"Grow up and blow away."

I jerk awake suddenly as the voice speaks from somewhere off to my left. It immediately descends into a mid-tempo rock song, and I hear Rachel groan, her face thoroughly burrowed into her pillow. Without even looking up, her arm reaches out and gropes about at her bedside table until she finds her phone on a stand and pulls it off, immediately shifting the song from the stand's speakers to the phone's. She manages to swipe the screen and drop the phone next to her face without ever having looked up, but a heavy breath in her pillow lets me know that she's awake.

I sit up a little, trying to blink the sleep from my eyes. Rachel seems to respond to this much more than anything, as she finally makes the effort to roll around, swiping a bunch of her hair off to the side so that she can see properly. This proves to be too little, and she takes a few seconds to blow more of it away.

With her eyes properly clear, she greets me, "Good morning," and pushes her arms out to stretch, as virtually everything below her chin is covered with blanket.
I take a look down at my feet, and discover that I've kicked her blanket off almost my entire body. I'm lucky that I didn't kick her off.

That's when it finally dawns on me. "Oh my god." I bring my hands up to my face, burying it in my palms. "I fell asleep."

Rachel and I had stayed up for a few hours past Lights Out last night, wanting to get as much as possible in order. We had purchased our train tickets down towards where we'd expect Chloe to be tomorrow evening and texted Joyce about our plan. Rachel had sat and texted friends of hers she could pull small favors from, although we needed fewer than I had imagined. It turned out that Rachel's family was adequately stocked in at least two areas, and that was camping supplies and vinyl records. Other than that, we had to have some food to take with us to reduce the cost of the trip, so she'd gotten in contact with Trevor, who worked at the local Sav-Mart, and we'd be able to get a steep discount if we got him a shopping list today.
That, and, of course, we had needed our own Instagram to make the trip official.

"Yup," Rachel replies, lacing her fingers together and making herself a hand pillow to lay on. I finally recognize that she's wearing a white shirt with the logo of Dark Side of the Moon, which she most certainly wasn't wearing last night.

I fell asleep . . . and she just left me here.

"And then you . . . changed, cleaned off your makeup, and put me under the covers?" I would really like my voice to sound more surprised, but I've got that flat-dead raspy sound to my voice instead.
She doesn't seem to mind too much, as I see her feet wiggle a little underneath the cover. "Mmhmm! Well, I tried to get you under the covers - I guess I finally get why you sleep over them now."

I slide my hands up my face, using them to push my hair back and try to get it flat. I find this somewhat uncomfortably easy, as my hair is a little greasy from failing to take a shower two days in a row.
I might have to get used to that.
"So that's . . . cool?" I rasp. It's not like Rachel and I have never slept together, it's just that it's always been an organized, planned thing. That might matter more to me than to her, but, still, I'm not sure how I'd feel about someone just falling asleep in my bed, no matter who they were.

Rachel perks up a single eyebrow. "It's more than cool, Max." She pauses, surprisingly flat-toned. "It's hella cool." Now her face splits into a grin, and she rolls once under the covers so that her new pillow is my thigh. "Good morning!"

I've got this, I've got this. The urge to kiss or touch Rachel is always like a little jolt in my stomach, but it's always made sense to push it back. But I get the distinct feeling right now that it's okay, so I try to lean down and get my lips down to hers.
I am not flexible enough. My body hangs up, hovering about halfway down to Rachel's face, and I give a bit of a grunt as I hit my limit. Nevertheless, her lips push together into a little smirk from her grin, and she pushes herself up on one arm, awkwardly, trying to get our faces to meet. I manage to get a kiss on her nose before she makes one tiny last lunge, and we get a very quick peck on the lips.

She giggles, rolling back off of me, but that kiss was enough for me to taste it. I raise my hands to my mouth and breathe.
"Oh god," I groan again. "I'm rank. I haven't brushed my teeth since yesterday morning!"
"Oh, psssh," she waves it off, standing on the bed for a second before stepping off. She's wearing plaid-patterned boxers, like Chloe used to when we were younger. "Weird tastes come with the territory, and prime kisses don't wait around for the golden opportunity, you know."

I'm still mortified. "I haven't missed brushing since . . ." I try to think of a single instance. "Ever! Never!" I breathe again into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut in dramatic pain. "This is awful."

