Every high school football game is pretty much the same. That's the only explanation for Max's sense of Deja-vu. Her parents had dragged her to a game or two in Seattle, and if not for the change in mascots this could have been one of them. The bands played the same songs, the game was just as incomprehensible, and the concession stand had the same greasy food, slathered in cheese sauce. Max took a look at the menu board, faded wood covered in plastic letters from another century. Tempting, but they only took cash, so Max was stuck with the bottled water she had stashed in her bag next to her camera. Probably not as good as the Two Whales anyways.

She wandered toward the cheerleading section to make herself seen, for Dana's benefit. After a little trouble picking her out among the identical uniforms she joined in a cheer. "Gooooo Bigfoots!" Why not Big feet? I know it's named after the creature, but that still bugs me.

Her dad had tried to explain how the game worked once, but she'd never really paid attention or cared. She was happier talking to her friends under the bleachers, or taking photos of spectators from odd angles. Somehow, by her 18th birthday, she was still clueless about how Football worked.

At first she wasn't even sure what color uniforms she was supposed to be rooting for. One had white uniforms with red pants, and the other had red uniforms with white pants. Now, from a slightly quieter spot up in the stands, she watched, and with little else to do but pay attention to the game things started to make sense. Seven points for getting the ball into the end zone. Each team has three or four tries to get the ball past the orange bullseye thing or the other team gets their turn. Kicking the ball in the big fork thing is three points. Or just one? The red-uniform-white-pants team scored, and the "Bigfoots" section of the scoreboard went up by... Wait, 6? She sighed. At least I know who to cheer for now. But her interest in the game didn't last long and soon she found herself wandering around the field again.

The color guard was hanging out at the end of the field just past the ambulance. Not sure why they always have one. Kinda morbid right? Do they really think somebody's going to get hurt that bad? Some of her Seattle friends were in color guard, and Max wondered if that would be the same too. It wasn't long before a head of dark purple hair, sticking out amongst the handful of flashy red uniforms, confirmed it.

"Hi Alyssa."

"Hi Max."

"I didn't know you were in color guard."

Alyssa shrugged. "I like the exercise, and it's something different I guess. Meet new people and have different experiences."

"I feel like I don't know anybody here. Didn't even think Blackwell had this many students."

"Most of them are from AB High. They've got some kind of partnership thing. I'm the only Blackwell student in Color Guard, but there's lots of us on the football team. Got any good photos yet?"

"Not yet. I just got here a few minutes ago. Had some classwork to finish." And some anxiety to fend off.

"Take one of me!" Alyssa strikes a dramatic pose, arms toward the heavens, with her flag in one and her dummy rifle in the other.

"I can never get posed shots to feel right. And anyways I should probably get some material for Photography class."

"What are you thinking of for the next assignment?"

Assignment? "I haven't really had time to think about it." I should probably start by figuring out what it is. "What are you planning?"

"I got a few good shots of the snow yesterday for the second part, but not sure what I'll try for the first. Maybe my dad's car. Don't want to say too much or I'll spoil it."

Not helpful.

A few words from Mrs. Grant and the sequined bodies around them started bustling with purpose, adjusting uniforms, checking flags, and preparing for the routine.

"Looks like we're up soon. I should probably get ready."

"Okay, well good luck on the assignment."

"Thanks, you too. I can't wait to see yours."

Max smiled. Shit.

Walking back to the bleachers to watch half-time, Max passed two younger kids on the sidelines, passing a football back and forth. A dramatic attempt at a catch failed, and the ball bounced into the seats nearby, eliciting an angry should from whoever was in it's path. Max didn't even turn her head to see who it hit as she ascended the bleachers.

More seats had filled, and the spot she'd occupied before was no longer so solitary. Best she could do was make sure not to sit next to anybody she recognized. Her camera hid in her bag, still unused. She tried messaging Kate from her perch:

Max: What is the project for Photography?

