Alone in her bedroom, her mind adrift on a weed-tainted cloud, Chloe Price began to dream.
She dreamt she was in the junkyard, the one place she could run to when the world felt too much and she just needed to get away before she started inflicting damage, property or otherwise. The night lay on it like a shroud, and a fine mist coated the grass and moistened her bare feet. Above her, the ravens cawed in circles around a glowing, bloated moon. A hunter's moon, her father had once called it.
She blinked and her father was standing before her, sporting the same grey plaid shirt and jeans she last saw him wearing. William Price, five years dead, but still looking as kind and as handsome as the day he drove out their home and into the path of a semi. She had not dreamt of him in three years, but here he was now, so real she could almost touch him.
He inclined his head, motioned for her to follow, and strolled past the carcass of an abandoned SUV.
The wind whispered in her ear, "Speaking with the dead brings nothing but grief."
"Guess grief's here to stay then," she replied, and hastened to catch up.
Her father walked to the far corner of the junkyard close to the edge of the trees, then stopped and pointed at something on the ground.
"Dad?" Chloe said, closing the distance between them. He did not answer; his finger remained hovering over that one spot.
Chloe fell to her knees and began to dig. Above her, the ravens cawed louder, a maddening noise that sounded suspiciously like joy. She paid them no mind as she clawed at the earth with rising abandon. Her father's index finger stayed just above her line of sight, demanding in its stillness. She could feel the dirt caking her nails, worms writhing through fingers, but she kept at it until—
"Don't worry, sweetheart," her father said. "You don't burn."
Light, flickering orange and gold, flared out from the hole she had just carved into the earth. It was like she had ripped a passage into the underworld and it contained nothing but fire. At the first taste of freedom, the flames leaped up, clawing for air. Chloe shielded her face with her arms as heat enveloped her. The ground beneath her feet had erupted into a roaring pillar of fire, so beautiful it was blinding.
Gasping, Chloe opened her eyes.
"And that was the legendary Bob Dylan, folks. You're listening to 87.9 FM, the STYR… Time now's 8:09 PM, hope you lords and ladies of Arcadia Bay are chillin' on this balmy April night…"
She realized she had fallen asleep while slouched against the foot of her bed. In her left hand, the joint she'd been smoking had gone out, its remains partly filling the round ashtray on the floor next to her knee. Her neck ached from leaning all the way back onto her mattress. Outside her window, dusk had crept across the sky.
The hell was that? Chloe thought, scrubbing her eyes with the palm of her hand. The dream…she dreamed of something bright and wonderful and terrifying, but the images were fading fast. Something woke me up though, I'm sure of it.
Willing her eyes to focus, she turned her gaze to the side where her phone lay blinking on the carpet.
Max Caulfield
3 missed calls
Chloe wondered if she was still dreaming. Then the phone buzzed again, displaying Max's name in a larger font, the red answer button daring her to accept. Chloe picked it up with one hand and stared at its blinking crimson eye. The fogginess was rapidly draining from her mind, replaced by rancid feeling in her chest.
Maxine Fucking Caulfield.
She had actually imagined this happening many times before. Had even prepared exactly what to say and how to say it. Even now, the words were forming ranks behind her lips, ready to rush out and draw blood. Yo, Max. How's Seattle been treating ya? Really big of you to think about calling me after leaving me in the shitter these last five years. No, I don't really feel like talking to my ex-best friend right now, so let's continue this conversation never. Bye, bitch.
Chloe jabbed her thumb at the answer button, put the phone to her ear, and managed a raspy, "Uh…hey."
Price, you little chickenshit.
"Chloe?" said the familiar voice on other line. It sounded tentative yet hopeful, and for a moment, Chloe felt herself falling backwards in time to when she was a skinny thirteen-year-old, waiting for her best friend to call for their post-dinner talk.
"Chloe, it's me. Max."