Rachel pulls open a drawer of her dresser and apparently is dissatisfied with the result. "Damn! All out of muffins." She turns around, leaning up against it, tucking some of her hair behind her ear as she thought. I drag myself to the edge of the bed, sitting until she says whatever she's trying to figure out.
After a few seconds, "Okay, so, we don't have much to do for the trip until after school, so we can chill out a little until then. Wanna go to the Two Whales for breakfast? See Joyce?"

That sounds really nice, actually. It would be awesome if Joyce actually approves of what we're doing, although I doubt it - she wasn't exactly psyched that Chloe was going. "Yeah, definitely, I could go for waffles two days in a row. Just let me . . . you know, shower and brush my teeth and stuff."

"Bah," she dismissed, stepping over to her closet and swiping the clothes apart with an almost slashing force. Then, she seemed to think of something, and turned around, "C'mon, girl, don't you know you gotta love your natural beauty? All women are beautiful, especially if they got six hours of sleep and haven't showered in a few days." She raises her hands above her head and clasps her wrist, shimmying for a moment to highlight the natural beauty of the girl with too little sleep.

I laugh as I finally get out of the bed, patting around for a second to find my phone amidst the sheets. "Maybe if they look like you, but the rest of us aren't Aphrodite without a shower and maybe some eyeliner, you know."
"Not true!" she insisted, turning back to her closet. "All girls are goddesses. Especially if they've got freckles. Adorable freckles."

And finally, she's got me, and my face is red and I have no more good comebacks. She can hear the silence of her victory.
I never knew crushes could be so much fun.

"Oh my lord, I'm so glad you two're here," Joyce remarks almost the second Rachel and I manage to take our seats.
"Hey there Joyce," I say with a little wave.
"Hey Mom," Rachel adds, reaching out of the booth well enough to get Joyce in a loose, sitting, sideways hug.

Joyce is giving us a bit of a glare, though, and she even stands with her arms crossed, her notepad held in the crook of her arm. "Good morning girls, what can I get for you? And, while you're at it, why don't you let me know why I woke up this morning to a text that the two of you are heading after my daughter?"

I open my mouth to respond, but Rachel is quicker, "I'll have some orange juice and coffee, and for the other thing, I think Max explains it way better than me." She gestures out to me, offering my head on a silver platter for Joyce to take her scolding out on.
Joyce raises her eyebrows at me expectantly, pulling out her notepad to write something down. Probably how to cook my eyeballs so she can serve them to Chloe for encouraging delinquent behavior. "Um . . ." I stall, trying to find a totally adult, legitimate reason for my thinking. "For the . . . artistic spirit?" Joyce clearly still wants more from me, so I add, "And coffee, please."

Joyce writes down my drink in addition, but gives a pretty vocal sigh while she's at it. "I should have known that this wouldn't be some week-long trip for Chloe to get California out from under her skin. I'll probably have three unemployable girls with no high school diplomas living in my garage come this time next year."

Rachel and I both wince as Joyce douses us with her cold joke. Luckily, it's hard to keep Rachel down without a comeback, so she responds, "Well, maybe - OR Max could get a bunch of nature shots, fill out her portfolio, and make tons of money; I could get scouted by no less than three agencies who all make increasingly obscene offers as I play them off against each other; and Chloe's fresh batch of tattoos could secure her as a job as a bouncer in a club for the wealthy and famous where the tips are so good we decide to quit our new, lucrative careers to become her less-intimidating cronies and wardrobe managers."

There's a brief, stunned silence, which, as usual, signals that Rachel has won the banter contest. In this case, however, nobody had really fought back. Joyce and I give each other a glance as we often did in these cases to remind each other that Rachel is crazy.

"Well," Joyce finally offers, "I sure hope she doesn't come back with more tattoos . . ." and, after a brief moment to cast that fear out of her mind, she left us alone.

In some of these moments, where Rachel and I have no clear direction to what we're doing, the banter slides and we're left with a moment of quiet. It happened a lot before we'd ever hung out by ourselves, like when Chloe went to the bathroom or otherwise left us alone for a few minutes. It's strange how easy it is to slip back into that awkwardness and distance when, at other moments, the distance between us can vanish so entirely, literally and figuratively. The easiest thing to do, usually, is just ask Rachel about her day or what's been going on recently, but the weirder thing is that I know these things - I've been part of them. A big part.
But being such a big part is precisely what informs me that what she just said is off the wall - none of that had come up, even the reasonable parts, like me getting an opportunity to take nature shots. It all just came up on the spot.

