August 1, 2015
U.S. Route 89
Arizona

"Wow! Check out all that desert, Max! There's just so much desert!"

"Alright, you've made your point."

"Look, look!" Sitting up, Victoria makes a show of pointing excitedly. "Even more desert!"

"Wow. Somehow that's just as hilarious as the last four times you've said it." I glance over with a sigh. "This was your suggestion, remember?"

"Yeah. That doesn't mean I like playing a never-ending game of 'is that a coyote or a bush'. How close are we, anyway?"

"About halfway."

"Ugh!" Dramatically flopping back in her seat, she returns to watching the world go by, grumbling like it's my fault she's bored. I'm not the reason she forgot to bring headphones, I'm not the one who rented a car without an auxiliary plug-in, and I've got nothing to do with the lack of radio stations out here.

It's been about half an hour since we've been able to pick up anything that wasn't mostly devoted to explaining how 'the gays' are ruining America. Personally, I'm dubious. I feel like if there was some nationwide homosexual conspiracy, I'd probably have more than eight contacts saved on my phone.

I'm not complaining one bit, though. I haven't done nearly as much traveling as Victoria has, and I sure wouldn't have come out to Arizona on my own. Mostly since I wouldn't have had the money to afford a flight. The only reason I'm here now is because Victoria bought the tickets without asking.

I hadn't been sure how they'd react to me unexpectedly leaving the state, particularly since I couldn't tell them the real reason. I've spent enough time complaining about paying for tuition on Starbuck's wages (which admittedly aren't too bad) that I figured telling them I was taking a spontaneous trip to Arizona because 'Victoria's never seen the Grand Canyon' (which is actually true but sounded painfully weak in my head) would result in them dropping a parental disappointment bomb the size of Texas on my head.

Instead they'd just said they hoped we had a nice time. Looking back, I don't know why I was worried. The last time they showed anything close to actual disapproval was when I told them I was moving in with Victoria. And even then, all they did was ask whether I thought I might be rushing into the decision. It was a little weird. They've been acting weird for weeks, actually. Not creepy weird, but still weird.

We got into Flagstaff this morning, despite almost missing our flight. It turns out that even with the joint gone, Chloe's necklace still smelled just enough like weed to catch the attention of one of the drug dogs. It took a half-hour of answering questions (while getting the stink-eye from various laminated-badge-wearing people) before they accepted the truth; it'd belonged to my partner, who'd usually been wearing it while smoking weed to counteract the effects of her fucking chemotherapy...though I said it more politely at the time.

It wasn't a big deal, all things considered. The only time things almost got heated was when some TSA agent said we could get on the flight right that minute if I 'just chucked that tacky thing in the trash'. I'm lucky Victoria was there, but not as lucky as the agent was.

The flight itself was about three hours, and I spent most of it asleep; last night's discovery had left me emotionally drained. Then we'd rented a car at the airport and we've spent the hour making our way north to the tiny community known as Away. Judging from David's pictures, it isn't much more than a dozen RVs and outbuildings clustered together in a remote piece of Arizona desert, but he's somehow found peace there. I can imagine why, too.

It really is beautiful out here, despite Victoria's stream of snarky comments.

I expect her to start up again at any moment, but nearly ten minutes pass by in silence before she starts tapping her fingernail on the door. I recognize the pattern, light at first but gradually getting louder; she's working up to something. She does this from time to time, like some kind of anti-Chloe. Rather than blurt out an idea the moment it comes to her, she'll ruminate on it instead, turning it over and over in her mind until she's ready to share with the class.

It's got to be the most obvious tell in the entire world. I wonder if she knows that she does it in perfect time? Seriously, it's like listening to a tiny, irritating metronome. Waiting for her to unveil whatever she's been working on sometimes feels like waking up five minutes before your alarm clock goes off. You just lay there, knowing for a fact that it's about to go off, both hoping it will so the waiting can end, and hoping it won't so you can stay peacefully in bed.

"Hey, Max?"

Finally. "Yeah?"

"I've been thinking about something." She's still watching the arid landscape go by. "Something you said the other day, about how you'll get people in the past to believe you."

"What about it?"

"I don't think that proving you can time travel will be enough. You need to prove that they can trust what you're saying. They need... I need to know I absolutely trusted you in the future."

A few things go through my head at once; surprise that Victoria feels that way, guilt over feeling surprised, and a little apprehension over where she might be going with this. "How do I do that?"

She takes her time responding, and when she does I don't think I've ever heard her sound so nervous. "You need to tell me something that you could only have heard from me. A secret that you couldn't possibly have known otherwise."

I take my eyes off the road for a second. She's still staring out the window, back straight and hands clenched together in her lap. If it were anyone else, I'd say they looked scared. Whatever secret she's considering sharing with me, does she think I'd turn around and use it against her? I realize it's a stupid question the second it occurs to me, because of course she would.