"Max Caulfield. Yeah, I remember you." Recovering a little, Chloe tried to get her script in gear. "So, how's Seattle been—"
"Chloe, I can't even begin to tell you how happy I am to hear your voice. I wish we could talk longer, but there isn't time and there's literally nothing more important in the world right now than what I have to tell you. I need you to listen, please. You're the only one who can help."
Chloe blinked. "…Ooookay. You in jail or somethin'? 'Cuz I dunno how I can help with that." Wow, she sounds desperate. What's her major malfunction? Chloe wanted to ask exactly that, but Max's next question caught her like a splash of cold water.
"Where is Rachel Amber right now?"
Chloe was instantly on her feet. "Wha—how the fuck do you know Rachel?"
"That's not important. Please, you have to tell me where she is."
"I don't know—probably at home!" Chloe paused, memory working. "She mentioned a party tonight, or something."
"You have to keep her home, Chloe. Call her, or…or better yet, go to her and keep her from leaving."
Chloe gritted her teeth as she found herself starting to pace. "Max, where the fuck do you get off asking me to do stuff for you? You bail on me for five years, and now you think you can call me and start making demands like you're my—"
"Chloe! You have to get to Rachel tonight or you'll never see her again! Someone's going to kill her!"
Chloe froze. Something, the shrill edge in Max's voice most likely, pierced her chest like a blade of ice. "Don't joke about something like that, dude."
"I. Am not. Joking." Was she imagining it, or did Max sound close to tears? "I've never been more serious in my life. You need to keep Rachel safe or this would've all been for nothing! I'm begging you, don't let her leave. And most of all, keep her away from Nathan."
"Wha…Prickscott? What's he got to do with any of this?"
"He's planning to drug and kidnap Rachel at that party. You can stop him if you just keep her away." Max paused, breathing harsh and ragged. "I know I've been a shitty friend for not calling or writing you these last five years. But this isn't about me. Do it for Rachel. Please?"
Chloe ran her hand through her short blue locks. Nathan Prescott. That little creep had been all over Rachel's shit the last few weeks and had succeeded in making even Rachel uncomfortable. Just picturing his smooth, smug face made Chloe's knuckles itch. But would he really…?
"Max, how do you know all this? Have you been stalking me? Is that what you've been doing with your free time there in Seattle? Elaborate pranks on people you know don't have the money to sue you?"
"Chloe, I promise you, I will explain everything when I come see you tomorrow. For now, just—"
"Whoa, hold up," said Chloe, dropping onto her bed. "You're coming here? Back to Arcadia Bay?"
"Y-yeah. I'm already on a Boltbus headed for Portland. It's going to take all night, but I think I'll get to Lincoln City by 6AM. Then I can probably find another ride to Arcadia. We can talk more when I get there."
Lincoln City? That's less than an hour from here. "You're taking a bus? Alone?"
"Yeah. There are no direct routes there from Seattle so it's a 12-hour trip, but I'll manage."
"And how are you getting to Arcadia from Lincoln?"
"I'll…look for another bus or something, I guess."
Chloe shook her head. "You guess? So what'll you do if there isn't a bus, hitch with a trucker? Jesus, Max. I'll come pick you up when you get there."
Max fell silent for one moment. "You'd…do that for me? Chloe, I—"
"Save it. This doesn't change the fact that I'm still pissed as all hell at you. Not one call, Max. Five years."
"…Thank you, Chloe. Really. When you go, could you…could you bring Rachel with you?"
"What the fuck… Why ?" A dozen scenes of their reunion ran through Chloe's mind, each one more cringe-worthy than the last. Rachel? Shit, how am I going to explain any of this to her?
"I just want to make sure she's alright," Max was saying. "It's very important to me that she is. Would you?"
"...I'll ask, but no promises."
"Good. And when I get there, you can bitch at me all you want for what I did. I deserve it. But for tonight—"
"Yeah yeah, keep Rachel prisoner. Got it." Chloe took in a deep breath. "Max, I swear to God that if this is your idea of a huge joke—"
"Chloe." And like magic, that raw emotion was back in Max's voice. "I would never, ever do that to you. I love you. I promised I'll always have your back, even when it doesn't seem like it. When I see you tomorrow, I'll tell you everything and then you'll believe me."