"Your imagination is kind of amazing, you know that?" My head is tilted to the side, as if the adjusted angle is what helps me see Rachel in some new way.
Her smile in response is small, with a quiet, "Thanks," but I feel some appreciation that she doesn't cut back with some comment to distract me. She just holds my look for a second, until I grow embarrassed and look away.

She fiddles with her earring for a second, and then says so softly I can barely hear it over the din of the diner, "You don't have to look away, you know."
I look back to her, confused; "Huh?"
She swipes her hair behind her ear, creating an asymmetry that envelops half of her face in the light from the window. "You stare at people when you think they're not looking, like Kate in Mx. Dog's class. When they look at you, you pretend you weren't staring. But I don't mind." She blinks so slowly that it seems deliberate. "I like it when you look at me."

She and I hold a look there for a moment, and slowly her smile grows larger and larger until we're both grinning at each other. It must look super dorky, I know, but the longer we hold the look, the more that I feel the tingling electricity just like when we kiss. It steals my breath and tightens my chest, and I take a deep breath trying to counteract it, just letting the electric feeling spread out into my stomach, into my fingers.

Joyce comes by with a tray, placing my coffee down in front of me and startling us out of the look. I raise a hand up to my arm, rubbing quickly in hopes of settling the goosebumps all over them.
"Thanks, Joyce."

She sets down Rachel's drinks as well, with Rachel actually taking the orange juice from her directly and pulling off the straw's paper top with her teeth. However, Joyce doesn't leave immediately to continue on with the tray, instead picking up something previously hidden on the tray and setting it down between Rachel and I. "I knew there wasn't going to be anything I could say to convince you two this is a bad idea. So here, you should have this with you wherever you three end up."

I can see that it's a polaroid, so I reach out first, turning the little photo to take a look, and almost immediately crack a smile.

I stand in the middle of Rachel and Chloe, arms outstretched to take hold the polaroid as far away from myself as I can. Rachel's head is stooped down to my shoulder, one eye closed as she stuck her tongue out at the camera. Chloe's grin seems to stretch across her entire face, like it would take up the whole photo given the chance. I look positively thrilled - I can't remember what the scene was, but I'm ecstatic.

I flip it over for a second, finding a handwritten note from Joyce on the back in small script.

To my girls:
take care of
yourselves.
I love you
Joyce

"God," I swear with a sigh, and hand the photograph over to Rachel, taking the opportunity to try a sip of my coffee.

Rachel takes a moment to look at the polaroid, flip it over, and then look at it again. Then, she sighs too, setting the picture between us again. She takes sugar from the side of the table and empties a packet into her coffee before stirring it. There's a glumness sitting between us now, the feeling that we're abandoning Joyce when things are probably already tough for her.

"Destiny is a choice," Rachel mutters as she stirs.
"Hmm?" I ask, not quite remembering why that sounds so familiar.
"That's what Michel told you, remember?" Rachel lifts her coffee up near her mouth and blows over the surface. "When you got your fortune read, Michel told you that destiny was a choice, and that you had to be brave, remember?"

I nod, remembering the other parts of my fortune just as I am inclined to protest at the pre-recorded mystic's suggestions. Complementary strength, Max.
"I think this is a pretty good destiny to choose." She sips her coffee, her hazel eyes flicking up to mine while her mouth hides behind the cup.

I smile, and tap my foot around a bit under the table until I find Rachel's, pressing down on it just enough to be (I think?) affectionate.
The corners of her eyes crinkle as she puts her coffee back down on the table.

I press down the length of the last piece of tape, sealing the photo into my journal in the bottom right. I pull out a sharpie and add a caption just below it, to commemorate the start of our journey - I still hadn't had the time to fill in my journal since last night.

A few seconds later, the caption read:
HELLA BEST FRIENDS 4EVER!

I smile at that for a second, running my finger over the tape again to make sure it is secure. Then, I grab a post-it note from my stack, all of which start with the alerting title: "Objective:" in order to keep me on track if I should get lost in doodling. To-do lists never work for me, but the objective notes made my daily tasks feel like I am nearing a level-up in an RPG, and that helps my concentration to a surprising degree sometimes.

