Max barely makes it to her locker before Warren shows up, twirling his Dante book between his fingers. "You ask, I deliver," he greets and holds it out to her.

"Thanks," she replies as she flips through the pages. "Hey, you saved the notes." The text is practically covered in penciled-in words.

"Yeah, well, you said they'd help you." He squirms from his place beside her locker. "I've got to get to class. Catch you later?"

"Yeah, sure." She glances down at his scattering of notes. He's labeled each cycle of hell in green ink, except for the seventh, violence, which is in red. Creatures?is written beside it, like an afterthought, underneath a mess of underlined text. What makes you tick?The question looks so out of place that she wonders if it's a reference to something else. She leafs through the rest of the book idly.

She almost misses the section on lust because while he hadn't erased his notes, he'd heavily scribbled over most of them in black ink so that even the title is barely visible.

Strange, she thinks, flipping the book closed and placing it in her locker. She could ask him about it later, but something tells her he wouldn't tell her if she did.


"I'm sorry." Max hangs from the top of the monkey bars, her knees hooked over the metal bar as she swings lazily.

Nathan looks up from his spot below her. He frowns. "For what?"

"For what I said on the phone the other day. I didn't mean for you to take it seriously."

He rolls his eyes. "If I took offense to everything you said, I'd be dead from a stroke or something."

"You seemed pretty offended when you hung up."

"So, you tell wise ole Doc about your dreams?" Nathan asks, ignoring her comment.

"Hmm?" Her algebra book is upside down on the ground below her and she peers down at it, willing Warren's earlier explanations to work some sense into it.

"I mean you're not just spilling your guts to me, right?" He toes at the book beside him. "You're getting nerd germs all over me."

She picks up her notebook and writes over a mistake Warren had circled. "You could do with more nerd germs," she replies. "I'm talking with her. It's just hard. She's not as easy to talk to as you."

His smile fades slightly. "I can't fix it, you know."

"It's not like I expect you to slap a band-aid on my head and tell me it'll be okay."

Nathan presses a thumb to her forehead and traces an imaginary line there. "Boom. Better?"

She flinches at the sudden touch and lets out a shaky laugh. "Not even remotely."

"Better get your shit fixed the right way then."

"Gee, thanks, Doctor Prescott. I'll take that into consideration."

He smirks up at her, the beginning of a crude comeback, so she smacks him with her book.

"What the fuck?" he says, batting the book away.

She laughs and pulls the book back up, reading over the rest of her equations. She peers over at him from the top of the page.

Nathan looks away, studying something in the tree near them, and she can see the gears working, probably deciding if it's worth digging his camera bag out of the truck.

She wonders how many times he's fallen back on his medication, how many sessions he had before he could talk to Dr. White, how many fall outs he had. She wonders how often he'd wanted to go back to whatever world he created in his head, what had made him decide it wasn't real to begin with.

She doesn't know what it's like inside Nathan's head, but she's sure it's not the same as hers.

Somewhere out there, there's a version of Chloe, alive and across the country, maybe; she existed once. Max has the polaroids to prove it.

When Nathan is staring back at her, Max realizes he's asked her a question. And repeatedly, by the raising timber of his voice.

"What?" she prompts, letting the book drop again.

He shakes his head. "You're checking out on me again."

"No, I'm not," she answers too quickly.

He sighs and flops back onto the ground. "What's up then?"

Max hesitates, because she knows if she says nothing,he'll only dig further. And she's so tired. She's tired of sending letters that don't come back, that don't come with responses. She's tired of wondering what version of Chloe is out there, who couldn't care less what version of Max she was, to rearrange the blocks of their friendship to make sense again.

There's a house somewhere that could be Chloe's, but probably isn't. She doesn't want to think of it overgrown with weeds or with some unknown tricycle parked out front, as if Chloe had never been there.

She's tired of thinking what if it's even worse than the last alternate timeline?Her nails bite into her palm as she remembers the whooshof breath before Chloe's chest fell silent.

She's tired of climbing through windows in her mind, of the dreams that swirl and change before she can grasp onto them. Her fingers ache to rewind every time she makes a mistake. Her parents tip-toe around her, afraid to toss their usual jokes in case she doesn't laugh or groan or blink. Warren's texts are only fueled with are you okayinstead of walls of words where he's put his foot in his mouth.