Victoria's been fighting tooth and nail for years. To climb to the top of Blackwell's social hierarchy, to recover from the loss of everyone she cared about, to hold on to her family's business, and even to keep from being painted as nothing more than another one of Jefferson's victims. She's had her armor up since she was fifteen years old and probably felt one step from the edge the whole time.

"You can," I say, and she briefly glances over. "Trust me, I mean. If you have something you want me to say to you in the past, I promise I'd never tell it to anyone else. Not ever."

"It's not like I could stop you," she snaps back.

"That's not the point, Victoria. I wouldn't tell anyone because I'd never do that to you."

She turns to give me an apologetic look. "Sorry. I know you wouldn't."

"It's okay."

She doesn't say anything for a while. She just looks at me with a contemplative expression; long enough that it actually starts to get a little weird. But just as I'm about to break the silence, she beats me to it.

"Taylor."

That's...not what I expected. "Taylor Christensen?"

"Yeah."

I'm not sure why Victoria is bringing her up. Taylor had been her closest friend at Blackwell (and a lot longer than that, I'm pretty sure), and it'd been rare to see one of them without the other nearby. While I'd been at Blackwell, I'd pretty much written her off as just another bully. It wasn't until rewinding let me slip past the walls she'd put up that I met the person underneath: a conflicted girl, far from perfect, scared for her hospitalized mother, and caught up in a web of high school politics that she didn't like but couldn't escape. Not unless she was willing to leave her best friend behind.

And although none of that can even remotely excuse the way she'd treated Kate, if she'd felt even half as guilty over what happened as Victoria still does, then she was probably a better person than I gave her credit for.

Chloe told me a little about what Taylor was like before I came back to Arcadia Bay. Some of the stories were things she'd seen herself, and some had been second-hand accounts that originally belonged to Rachel Amber, but both had seemed to paint the same picture. That although Victoria might've ruled the school, it was Taylor who kept her from being overthrown. She was the one who followed quietly in Victoria's wake, doing her best to smooth things over and shield her from retribution.

It made sense. I'd always thought it was weird that Victoria never got slapped in the face for half the shit she pulled. I wonder if she knew how much Taylor did to protect her. I wonder who Taylor could've grown up to be if I hadn't let the storm kill her.

"What about her?"

"That's it. That's my secret," Victoria murmurs, looking away again. "She was my secret."

"I don't understand. Taylor wasn't exactly...a...secret..." I trail off as a few things start falling into place. "Wait...really?"

She nods silently.

"You and Taylor?"

"No. Just me."

"You've never talked ab-" I cut myself off before I can finish my idiotic observation. Of course she wouldn't have. "So last night, when you said I wasn't the only person to lose someone they loved..."

"Yeah." She gives me a quick, side-eyed glance. "Surprised?"

"A little," I confess. I never got that impression from her. But considering I'd been sleeping with my own girlfriend for almost a month before fully acknowledging that I was gay, I'm probably not the best judge.

"Well, it's not like I go around waving a pride flag." There's a brittle edge to her voice, and it sort of reminds me of the night I came out to Mom and Dad. It didn't matter that I logically knew I had no real reason to worry. It'd still been one of the most terrifying moments of my life. And if this is her big secret...

Glancing in the rearview mirror, I pull over to the side of the road and shut off the engine. Taking a second to make sure the hazard lights are on (because my parents raised a responsible driver), I turn to look at her. "You never told anyone this before? At all?"

"Of course I haven't. That's the point." She shakes her head. "I figured it out and then spent almost a year terrified I was going to say or do something to drive her away." She shrugs. "Then I just lost her anyway. After that, I really didn't have anyone left to tell."

"Oh, Victoria. I'm so sorry."

"Yeah. Me, too." She picks at a loose thread on her jeans. "It's why I don't like being called Vicky. It reminds me of her."

I don't know whether it's appropriate to ask, but I have the strangest feeling that she really, really wants to talk about this. And who could blame her; it's probably been eating at her for years. "You want to talk about it?"

"Please. Like you want to hear the whole sob story."

"I do, actually."

She gives me a brief, dubious look, then shrugs.

"It was at Christmas, the year before everything happened. My parents had to go away for some business stuff." I guess I fail to hide my feelings on that, because she hurries to add, "They felt really bad about it and they even offered to stay, but I knew it was important. I thought I'd be fine on my own, so I told them to go."

"Still..."

"That's life." She shrugs. "But as soon as Taylor found out, she decided she was going to come over and keep me company for the holidays."

"That was pretty nice of her."

"You've got no idea. See, Taylor's whole family always had these big get-togethers over the holidays, and it was the only time her parents would voluntarily be in the same room." She snorts. "The two of them fucking hated each other."

"Really? Taylor's mom sounded like she was really sweet."

"No, she was. Her dad's great, too. The way I heard it, they just shouldn't have gotten married and took too long realizing that for things to end well. Tay was too little to remember, but she loved them both and they both loved her. So much that every year they'd agree to pack away their bullshit and play nice, for her sake." Her lips turn up in a small, wistful smile. "She'd been looking forward to it for weeks, but she still dropped everything the second she heard I was going to be alone over Christmas. It was like she didn't even have to think about it."