No response. She stowed her phone in a pocket. For some reason staring at the cracks on the screen gave her a sinking feeling in her stomach, and anyways the halftime show was starting. The band played "Radioactive" and marched in neat little patterns, the color guard twirled their flags, and threw their plastic guns in the air. It was all pretty decent and almost enjoyable until there was a lull in the music, revealing a hushed conversation behind her.

"Yeah, I think it is her." Some kid's voice, quiet and conspiratorial, but not quiet enough now that the music had softened.

"Man that sucks. And she was just hiding in a stall?"

Me.

"Yeah and she saw everything."

They're talking about me.

"Is that what the moment of silence was for?"

Everyone knows. And they've all been looking at me the whole time and I was too stupid to even notice.

Suddenly Max felt trapped by the people around her. Pair after pair of legs blocked the row, and the last thing she wanted to do was draw attention to herself. It took a few seconds before the eyes she was picturing outweighed the awkwardness of an escape. She did her best to squeeze past everyone quietly, and a considerate few moved their legs aside for her. Finally in the aisle, she dashed down the stairs and away from the stands.

She could still hear the announcer in the distance, but her shadow grew longer as she got farther from the stadium lighting and crowd. The empty baseball bleachers at the end of the field cast a pattern of stripes along the ground below. Max considered actually taking out her camera for a photo-the lighting would be tricky but it could turn out pretty neat if she got the exposure right. Then she heard a voice.

"Max." Victoria was sitting behind the bleachers, her back resting against a metal support.

"Hi Victoria." I should try and be friendly, right? "How are you doing?"

"Shit." She looked mad, but not at Max.

Max paused waiting for elaboration but none came. "Okay. Sorry. What's got you over here away from everything?"

Victoria ignored her question and asked one of her own. "Still have nightmares?"

Max hadn't actually used Victoria's little gift yet, but just knowing that it was there if she needed it had been enough to let her fall asleep most nights.

"It's gotten better."

"Won't get better. Just when you think everything's gonna be fine comes back and all... Fuck." Her words ran together, her tone wandered.

"What comes back?"

"Jefferson." Victoria looked down at her feet, then rolled her head to the left to look at Max. "Fucking creep. Can't get'm outta my fucking head."

"What do you mean?" Even though Max knows the feeling too well.

"You nightmare your punk friend gettin shot, right? I get him. Fucking leering taking photos and I can't..." Her body is unsteady against the leg of the bleacher.

Something's wrong. Victoria could hardly speak coherently, Max could practically smell the alcohol even upwind, but that wasn't what set her on edge.

"It's not even Nathan when I see him. I'm in there and it's just him and me, and you. And taking photos and..."

"And you". The phrase rang so loudly in Max's ears it took her a second to process what it means. She saw me with Jefferson in... No way.

A glass bottle, almost empty, came out of Victoria's purse and to her lips. Max pulled it away, spilling a few drops of clear liquid on the pricey-looking blouse and skirt Vic was wearing.

"The FUCK Max?!" She struggled, but in her state Max had no trouble taking the bottle from her, and her arms flailed against Max's with no heart behind them.

Max grasped her by the wrists and put on her best deathly-serious face, courtesy of her mother. "We need to talk. And you need to NOT be trashed."

"What?" Victoria said, a note of fear creeping into her slurred speech.

Good. Maybe she'll believe me. "Something's been happening. It's... not natural."

She knelt down to face the drunk girl head on, and said with as much weight as she could muster, "Nightmares suck, don't they. When they're so real you swear they actually happened. But they couldn't have."

Victoria nodded. "How...?"

"I've had them too." So has Kate. It all makes sense now.

"Jeff-son's bunker?"

"And more."

"Kate? Roof?"

Max nodded.

"What's happening?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out. Now come on, let's get you sober." Victoria clung tightly to Max as they walked toward the campus, leaving Vic's bottle of alcohol in a trash can by the bleachers, and the rest of it in a nasty wet spot on the sidewalk next to the Blackwell statue. The totem pole alone watched them walk up the steps into their dorm.