"We'll see," Chloe replied grimly.
"I gotta go. My parents are away and won't be back till Sunday afternoon, but they might call and I have to keep them from suspecting anything."
Chloe permitted herself a little smile. "Sneaking out? That doesn't sound like the Max I know."
"I've changed too, Chloe." Max paused, then a hint of a smile played on her tone. "But I never went as far as dyeing my hair blue. I'll see you and Rachel tomorrow. Hopefully."
When they hung up, Chloe found herself pacing aimlessly, hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. It took her several moments to realize what she was doing: looking around her room for signs of Max. She thought she had gotten them all, tossed them out years ago with the other stuff she had no use for, but she was wrong.
Amidst the scattered clothes, magazines, empty beer cans, and discarded pizza boxes, she found stuff she'd missed. The pirate hat with the Jolly Roger and the black eyepatch perched atop her mirror. A tiny sticker of Spongebob that Max had accidentally stuck to the wall and never managed to pry off. The desk that she and Max had spent an entire afternoon painting cornflower blue. If she opened her cabinet drawers now, she would find little mementos of their time together—crayon drawings they'd made, old decrepit cellphones, cartoon hair clips, photos…
She'd never really gotten rid of Max after all these years. And now, her oldest friend was coming back at last.
Chloe scratched her scalp. Really, whateverthefuck? As if I'm going to spend gas driving over to Rachel's. There's a half-eaten salami sandwich in the fridge with my name on it. I should just chow down, catch up with my some shows on my laptop, then head for bed. Who cares what some freaked-out hipster up in Seattle has to say?
(I love you)
Chloe felt a momentary tingle in her cheeks. No one outside of her parents had ever said that to her, not even-
OK, maybe Max isn't joking. Maybe she's nuts. Calling from a sanitarium somewhere in the city. She's never going to make it to Lincoln City tomorrow, much less Arcadia Bay.
(Get to Rachel tonight or you'll never see her again.)
"Rachel," Chloe muttered. Just the mere thought of that happening, ridiculous as it sounded, made her ribs shrink around her heart. She hadn't seen or spoken with Rachel since Sunday-she didn't see much of Rachel at all most days, though they'd never failed to text each other. Rachel was almost always the first person to greet her in the morning and the last name she'd see on her phone at night.
Maybe I should go see her. Couldn't hurt anyways. Hell, maybe I could even convince her not to go to that rager. 'Specially if Dickscott's going to be there.
But how to distract a girl like Rachel, who wants what she wants when she wants it? Chloe rubbed her chin. Moments later, a grin spread across her face.
Gotcha.
Rachel Amber's reflection eyed her critically from head to toe. She wore her hair in a high ponytail, a crimson shirt with the three raven feather markings, and jean shorts that flattered her long tan legs. Her favorite blue feather earring dangled from her left ear. Last came the lip gloss, and once that was done, she just needed to pick her shoes and then she'd be ready to go.
I haven't even arrived at the Vortex party yet and already I'm epically bored.
Part of her wanted to text Hayden and give her least lame excuse—she caught the ick, or something—and just curl up in bed to finishThe Girl Who Played With Fire. But Hayden was a good guy, and she hadn't talked with Juliet and Dana in ages, and maybe tonight Victoria would forget to play the monumental reality-TV bitch and just hang out like regular teens. Besides, Rachel had already promised she'd come, and she learned from her dad long ago that you could only break your word so many times before it starts to lose its worth.
She sighed and looked up the drama masks lined up along her wall. "What do you think, Chorus? Stay or go?" As they stared back at her without a word, she mused, "Yeah, you're right. If you wanna keep up appearances, you first gotta appear."