And she's tired of the boy in front of her that seems worlds away and yet there inside her mind, pulling her thread by thread until she unravels.

It's far easier to go back then to go forward, she thinks.

But that nagging question of what if seems to growing stronger and stronger each day. It's too easy to believe she's been thrown into this timeline for a reason. Whether her past was constructed or simply left behind, there has to be a reason she's here, with Chloe's whereabouts unknown.

Nathan sits up, his head brushing against her fingers, and she resists the urge to yank them away.

"I want to find her," Max says quietly.

"Who?"

"Chloe."

Nathan pauses, as if he's trying to recall the name, and shakes his head slowly. Then he stops, his frown deepening. "Dream girl," he says. There's a far-off look to his eyes.

"My best friend," Max corrects.

"I thought you made her up. Like another hallucination."

This time, she shakes her head. "She was real." She pulls a polaroid from her bag, one she had rescued from the box in storage. She has poured over it a hundred times by now—two girls clad in pirate gear, grinning obliviously into the camera. The photo's already aged just in the weeks she'd been carrying it around, dog-eared at the top corners.

Nathan peers down at the photo then back at Max, his eyes flicking across her features as if he's trying to see what has changed.

"Tell me about her," he demands and so she does.

She feels Chloe slipping away already. She flips through the old polaroids on a daily basis, but the gaps between then now have bridged so much that even the clearest memory is fuzzy. She can feel Chloe's arms around her as the tornado next to them rages, but she can't remember the expression on her face, what shirt she was wearing, what day was the storm?

"She was Chloe," Max says, as if the name holds every detail about her. "You know, sarcastic and spontaneous and willing to break the rules if she needed to. She was...everything I wasn't. She was amazing."

Nathan doesn't prod. He just nods, listening as she talks about their lazy afternoons and breakfasts together, the time they'd snuck into the pool.

She doesn't mention the Dark Room, Rachel's murder, or how many times she'd saved Chloe. There's barely enough space between the words as she tries to squeeze them out.

He listens until she loses breath, then shakes his head slowly. "But you were a kid in this photo. You make it sound like you guys hung out yesterday."

"It was…in the other timeline."

"The other," Nathan repeats, as if there's some other timeline that Max doesn't even know about. "So, still pretty much dream girl."

"She was real," Max insists.

"Tell me about the one before then. The one in the photo."

And that Chloe feels different. Max flips through the polaroids she's tried to burn into her mind. Pre-teen mischief with scabbed knees and hide-and-seek in the dark. Chocolate chip cookies and pirate games that ran on for days and when they got bored with that, it was some other game to chase after.

"She was happier, more easy-going," she replies, her sense of nostalgia falling flat. She was more, then. Max remembers William's laugh, deep and rich and somehow Chloe.

She doesn't know how to tell Nathan this.

"That's the one you need to hang on to," he says after she's fallen silent. "Everything else doesn't matter."

"It does, too," she argues. She clings to her memory of them in the pool, Chloe's voice echoing against the darkened walls.

"Max." The way he says it makes it feel as if he's scolding her.

"Yeah, I know," she replies. "You've been telling me since the hospital. 'It's not real. It's all in your head.' But, say that for one second, this isn't a ridiculous idea. Do you think we could find her?"

He sighs again, his breath ragged. "She could be anywhere, Max. She could be anyone. You're chasing ghosts."

"Did you?" she asks. She knows the question will dig under his skin. She hopes it will.

He grunts in response. "Hasn't everyone?"

"So what made you stop?"

He looks up at her with guarded eyes. "It gets harder," he says. He hesitates before continuing, picking at a blade of grass. "To stay in that place. Sometimes it turns into something else."

"Like what?" Max asks, frowning.

"Something not as pleasant." He barks out a short laugh.

"I don't understand—"

Nathan grunts again, rising to his feet. "So, what are you gonna do? Drive across the country, knocking on every door? Come on, Max. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid," she retorts. She reaches for the bars and pulls herself upright before dropping to the ground. "What if you had a chance to befriend Victoria again? Would you do it? Even if it was a little crazy?"