My newest objective?
Be ready to
go before
bed tonight

I close my journal and wind the string that keeps it tight around the knob on the front. Soon, I'd have so much to fill my journal with. I try to think ahead, to what it's going to look like to look back on this past week with Rachel, and the weeks to come. It could all look like a goofy teenage mistake, or . . . one of the best decisions I'd ever made. I've been making a lot of gambles like that recently. If I had miscalculated, a lot of debt could be coming my way. Emotional debt.

There's a knock on my door, and I push my journal to the back of my desk before going to answer it.
It's Kate Marsh, her hands delicately laying over one another over her skirt. Weird - normally she'd be spending her lunch with her sketchbook or Alyssa.

"Hey Kate."
"Hey there Max."
"What's up?"
Kate sways a little as she talks, as she always does. "I was wondering if you wanted to go get tea after school today? We haven't caught a date in the past few weeks."
I immediately smile at the request, but I'm not so caught up in it that I forget like last time.

I look behind me, checking to make sure that my room is clean enough to manage my shame. Decent, I guess. "Here, Kate, come in, I actually need to talk to you I think."
"Oh, um . . ." Kate looks slightly pink, but she follows me inside as I step back into my room, 'okay." She takes a seat on the couch across from me, careful to avoid the neck of my guitar in the process. She places her forearms down on her knees. "What's going on, Max?"

I scratch the back of my head and swipe a finger underneath my nose like maintenance. Kate would be understanding whatever reason I gave, I understand that. But it feels so weird to leave a close friend behind like this - it's like my trip is refining who are my 'real friends', and I want to make sure she doesn't take it like that.

"So . . . I can't, actually. Make our date. Not for a few more weeks." I can't look up at Kate just yet, so I stick to futzing with the bracelet Rachel gave me.
Kate leans forward in her seat, and her voice is filled with concern, "Huh? Is something wrong, Max? Are you okay?"

Oh, lord, she completely misinterpreted. Wrong approach.
"No, yeah, Kate, I'm okay, promise. I'm just going out of town for a few weeks to go . . . sort of sight-seeing with Chloe and Rachel."
"Oh." I can't really tell what the tone of that is. "Wait, as in right now? In the middle of the semester." Then, she seems to put it together fully, "As in, like, tonight? That's why you can't go?"

Oh god, I've disappointed her. Kate doesn't want me to go, and Kate Marsh is too good to deserve an ounce of disappointment in her life. Oh god.
I can feel my doubt clenching in my stomach, and I start tugging on my studded wristband. "Yeah, well, tomorrow morning. You might have seen on Facebook that Chloe's on a road trip, and, well, Rachel and I want to be with her."

I look up finally, and find Kate's face unreadable. "But, like, I'm going to be texting the shit out of you, and as soon as I get back we can go on a whole tea quest through Portland, and-"
Kate stands up, reaching out and placing her hand over my hand, settling its agitated fidgeting with the wristbands. I look up her hazel eyes and see her face slowly form a smile as I quiet.
"That's great. I'm happy for you, Max."

Taken aback, my response comes as a stutter, "R-really? You don't think it's stupid?"
She shakes her head, still smiling, "Not for a second. I think it's perfect."

I glance down for a second at her hand over mine, reeling far more at the firmness of her support than just the words. How can Kate actually think this is a good idea? She's so responsible.
I break the contact with her hand, only to reach up and wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her into an uneven, but very tight hug. "Oh my god, Kate, thank you so much, thank you; you're gorgeous and perfect and charming and talented and-"
She's giggling so much as I drag her down, and she twists a little out of my grasp so she can sit on my bed instead of my lap before leaning in to hug me just as tightly back. "Bring me back some tea!, we can try it together. Nothing too sweet, though, maybe just like lavender or-"
"Totally." I squeeze her tighter, and she squeals a little before we both start giggling.

She's back to her pretty pink tone as we break apart, and she scoots back a little on my bed. "I knew you were totally going to fall for her when you started hanging out last week."
I flush, pushing my hair back a little on my forehead as if I'm just hot. "I don't know what you mean," I lie, realizing more and more how much I've managed to broadcast what's going on between Rachel and I. I thought we were at least kind of sneaky about it.
Now Kate grins, clearly having me on the defensive. "I may not know Rachel, Max, but I've heard enough to know what happens to people around her. Plus, you know, look at her."
I nod. I have been. It's really nice.