If only these parties could make me feel something. Truth be told, after the shit she went through this last month alone, she wished she could feel something other than a quiet desperation, the sensation of being trapped inside her own skin.
It was only 8:40 PM. If she left now, she'd get there a little too early to be fashionably late. Perhaps she could kill some time on social media. Turning, she reached for the lip gloss on her dresser. As she was applying it, a glint in the mirror caught her eye. A flashlight beam flickered at her window, once, twice.
A smile ghosted across Rachel's lips. She put the tube back on her dresser, checked her reflection once more, and blew it a kiss. Then she pulled on a frown as she marched over to her window and pushed the shutters open.
Chloe stood in the garden below, half-hidden in the shadow of a hedge, flashlight keychain in one hand and a satchel in the other. The intruder flashed a lopsided grin and waved before doffing her beanie hat and bowing with a flourish.
"Just what do you think you're doing?" Rachel hissed.
"I'm here to save you, maiden fair," Chloe stage-whispered, slipping her keys back into her pocket.
"Save me from…?"
"An endless night of fending off drunken boys, Nathan Prescott's increasingly sad attempts at getting into your pants, and Victoria Chase's thinly-veiled jabs at your virtue."
Rachel had to work hard to keep from smiling. In the moonlight, she could see that Chloe had decided to dress up a bit: a red tank top, studded leather jacket with the sleeves ripped off, black torn jeans, and freshly-shined cowboy boots. Rachel loved that look, and knew that Chloe knew it.
"And who is going to protect me from any blue-haired punks intent on making me late for my party?" Rachel wondered.
"Why would you even want to be protected from that?" Chloe replied, grinning wider. "Punks are hot."
"Not when they're sneaking around my garden after dark." She paused, then in a singsong voice said, "Or art thou meant to be my loyal knight, come to serenade me in these lonely watches?"
Chloe drew herself to her full height, puffed out her chest like a peacock. "Indeed I am—Sir Chloe of Arcadia, at thine service, O lovely one."
"I see thou hast neglected to bring thine noble steed."
"Aye, t'is my misfortune that mine horse laid eyes upon a comely mare, and has bade me to 'Be a bro!' whilst hanging his horseshoe on the stable door. But I have come nonetheless to take you away from those knaves and their worthless revelry. In exchange, I bring thee a night filled with wine, women, and song!"
"I do not see any wine on thee, sir Knight."
Chloe raised her satchel. "Wouldst thou settle for Coors lifted from the fridge of one unwary step-douche?"
Finally, Rachel couldn't suppress a giggle. "It will have to do. But I simply cannot allow thee to enter mine bedchambers without proof of thine affection. How canst a maiden ascertain her suitor's pure heart otherwise? Wouldst thou recite a poem on thine love?"
Chloe lowered her bag, shifting her weight on one leg. "Really? Poetry? Alcohol doesn't cut it anymore?"
"T'is a small price to pay, good Knight."
"How about a dirty limerick?"
Rachel clucked her tongue. "A poem, if thou please, or I will have cause to doubt thine intentions."
Chloe stood silently for a moment, gazing up with her beanie clutched in both hands. For a moment, Rachel thought she would crack another joke, but tonight her blue-haired punk seemed full of surprises.
"Had I the heaven's embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half-light…"
Oh, I love that one! Placing her arms on the sill, Rachel rested her chin on her hands and beamed down at Chloe, who took one look and was immediately lost.
"I…uh…I would spread the cloths, um, under your feet,
But I, being poor, have only, uh…my schemes—"
"My dreams," Rachel gently coached her.
Chloe rubbed the back of her neck. "Yeah, yeah, that." She took a step forward, gazing up with the moonlight caught in her eyes.
"I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly…"
" …Because you tread on my dreams, " Rachel finished with her, and sighed. "I can't believe you memorized that. That's so sweet."
Chloe shrugged. "You said it was your favorite. What was I supposed to do?"
Rachel laughed again. "Indeed. Thou art worthy, gallant Knight. Come. I will open the front door for thee."