"Victoria can go—" He cuts himself off, his face falling slack. He rakes a hand through his hair. "Yeah, okay, sometimes I wish things had gone differently. And if I could go back and fix them, I would. But it's changed too much now, Max. And it'll be the same with…" He waves vaguely next to him, as if an imaginary Chloe is standing beside him. "If for some fucked up reason you even find her. It's a fucking waste of time."

"I want to try," Max says.

He rakes his hand through his hair again, then once more, fingers digging into his scalp and sending his hair tumbling into his face. "I can't," he says.

"You don't—"

"I can't, Max," he repeats. He takes off towards the truck, long uneven strides that Max has to struggle to keep up with. "Do you know how much…" He scratches at his arms then yanks his jacket off. He tosses it into the cab and scratches at his arms again.

"It's not real," he insists. "You think you lost your magical powers?" His voice rises several decibels louder. "What the fuck put you up on that roof then, crazy bitch? You weren't on meds then. This trip is just gonna fuck your head up even more. How are you gonna get your powers back when you can't even tell which way the ground is?"

Max feels the air rush out of her. Her fingers are numb as they cling to the door handle. "You don't have to say it like that," she says flatly.

"It's the truth," he replies. He swings his arms, one hand smacking the other before swinging them in the opposite direction.

Her gaze holds his as she tries to dig beneath it. How often did you ask that question yourself, Nathan?she thinks.

"I don't know," she admits. She can remember standing on the roof, but not physically standing, as if she's recalling a movie that she hasn't seen for years. A memory removed from herself. The distant sound of rain, a voice calling out, dreams that make less sense the more she tries to analyze them.

Nathan can't pick those apart for her.

She looks away from him. "I just don't want to stand still anymore."

She can feel the air changing, a spark crisp in the air before a storm. There's no sudden snow flurry or unplanned solar eclipse to warn her. There's no foreboding tornado. Chloe could be buried somewhere years ago, already righting the scales Max had tipped. The timelines could collapse in her mind. She's not so sure they haven't. She feels it all ticking like a clock and she doesn't know what will happen when the hour is up, if she will burst or crumble.

"This isn't your battle, you know," she says.

Nathan doesn't reply. The war in his eyes seems to be answer enough. She feels like it mirrors her own and he's already gone through it once. If she's ticking forward, he's ticking backwards, into his own past.

"This isn't something you can fight and win for me," she continues.

Nathan gapes at her and kicks the tire at his feet. "I'm not gonna sit here and watch you fall apart."

She watches as he sways in front of her, eyes screwed shut, knuckles white as he grips the hood of the truck. He's a series of waves forever edging closer to the same point. He has probably been nearing it for years.

How long has she been here now? Weeks? Months? In the busyness of her mind, she can't remember. But if she's headed down the same path, she will crest a lot sooner than Nathan. And she will probably drag him right behind her.

She looks up at the open sky above them. "You don't have to. I'm not Rachel. I'm not Kate. I'm not the Max that was on that rooftop. I'm not you."

She knows it hits home when she hears him grunt, as if the air has been punched out of him. She bites at her lip, but she doesn't take it back. He'd told her that she didn't need his pity, but the way he's looking at her now makes her want to shove him away.

"Fuck." He paces in a circle that grows tighter and tighter until he's practically spinning in place. "I can't do this."

"Then don't. I'll be fine on my own."

Nathan looks up, sputtering a laugh. "You think I'm doing this so you won't be alone?" He throws his hands up. "Maybe I just didn't want…you know what, forget it. See if I ever help you anymore."

"Then why? Why bother in the first place?" she asks, rounding the corner. The last of her calm breaks. Everything is punctuated in red. "I didn't ask you to. I don't need you to."

His eyes widen. "No, you don't need anyone, right? That's why you were doing such a fan-fucking-tastic job of holding your sanity together, right?"

"Shut up. You have no right." She curls her hands into fists. "Who was there when you lost it, huh? Did you have someone mock you? Call you crazy bitch and dumbass? Maybe you just feel like you owe me because of the damn party. Maybe you thought if you helped me, you wouldn't feel so guilty. Well, fuck you, Nathan. Fuck you." She slams a hand on the windshield, on his side mirror, and wavers before trying to shove him aside.

