be treated as the harassment it is."

Does he mean Warren?

"My boyfriend?" Max breathed out slowly before remembering to close the book she was holding. Putting it back where she got it from, she shifted uncomfortably.

"I'm afraid I don't know his name. He isn't in one of my classes," Mr. Jefferson offered. "But the boy who follows you around and dotes upon you."

Max didn't hang out with any other guys. "His name is Warren. And he's not my boyfriend."

Mr. Jefferson's eyes widened for but a moment. It was so quick that Max thought that she had just seen the glint from his glasses. "Are you certain he knows he's not your boyfriend?"

"What do you mean by that?" With that, Max clutched at her bag as though it was an anchor.

"I simply mean that I know the look of a man who is in love," Mr. Jefferson replied before taking another step towards her. "I've seen that look many times in my life. Sometimes even when looking at my own reflection. If you aren't dating, it isn't because his feelings are lacking."

Sighing, Max averted her eyes. "I know. I know how he feels about me, but I'm just… I'm not interested in him as anything more than just a friend."

"You should tell him that, Max," Mr. Jefferson advised, his tone softening. "His interest in you won't wane otherwise."

"I just don't want to hurt him," Max confessed, her voice sounding quiet even to herself. As if her volume would bring about more disaster.

Mr. Jefferson hummed thoughtfully, rubbing his beard. "I know you don't, but he's going to be more hurt if you wait."

"I suppose you're right," Max mumbled, willing for Mr. Jefferson to let it go.

Well, this managed to be an even more awkward conversation than the last one. I didn't think that was possible.

Mr. Jefferson stepped closer to her, his eyes unwavering. "What are your plans this weekend, Max?"

"Nothing so far," Max replied. "Why?"

"My lawyer's dropping by Saturday afternoon to talk in more detail about the case. He wants to meet you as well, and there'll be some paperwork for you to sign so he can represent you," Mr. Jefferson explained before rubbing the back of his neck. "If you would like, you can come over for dinner Saturday night. We'll be having pasta and wine. But, I suppose if you're coming, I will buy something for you to drink. Whatever you like."

"I'm good with just water," Max replied, not wanting to be a burden. "Or maybe some tea?"

Mr. Jefferson bobbed his head once, an almost-nod in response. "I can either pick you up at the dorm at 4:30 or you can take a bus. It stops probably about a ten minute walk from my house, although the route takes about 30 minutes. Whatever you're more comfortable with. We will eat at 5:30."

"Why are you picking me up an hour before then?" Max inquired.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "Because I have to cook, and I want to make sure to have plenty of time before he arrives. He'll be driving about three hours to see me, and he'll be heading back the same night. If I don't give him something worth driving for, he'll never let me hear the end of it."

"If it's going to cause you trouble-" Max started to say.

"If it was going to cause me trouble, I wouldn't have offered," Mr. Jefferson cut in. He held her gaze, unwavering. "But if you make me drive, I'm going to expect an extra set of hands in the kitchen."

Cooking with Mr. Jefferson. Am I fucking dreaming?

Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Max tried to find her voice. Anxiety kept it within its clutches.

Come on, Max, are you cereal? You're never going to get a chance like this ever again!

"It'd probably be better for you to pick me up. I'm worried I might get lost," Max said, her voice barely constituting proper speech.

Mr. Jefferson took a step to the side. Now, her pathway to the door was entirely clear. "4:30 o'clock then, Max. Sharp. Meet me in the staff parking lot."

"Aren't you worried someone will notice and get the wrong idea?" Max asked.

Mr. Jefferson replied, "The only person who will be around who cares is David Madsen. But he's been made aware of your situation, and he's going to make sure that no reporter loiters about the school grounds again."

"Okay. If you're certain."

"I am, Max. For once, let me worry about this, and you just relax," Mr. Jefferson stated.

Max bit back a scoff. "Mr. Jefferson, with all respect, but you've handled everything ever since the accident."

"Good. Then this will just be one more thing to the list," Mr. Jefferson said, his grin broadening. "But I mean it, Max. You should be worrying about your 'Everyday Heroes' submission, not about borderline stalkers."

Giggling, Max replied, "I just want to go back to being a Blackwell student."

"We're beyond that. But small steps help," Mr. Jefferson answered matter-of-factly. He wasn't telling Max anything she didn't already know.

"I'll keep that in mind. See you around, Mr. Jefferson," Max said, giving him a small wave before scuttling out of the room.

How she wished it was Saturday already.