"Nope, I got this." Slipping her beanie back on her head, Chloe hefted her bag on one shoulder, approached the trellis on the wall, and started hoisting herself up.
"Chloe! What are you doing?"
"What does it look like?" Soon Chloe had climbed to the top of the trellis and was scrambling on her hands and knees across the roof towards her window. A bit out of breath, she grabbed Rachel's outstretched hand and dragged herself to sit astride the windowsill. "Ooof."
"Good going, Spider-monkey," chided Rachel. "That took a lot less effort than going through the front door."
"Wanted to see you. Didn't want your parents to see me." Chloe slid her satchel to the floor before rooting around her jacket pockets. Rachel had to admit, Chloe looked even better up close. The moonlight turned her pale skin into pearl, contrasting with the dark roses and skulls of her sleeve tattoo. The piercing on her bellybutton glinted as she moved. Rachel caught a whiff of body spray and a hint of musk from the dampness on Chloe's shirt. She must have taken the fifteen-minute walk—with shortcuts through other people's yards—from her house to get here.
Chloe fished out a joint and lit it. After taking a hit, she offered it to Rachel.
"You're just full of surprises tonight, aren't you." Rachel leaned against the sill and took a drag.
Chloe quirked an eyebrow. "Yeah? Well, I think it's time you know that the knight in shining armor part is actually all a lie, and you let a dangerous bandit into your room."
Oh, so we're playing this game now. Rachel took pleasure in taking the lead, but for Chloe to do so felt…refreshing. She tilted her head, let her honeyed hair tumble past one shoulder. "You came here to steal something, then."
"Maybe." Chloe hefted one leg onto the sill and let the other dangle onto the floor. By some trick of willpower, Rachel managed to maintain eye contact.
She passed the joint back, now stained pink by her lips. "Can't say I'm surprised. So what have you come for this time?"
"Hmm." Again a hit, followed by that lopsided grin. "What if I already stole it?"
Rachel's thighs gave an involuntary squeeze, but she smiled in challenge and blew a cloud of smoke into Chloe's face. "If you already stole it, then I don't have anything else to give you."
Through the haze, the ember of her joint glinted in Chloe's blue eyes. "I always want more."
Rachel held that gaze for as long as she could bear. Then she pushed off the window sill and sauntered to her mirror, all the while hyper-aware of her pulse throbbing in her ears and of a clenching sensation, deep down in her center.
"Your timing sucks, Chlo, you know that?"
Chloe didn't answer or move from her place by the window. Rachel reached for her lip-gloss again and started retouching. "I'm gonna be hella late for the party, which means any time now, Hayden or Dana or Juliet—or all three—will be blowing up my—"
"You should wear your hair down," Chloe interrupted.
Rachel lifted a golden brow at her reflection. "What, giving me beauty tips now? You know, I happen to like—"
"You should wear it down," Chloe insisted, appearing behind her, "because that way it hides my favorite part of your body."
Rachel's heart skipped a beat at exactly how little space there was between them. She could feel Chloe's body heat seeping through the thinness of her shirt, the susurration of breath against her left shoulder, the feather-light fingers against her hips.
"Your favorite part—"
"This." Chloe shifted Rachel's ponytail to the side so she could run blue-tipped fingernails along the nape of her neck, sending electric ripples down Rachel's spine. "I like that your hair hides it because that means only I get to see it. When we're alone. Just like this."
"Chloe, are you for real now?" Rachel meant to sound chiding, but she found her words a breath too short as she watched Chloe's movements in the mirror. Every follicle of hair on her flesh stood on end. That clench was back and was worse than ever, like little earthquakes in her belly.
Chloe chuckled, dark and deep. "Oh yeah, I love this part," she said, tracing her fingers lower. "This beauty mark, right here where your neck meets your back. Every time I see it, I don't wanna just kiss it. I wanna nibble and run my tongue on it, just so I can feel every goosebump rising on your skin."