He sways again beside her but doesn't step back. He grabs her hand instead, stilling it. She can feel his heartbeat stuttering beneath her palm before he pushes it away. "Don't you fucking touch me. You're fucking delusional, Caulfield. And not just because you can't accept your little friend isn't real. But you don't want to accept it's not real. You don't want anyone to help you. You just want to wallow in your misery until you finally snap and go back to your little world. So, no. I'm done."

He walks past her, kicking leaves in her direction as he reaches for the door.

Max has never been the aggressive one. She was always the mediator, the counselor, the one who distracts everyone with movies and snacks and cringe-worthy jokes in a moment of desperation.

But not here.

Everything is cranked at maximum volume now—static, blood, her own voice all crowding her head. She just wants everything to fall in place, to fall silent, to fall into familiarity.

Hallucinations. Visualizations. Paranoia. A few bouts of...aggression.Dr. Adams' words from the hospital float back to her.

I'm not that Max, she reminds herself. None of this is me.

It doesn't make anything in her head fall quieter.

Her hands feel electric at her side. "She's real. And I'm going to prove it. I'll fucking drive to Oregon and find her. I'll raid every corner of Arcadia Bay. I'll drive into the damn water if I think she's there." She grabs fistfuls of leaves and throws them at the windshield.

Nathan stares at her for a moment before wrenching open the door and getting inside. "Get in the truck."

"What?" she chokes out.

"The sun's about to set. I'm not leaving your ass out here at night. You'll scare the muggers into shooting you."

She pauses, glancing at the reddening sky and the few people who have stopped to gawk at them. "Good. I dare them to," she mutters as she gets into the truck.

Nathan rolls his eyes and starts the truck. "Get it in your head, Max. She's not that person anymore. People grow up. They change," he says after they pull onto the road.

"Not everyone," she says.

"Yeah, well, good fucking lucking, then. Just don't expect me to salvage the wreckage."

The only sound between them is the slam of her door when they reach her house. She doesn't even look behind her as he peels away.

You don't need him, she tells herself. It doesn't make the silence any more comforting.


"Max, are you up?"

Max cracks open one eye. Her entire face feels as if it's been rubbed with sandpaper. She groans softly and fumbles for her phone, trying to shut off her alarm, but it's already silent. She sits up with a frown, the time that glaring up at her a whole hour later than usual.

Fragments from the previous night slip in and out of focus. Doing homework at the park. Talking about Chloe. The fight with Nathan. She can still feel the faint trace of anger through her blood, warm and hazy.

Did you really think he could believe you?

She groans and pulls her pillow over her head.

"You're going to be late to school," her mother chides from the hallway.

"Shit," Max mumbles, as she reaches for the pants she'd shucked off at the foot of her bed. There's barely time to run a comb through her hair and grab a muffin before chasing after her mom.

"I can't be late today. I've got a meeting at the bank," Vanessa says, an apology at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah, it's okay." Max slides in beside her, but her fingers can't seem to snap the seat belt into place.

"Rough night?" Her mother's eyebrow is cocked in half-amusement, half-concern, and Max knows she won't push the sarcasm. Not like she used to.

"Couldn't sleep," Max mumbles. She'd spent too many hours tossing and turning, angry at Nathan, angry at herself. Trying to formulate a plan for finding Chloe. All she has is one address and an endless list of google searches that lead to nothing.

Did you really think you could find her?

She sighs when the seat belt finally clicks.

"Want to take half the day off? Maybe get some ice cream, watch a movie, take a nap?" Vanessa's lips twitch into a more hesitant smile.

"I'm still behind on homework," Max says, but her eyes have already slipped closed at the mention of a nap.

"Sometimes," Vanessa says, pausing on the word, "it's good to take mental health days, too. Even just for a couple of hours. You can still catch up on homework."

"You've been talking to Doctor White, haven't you?" Max asks, her eyes still closed.

"It's been a while since we've stayed home and put on a movie. I kind of miss the days where you'd ask to watch Fern Gully on repeat."