"Wow."

"Right? We spent the whole week together and it was so great." She hesitates, glancing at me again. "Then on Christmas Eve we bumped into each other under a piece of mistletoe. She laughed, kissed me on the cheek and said, 'Merry Christmas, Vicky'. That was such a crazy moment. I was just going to the kitchen to make some popcorn, then suddenly she's right there and my brain is all 'Surprise! You're gay!' and then my heart is all 'by the way, Taylor is super hot and super awesome and you're super-duper in love with her so have fun with that'!" She snorts. "Stupid heart."

"Yeah, I know a bit about that."

"But at least you had the guts to do something about it. I just hid like a coward because I thought my straight friend would hate me if she ever found out I loved her."

"I'm sorry." It feels like a stupid thing to say, but it's all I can think of.

"Yeah." Victoria cringes, like she just remembered something especially humiliating. "You want to know the really fucked up part?"

"Uh, okay?"

"I was so scared of giving myself away and losing her that I overcompensated like crazy. I started going on about boys I liked and even dated a few. I mean, briefly. They always took off after they realized they weren't actually gonna get any. That's why I started being all flirty with, y'know, him."

She doesn't have to say who he is; the venom she pours into the word makes it clear enough.

"I figured no one would suspect anything if it looked like I was all about the hot teacher all the other girls were into, and I'd never have to do anything with him. So fucking stupid." Victoria goes silent, though her clenched fists do plenty of talking on their own.

"Oh." I hesitate. "You don't have to keep going if you don-"

"I was never going to sleep with him," she interrupts. "But I...I wanted to win that stupid contest and I thought that it'd help my chances if I could get him to think I would, so I..." She squeezes her eyes shut and takes a shuddering breath. "It was right after Kate and I was still so messed up over what I'd done to her, and I..."

I don't say anything, remembering the night Chloe and I spent sneaking around the Blackwell campus. We'd heard Victoria talking to Jefferson. Heard her flirting with him.

"He totally shot me down, thank fucking god. I've honestly have no idea what I would have done if he hadn't. But then I freaked and threatened to tell people he'd offered to pick my photo if I'd...you know." She shakes her head. "So stupid. I felt like such a piece of trash after that."

I remember that, too. At the time I'd thought she was an evil, manipulative bitch. I'd never have guessed she'd thought so little of herself, too.

"It makes me sick that he wasn't even being a good teacher or a responsible adult. He just wanted me to stay innocent so he could get his goddamn rocks off later. Fucking pig!" She slams her fist on the dash. "It took a long time for me to talk about that moment. Even to my therapist. It always made me feel...y'know."

I nod. "Yeah."

"Yeah," Victoria echoes. After a few more minutes of silence, she suddenly asks, "So...uh...what about you?"

"What about me?"

"How did you figure out you were into Chloe?"

It's the most desperate bid to change the subject I've ever heard, and her eyes are practically begging me to go along with it. Considering what we've been talking about, I'm happy to oblige. I'd want to talk about something else, too, if I were her.

"Let's just say I wish I had a moment as Hallmark cute as yours. Mine was way dumber."

"Yeah?"

"Big time. Chloe and I were in my room when I suddenly thought 'You know, we've been sleeping together for almost a month. I'm pretty sure that means I'm gay, but maybe I should ask her'."

"Bullshit," Victoria slaps her palm on the dashboard again. "I am absolutely calling bullshit on that."

"It's true, I swear."

"No one is that stupid."

I shrug. "At least one person is."

"I swear to god," she shakes her head. "People like us are why terms like 'lesbian disaster' exist."

"No argument here," I mutter. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, I actually do." She gives me a weird side-eyed look. "But just because we had a moment just now, don't go getting any ideas."

"About what?"

"About you and me. Because that's definitely not happening."

"I...excuse me?"

"You heard me."

"Are you messing with me right now?" I give her the most withering glare I can pull off. "I'm planning to rewrite time to save the love of my life, and you're concerned that I might try to hook up with you?"

"Jesus Christ, could you maybe sound a little less repulsed by the idea?"

"You just said..."

Her serious expression cracks a little. "Just because the answer is no, doesn't mean it's not flattering to be asked."

"Wow." Ignoring the infuriatingly shit-eating grin on her face, I start the car and pull back onto the road. "You are just something else, you know that?"

"And don't you forget it," she responds haughtily. "Seriously, though, thanks. For listening, I mean. You're a good friend."

"You're a good friend, too." I roll my eyes. "I guess."

"Platonic friend, though."

The incredibly undignified snort of laughter I let out is entirely her fault. "Oh my god, you suck."

"Like you'll ever know," she fires back, smirking. "How about you back off, you thirsty bitch."

"How about you bite me?"

"No means no, Caulfield."