I can't stand this, thought Rachel. I just can't. "Chloe—"
"Do you know what you do to me when you flip your hair, Rachel?" Chloe breathed against the shell of her ear. "You make me so fucking hot I can't see straight. You make me wet."
"Fuck!"
Rachel spun around, but Chloe was ready for her—she captured Rachel's lips in a searing, bruising kiss, long arms encircling her waist and tilting her backwards. Rachel flung her own arms around Chloe's neck—to keep her balance, to pull her girl closer, to give as good as she got.
It took several moments before Rachel could pry her lips off Chloe's and hiss, "You are such an enormous asshole!" Then she could only stand there, seething, as Chloe laughed at her smudged lip-gloss.
"Correction: I'm the biggest asshole in Arcadia Bay. And I'm yours."
"Mine," Rachel growled, plunging her tongue back into Chloe's mouth. Rachel pushed her until the backs of Chloe's thighs bumped into the bed, forcing the taller girl to sit and break their kiss. "Don't you fucking move from there, Price."
Chloe wore the look of a cat who just got her bowl of cream. "Wouldn't dream of it."
Rachel stalked to her table, picked up her phone, turned up Queens of the Stone Age on her speakers. In short order, she had flicked off her lights, turned on her starfield lamp, locked her door. Took one last hit from the joint on the sill before dropping it in her ashtray.
Chloe still sat there, watching Rachel's every move until she returned to the bed. "Why," Rachel demanded, "do you still have your clothes on?"
Chloe laughed, shrugging off her jacket and tossing it to the side. Rachel seized Chloe's left boot. By the time she had extracted both boots and pants, Chloe was already topless, the pupils of her blue eyes blown wide and dark with lust.
"Rachel…"
"Quiet," Rachel husked, pulling her own shorts down before shoving Chloe onto the bed and straddling her waist. "You don't get to talk. Not while I have a better use for that smart mouth."
Not one coherent word passed between them for a very long time.
When Rachel floated back to consciousness, her first thought was this is exactly what I needed.
She reached out to touch Chloe's flesh but her hand met only air. Turning, she saw Chloe sitting up, pale back turned to her. She would have run her finger down the ridges of that smooth spine, but the other girl was sitting too far on the edge of the bed, smoking, staring down at the glow of her phone.
For a long moment, Rachel just lay there, silently watching her. Even that little gap between them felt heavy with unspoken questions, and she ached once more for the nearness of a warm body. Chloe was usually eager to provide, but sometimes, when the glow was over, a pall would fall between them, soft and sure as first snow. Rachel wondered—not for the first time—if Chloe kept some secrets too.
"Hey," Rachel finally murmured, rubbing her eyes.
Chloe jumped a little before coming to face her. "Hey. You're awake." She raised her can. "Beer's not cold anymore, sorry."
"Maybe not, but I am. Get in here."
Chloe smiled, stubbed the remains of her joint in the ashtray, and slipped beneath the covers. "So. That was…"
"Fucking mind-blowing." Rachel purred, resting her head against the crook of Chloe's neck while twining their legs together. That's more like it. "Makes me wonder why it doesn't happen more often."
Chloe gave a small, noncommittal shrug. "We're both busy…I guess."
"I guess."
"Did I at least pay you back for making you miss your party?"
"I'd say I'm all partied out right now," Rachel sniggered and kissed Chloe's cheek. "So…who were you texting?"
Chloe trained her eyes on the ceiling. "I wasn't really texting. Just reading some messages."
Rachel raised her head to look at her. "Everything okay?"
"Hmm? Yeah, sure." Chloe replied, draping her arms around Rachel's shoulders. "I'm more than okay."
Rachel laid back down and waited. The thing about the two of them was that neither one could stay quiet for long if they really wanted to talk. Sooner or later, they would just spit it out.
And Chloe didn't disappoint. "So somebody called a while ago, before I came here."