Max rubs at her face and forces a smile. "I'll let you know," she says and lets the rumble of the car lull her into a daze.


It almost feels as if she's stepped into the original timeline, Max thinks, as Nathan strolls past her in the hallway. She tries not to sneak glances at him in class, burying her head in her textbook. It doesn't matter though because her gaze trails over to him regardless. He stares stoically ahead as he sits aisles away from her, his eyes fixated on some point on the wall or whiteboard. His hand lays limp on his desk, not even bothering to take notes, even though his notebook sits open in front of him. He doesn't even acknowledge her.

You did this, she tells herself, doodling at the side of her own notebook. You didn't want his guilt, so you pushed him away.

He was an ass anyway, she reasons. Her pen scratches the desk through the hole she's worked through the paper. You're better off without him.

Now you're no one again. She doesn't know where this voice comes from but she pushes it away. It's ridiculous. She has Kate. She has Warren. Maybe not as who they once were, but she's not completely alone.

She'll have Chloe.

Who are you fooling, Max? Look at the mess you made. How long till you push everyone away again?

Just let it go.

But she's never been good at letting things go.

She catches Nathan after class, grabbing hold of his jacket to stop him.

He pauses, tilting back into her grasp before turning. "I can't," he says, tugging her fingers free. "Just fuck off." Then he marches past her once again.

She stares at his back as he rounds the corner, out of sight. The bomb has finally set off and she's staring at the aftermath, the shrapnel that won't fit back together. She had been waiting for it, but now that it's happened, she can't do anything but shuffle her bag to her other side and walk to class, as if nothing has happened.

I have to find Chloe.

It's the only thing that keeps her mind silent.


"Okay, so then x equals…" The girl beside her pauses, scrunching up her brow. Max can't remember her name. She's sat next to her three times now, has heard it passed from conversation to conversation, but it doesn't stick in her head. It's not someone she'd known before, so her brain seems to have tossed it aside. "I think I just moved on to the next equation."

"No, you were right the first time," Kate says, her face nearly pressed into her notebook as she writes.

"You guys are still on problem five?" Warren asks. He pauses his own scribbling to glance over at Kate's.

"See, I was on six. I knew I had it mixed up," the girl groans. Sam—the name hits Max. Or Tara. Or maybe Lauren. "I'm trying to focus on too many things."

Kate offers a sympathetic smile and fishes her water bottle from her backpack. "Just take it slow," she advises. "What about you, Max?" She frowns when she glances over at Max's paper, which is blank aside from the date and her name scrawled upon the top.

"Sorry, I'm having problems focusing, too." She writes down the number for the first equation and pauses again, the numbers swimming before her. Her brain is completely exhausted but she feels slightly on edge, her muscles tense and tingling.

I didn't take my meds, she realizes as her pencil slips from her hand.

Warren bends down to grab it, pausing again as he examines her expression. "Rough night?"

"That's exactly what my mom asked me earlier," Max groans. She lays her head against the table, just so she can't see his eyes trying to work through her. "Do you guys think I run marathons all night or something?"

"As long as you get some sleep," Warren says with a slight smile.

"Easier said than done," Max grumbles.

The library door slams open behind her, causing her to jerk her head upwards.

Nathan barrels through, pausing when he catches sight of Max. He scowls and marches past her to the front desk.

"What was that about?" Warren asks.

"Nothing," Max answers, laying her head back on the table. It meets with a slight thump and she can feel Warren's knee bump against hers in surprise.

He frowns and shifts his chair so that it blocks her view of Nathan.

She can still hear Nathan arguing with the librarian, though, his voice raising as she tries to cut through his words with a repetitive shhshhshh.

"You can nap here if you want," Warren tells her. "I won't say anything."

"Don't tell me you're going to do her homework," says the girl whose name Max can't remember.

"Please. Have I ever stooped to that level?" Warren snorts.

Kate scoffs. "What about that time—"

"Quiet, you. I meant recently. I refuse to be anyone's academic servant." He shoots Kate a warning glance. "Besides, I'm tutoring Max after school today anyway. We can catch up on it then."

"Right," Max mumbles into her algebra book. Her eyes have fallen shut again.

Warren chuckles but it sounds more like a cough.

"I think I might just go home," Max continues. "My head is—" She winces when she hears Nathan slam something onto the front desk. Her legs feel tied around her chair legs and she can't seem to scoot her chair back.

Warren's frown deepens as he pushes her chair back with her foot.

"Thanks," Max says, gathering her things.

"Let me walk you to the nurse," he says and slings her bag over his shoulder.

"I think I can handle it," she replies.

He quickly grabs her shoulders, redirecting her from nearly crashing into the door. They both freeze when Nathan storms past them, pausing as he reaches the door.

Warren lets his hands drop slowly.

Max feels her face glow bright red but she can't will herself to say anything. There is too much and not enough and it all sticks to the roof of her mouth.

Nathan sputters something under his breath and pushes the door open. He lets it slam closed behind him, rattling in the door frame.

"Yeah, that looks like nothing," Warren mutters but Max pushes past him. She doesn't look back to see if he follows.


"Max?"

Max blinks up to the blue screen on the TV and the afghan tangled around her legs. She doesn't remember falling asleep but it must have been during the movie. The ice cream carton behind her crinkles as she pushes herself off the sofa.

The love seat is empty across from her, the afternoon sun still blinding in the window above it. "Did my mom leave?" Her voice feels too raspy and she clears her throat.

"She's in the front yard, trimming bushes," Warren replies. He stands next to her, pulling away the afghan still wrapped around her legs.

"My books are in my room." She yawns as she gestures upstairs.

Warren nods slowly. "You sure you want to do this? I don't mind rescheduling. I mean, we've got the weekend."

"I'm just tired," Max says and forces another yawn to prove her point.

He follows her upstairs, his steps much more steady than hers. She has to lean against the railing to keep from toppling over.

"Are you okay?" Warren asks.

"Fine," Max says, scowling at her closed bedroom door. She doesn't remember shutting it before school and her hand keeps fumbling over the doorknob.

Warren reaches over her and turns the knob.

Max startles backwards, dropping her books.

"You sure about that?" He gathers the books together, but refuses to hand them over when she reaches for them. He sets them on her desk instead.

"Why wouldn't I be?" She collapses onto her bed spread-eagled and burrows underneath her pillows.

"You haven't been hanging out with Nathan lately," he points out.

"No." She drags the word out, muffled by the pillows. "I've been busy."

"Busy," Warren repeats, frowning. "Is that what you're calling it?"

She shrugs in response.

"Kate says you haven't been over to her place much either." She hears the floorboards creak as he walks over, feels the pressure on her mattress as he sits beside her.

She can't very tell him it's because she's been plotting out her trip to find Chloe. If she can hitchhike part of the way, she thinks she can swing the rest of the expenses. In the other timeline, her parents had a jar of twenties stashed away in their closet that they'd been saving for years. She can almost bet that there's a version of it here as well.

She shrugs again.

It's better to keep her mind occupied on something.

"I heard you got an A on your history test. Congrats," Warren tries instead.

Vanessa had put Max's essay on the fridge, complete with the same pineapple magnet of her younger days. Many a spelling test had been placed on the fridge with that magnet and she'd felt a strange sense of pride in remembering that.

Still, she had groaned when she saw it plastered for everyone to see.

"You hush," Vanessa had scolded. "This is just a reminder that you're back on track. A gentle push to keep you going."

Max thinks she needs more than a gentle push, but she'd smiled anyway.

She lowers a pillow to catch the concern lining Warren's face. Her own softens into a smile. "Well, I had a good tutor," she admits.

He tips an imaginary hat and gives a bow. "Anytime, madam."

She shoves him playfully and he pulls the pillows away from her.

"I think what you need is some time out. Let's celebrate," he says as he tosses the pillows onto the floor. "Go out and get dinner. Throw some confetti and blow off some steam."

It's tempting. The itch in her muscles longs for movement even if her brain feels shut down.

Shit, my meds.

She reaches for the bottle on her nightstand. She has been dreaming of Joyce's cheeseburgers since she'd left the hospital and her mouth waters at the thought alone. "Let's go to Two Whales," she suggests.