"Oh?" Rachel murmured. She's pensive, a bit sad, and very confused. A lot like the way she was when we first met. Meaning it's someone from her past.
Chloe looked her in the eye. "Three guesses who."
Rachel got it in one. "But why on earth would she call you?"
Chloe turned her eyes above, where Rachel's star projector threw a brilliant swirl of constellations overhead. "It's totally batshit crazy, dude. You're not going to believe a word." And she related her story.
"Wow," said Rachel once Chloe finished. "That's, um…a lot to take in." She paused. "And Nathan?"
"Okay, maybe that part's not so crazy."
"But why would he...what makes her say...?" Rachel shuddered.
"No idea. So what do you think?"
Rachel didn't answer at once. Part of her just wanted to close her eyes and drift away again, forgetting all about childhood friends and wild conspiracy theories.
Yet another part of her—the same part of that helped her thrive in the constant power struggles that pervaded high school—heard the need in Chloe's voice, recalled the wistful looks on Chloe's face each of the hundred times she spoke about Max. Even heard the tone she would use when recounting her pirate adventures with her best friend from long ago. Rachel had listened but had never given it much thought, had no reason for concern before now.
Max Caulfield. Funny how someone could wield such control over Chloe despite being so far away.
"Above all else, be armed," Machiavelli had warned, and Rachel intended to be. She knew that—no matter how she felt about the matter—Chloe WOULD actually go to Lincoln tomorrow morning. Meaning Max would be coming to Arcadia Bay, and inevitably, Rachel would have to deal with her.
So why delay it? Why not meet her on my own terms, when I'm ready for her?
"Well," Rachel finally replied, "you said she sounded desperate."
"Yeah," came Chloe's wary reply.
"And she knew things she shouldn't unless she was downright stalking you."
"Down to me dyeing my hair blue. But she could have picked that up from Instagram or something."
"Silly knight, thou doth not have an Instagram."
"What I mean is she must've gotten it from someone's picture of me online."
Rachel nodded. "I can't really tell what she's up to. I guess we'll find out when we actually meet her."
"We?" Chloe raised up on her arm to look at Rachel. "You're coming along?"
"Are you kidding me? I'm finally getting to meet the girl you wouldn't shut up about for the last three years. I'm way too curious to stay away. So yeah, count me in. Let's go pick her up tomorrow. I'd like to hear what she has to say."
Chloe, who was searching her face, looked relieved. "Okay. Okay, cool."
Rachel rolled off her bed and started gathering her clothes from the floor. "You've been keeping tabs on where she is now?"
"According to her texts, she should be near Portland. Wonder if her parents already put out a bulletin on her."
"Hm. Okay. Chloe, stop perving at me for a minute and concentrate, will you?"
"How do you expect me to do that when you're buck naked?"
Rachel dumped her clothes in the hamper and grabbed her pajamas from her closet. "Text Max and tell her we're coming to pick her up tomorrow. Meanwhile…what time is it?"
Chloe checked her phone. "Almost midnight."
"Well, so much for making it back before curfew. Tell your Mom you're staying here for the night. We wake up at 6 AM—scratch that—I wake up at 6 AM and try to wake you up, while you finally roll out of bed at 6:20." Chloe threw her pillow at Rachel, who caught it in one hand without so much as a glance. "Tomorrow, we'll take your truck. Better to fit the three of us along with any luggage Max brought."
"Good thinking," said Chloe, looking disappointed now that Rachel was mostly dressed.
"Don't look so glum." Rachel winked at her as she put on her slippers. "I'm gonna shower. If my parents are asleep, wanna join me?"
"Actually, I think I'll chill here for a bit. Write that text message." Chloe sat up to watch her head for the door. "Hey, Amber?"
Rachel paused right by her doorway, gazing at Chloe over her bare shoulder.
"I—" Chloe paused, her face reddening, gaze shifting to the side. "I just think you're the best. You know?"
"I know," Rachel replied, shooting finger guns at Chloe. "But I sure like to hear you say it."