She wishes she could take back the words as soon as they slip free. Her hand falls empty to her side.

"Is that new?" Warren asks, tilting his head as if trying to recall it.

"Never mind," she mutters and slides off her bed.

Warren frowns at her sudden lapse of silence.

The birds sound too loud outside her window and she slams the open window pane down. "Can we stay in? Mom keeps the number for the pizza guy on the fridge. We could order some."

"Yeah, sure. I'll just get started on my chemistry." He digs through his bag for the right book, looking slightly disappointed.

"Yeah, you can have that." She attempts a smile.

"Don't you want to know how to turn straw into gold?" He winks and just like that, his disappointment is tucked away.

"Not if it involves studying chemical formulas. Algebra's hard enough."

"Well, you know, gold is a good friend of mine. We go out for drinks sometimes. He doesn't get along so well with silver though."

"Warren, no," she warns, leaving him to laugh behind her.

As she heads downstairs, she can hear his voice trailing behind her, "The last time we met up in a bar, silver told gold, 'AU, get outta here!'"

"Shut up," she groans, but it's not enough to hide the sad smile that lingers on her face. She's glad he can't see it.

When she returns with the pizza brochure and her phone in hand, Warren pats the spot on her bed beside him. She tosses him the box of cookies she's brought up as well.

"You are Wonder Woman," he says, ripping into the box. "How's Dante going?" He spits bits of cookies as he speaks.

"Done. Thanks for letting me borrow your book." She chews her own cookie much slower. It makes her feel slightly more awake. "I have to warn you, though, that you're horrible at taking notes. I couldn't even read the section you wrote on lust. I could barely read the original text." She fishes the book from the pile of texts on her desk and hands it to him.

"Sorry," he says, cheeks flush. "I had kinda rambled there and it wasn't really going to benefit you, so I just crossed it out."

"Now you have me wondering what you rambled about," she teases.

His cheeks flush darker. "Nothing important, I promise." He stuffs the book into his bag, knocking another one loose. The notebook flops open on the floor between them, a rainbow of scribbles.

"Whoa, what's this?" Max asks, scooping up the notebook before Warren can.

"Notes," Warren says, loud enough to cause her to jump. He tugs the book free and she catches a crudely drawn doodle of a corpse. He clears his throat. "For the game I'm making."

"So what's the secret?" She smirks. There had been times where they'd dissected game plots for hours, sometimes continuing over in texts. She could do with that distraction again. "You know I love a good horror game."

Warren's brows crinkle in thought before he leans towards her. A grin spreads across his face. "If I told you, I'd have to kill you."

Her smile falls a notch, a flash of her dream running through her mind, but she shrugs. "But then I could star in your game as a lovely but feisty zombie. So it's a win-win."

"Tempting offer, Miss Caulfield, but I'm afraid you'll have to wait till the beta. If I ever get that far.

"Do I get a premise, at least?"

He shakes his head, stuffing another cookie in his mouth. "So algebra's not going so well?" he asks instead, gesturing again to the space next to him.

"I'm trying. One thing at a time. I've got a lot of crap on my mind." She ignores his gesture and pulls up her desk chair, dropping her history book in her lap.

He raises an eyebrow, scrutinizing the space between them, but shrugs, scooting closer. "You know, I'm open to interpretive dance or hand puppets if you find that more interesting," he replies. "Though I gotta admit, I thought you were above such practices."

"I don't really see you as an interpretive dancer," she says.

"What if I juggled swords? I could teach algebra with swords."

She leans back as he leans forward in full dramatic effect, his arms in full pantomime.

"You're such a nerd," she says, laughing. "I don't think I trust you with a weapon. You're liable to poke your eye out or something."

His eyes light up at her laughter and he smiles. "How do you know? I could have some pretty awesome moves."

The smile falls quickly from her face because he's right. Shedoesn't know. "Hey, before...well, before I was in the hospital, did we talk at all?" she asks quietly.

His smile dies as well, replaced by a frown that seems to tick with his train of thought. He focuses on her history book rather than her. "Not really, no. I mean, I wanted to." He blushes and flops down onto her bed. "You weren't an easy person to get close to. You kind of just walked past everyone, like you didn't see them."

"But you saved me," she says bluntly. She hadn't meant to tell him that, but now the words hang too heavily between them.

His gaze flicks up to hers, fidgeting. "You remember that?" he whispers.

"A little."

"You were pretty out of it," he adds, then shakes his head. "I...I didn't know it was that bad. If I did, I would have reached out to you sooner."

"Would you?" she asks, twirling her pencil against her book.

"Yeah, I would have," he says, sighing. "You know, I remember the first time I saw you. First day of freshman year and we crashed into each other at lunch. I spilled jell-o all over you. You turned about the same shade of red and just took off. Maybe I should have tried to say something then."

She lets out a short laugh and shakes her head. "I don't think it would have mattered."

"I think it would have," he replies softly.

She falls silent, studying the comforter between them.

"We had a fight," she finally says, picking at a small hole in the comforter. Her pencil clatters to the floor. "Nathan and me. I just…he thinks I'm avoiding help. I feel like I'm stringing him along."

Warren frowns as he scoots closer. "Why?"

Max shakes her head slowly. "It's complicated."

"I'm good with complicated."

Max stares at him and in the howl of a tornado outside, worlds away, she can still make out his Of course I believe you.

"What if," she begins, "it isn't all in my head?"

"As opposed to…"

"Time travel?"

Warren's frown deepens. "You mean like the TARDIS whirring across time and space?"

"Not exactly. More like…rewinding time. Changing moments so that a different outcome happens."

"Breaking the first rule of time travel. You aren't playing around here, huh?" A smile creeps at his lips but when Max doesn't match it, he frowns again. He studies her for a moment before speaking, his eyes flickering across her face as if there are answers there she isn't telling him. "This…this is what happened?"

"I saw my best friend get killed. And I had to go back to save her. And when I did…well, things went pretty much to shit."

"So you kept going back?" he asks softly.

"Until I had to go back and…let everything restart."

Warren falls silent, studying her. Max has worked two of her fingers inside the comforter, pulling out some of the cotton inside.

"How many times?" he finally asks.

There's a line of Chloe's eyes staring back at her, all lifeless. "I don't want to think about it," she replies.

"Okay, so," he continues, "how did you end up here?"

"I don't know. I barely remember the funeral. I think I remember heading back to my dorm and…everything's kind of fuzzy. White. Then I woke up in the hospital."

"You think you 'rewound' again?"

Max hesitates. "I don't know. If I did, I don't know where or when I rewound to. I can't find a point where the timelines match up."

"And you still want to go back? Is that it?"

"What's the point of coming here if I can't even find Chloe? I just…I don't know what to do."

"So…let's go find her."

The cotton padding spills from her fingers and onto the floor. "What?"

"I can look up her address and we can track her down, if she's here."

"No, you can't. I already tried. They're not listed."

"You underestimate me, Maximus."

Max pauses, trying to read through his smile. "And if she's not?"

He shrugs. "Then we'll figure something out."

She stares again, the plan clicking into place inside her head. With Warren's car, she wouldn't have to hitchhike. Maybe not use as much of her parents' money, either.

"Max?" Warren prompts when she doesn't reply.

"I'll pay for gas or whatever you need. I'll pay you overtime for tutoring me. Whatever you want," she insists.

He shakes his head but his eyes light up at her last utterance. "I have funds to burn," he says softly.

"Are you sure? I mean, you don't have to do this."

He pulls his laptop from his bag and flips it open. "Operation Chloe is now in progress."

Max watches his brow furrow as he works. His fingers fly over the keys and already she feels miles closer than she'd ever been. "Arcadia Bay," she says when he pauses, "Oregon. That's where we lived."

His fingers stay still. "She's still there."

She pushes away from her chair, scrambling over him to see the screen. "Are you serious?"

"I guess we have a road trip to plan."

"Warren," she says and he pauses again to look up at her. "Thank you."

"Of course," he says, waving aside her words.

She nearly misses it, in the reflection of his screen, the way his smile drops into a frown, the way he studies her far more carefully than the laptop before him. But then it's gone, tucked back into a smile as he glances up at her.