"Well, what about you and Warren then, huh? I saw you two together quite a bit last week when you were supposed to be working with Stella."
She winces at the implication. "It's . . . totally not like that. I've kind of been having a rough time, and Warren's been really understanding, that's all."
I raise an eyebrow, my best imitation of Rachel's 'calling your bullshit' look. "You sure? I mean, he's awful sweet, and at the drive-in he seemed kind of . . ." I trail off suggestively.
She buries her head in her hands. "I know, I know, but I'm really not . . . like . . . I don't . . ." she struggles to find the right words.
I think I know what she means though, so I stop the teasing, "No, no, I get you - I don't really . . . do that either." I pause and add, "Sorry."

We sit with knowing looks on our faces for a few seconds before Kate tries to bring us back to our original topic, something she can be much more enthusiastic about.
"So, where are you three going? You'll be taking lots of pictures, right?"
I smile, as we both know full well the enormity of pictures that will be taken of this trip. The instagrams at Blackwell are so popular that there's even a 'Blackwell Piece of the Day' every weekday run by the school's student government, by which I mean Courtney Wagner.
"Oh, we're about to release the photo-kraken all over Instagram, don't worry. We actually have a page already set up . . ."

While Kate sets about following the media and proposing different places we could go to along the west coast, I just try to enjoy the last lunch I'm going to get with her for a while. She's such a warm, supportive friend. I'm glad Warren and her other friends are here for her, but I hope by the time I come back, she'll feel so in the loop that it's like she's coming along, too.
I get the impression that she wants to live vicariously through our adventures. I've never sensed this escapism from her. I hope everything is all right.

Rachel and I split up to get packed before making the rounds for those favors she called in. I wasn't sure what to bring, so I mostly focused on packing up clothes and toiletries, but I knew it would take Rachel significantly longer to get all of the camping supplies packed up.

The perfect celebration of our escape finally dawned on me as I was deciding whether or not to take my laptop. It was about 5:30 when I stood in front of Brooke's door, knocking in hopes of obtaining the first, most important step. While Brooke might be involved in the science and engineering programs at Blackwell, I also had class with her in music, and I know she takes computer sciences with Chloe. Add in the fact that she burns the track lists for Vortex functions too unimportant to hire a proper DJ, and, well . . .

Brooke opens the door, and we stop to take brief glances at each other before she decides how polite to be. She's wearing a yellow zip-down hoodie with little diamonds placed neatly all over it, as well as cut-off jean shorts. With her dyed hair, Brooke honestly reminds me of a combination of Chloe, Rachel, and I all blended together, sans the goofiness. If I were a photographer with the sort of dedication and intensity that Brooke seems to provide to everything she does, I could probably leave Victoria's cashmere in the dirt. But, then again, I'm not really that competitive . . .

"Hey Brooke," I offer first, hoping I hit her at a good time.
"Hey Max," she responds, still looking me over. Finally, her eyes return to my face. "Need something?"
I fidget a little with the strap of my bag. "Yeah, uh, I was just wondering if you had any blank CDs I could borrow. Or, well, buy. I want to make a mix CD for some friends."

She gives me a quizzical expression, then asks, "How many do you need?"
I hadn't really thought of that, so I just guess, "Um, I don't know . . . four or five? Thirty songs at least, maybe up to sixty?"
"Yeah, one sec," she says, and turned back into her room, leaving the door entirely open.
I take my first glance into her room, but all I can see on the opposite end are three! monitors on a desk that seemed to take up almost the entire back space, having a plastic bottom over the carpet to assist in rolling back and forth on a chair she must have brought in. The computer sitting underneath the desk is an absolute monster, a few feet tall with transparent sides, so that you can see the lights and circuits inside. I don't really get anything about it except that it was big and pretty, but that's enough for me to utter a quiet 'oh . . .'

Brooke is back at the door quickly with maybe a half-dozen disks, each placed into individual paper slides. "That should do it," she comments as I take them.
"Do you need me to pay you b-"
"Nah, it's cool," she said, and the door closes between us.

Well, all right. That wasn't half bad.

I settle back into my room, my bags half-packed as I drop the first disk in and head to my library to start pulling songs for us to listen to. I figure I can just grab everything that looks good that we like and randomize it across each disk so that Chloe can't get all choosey with them. As she's our driver, she always demands control of the music, and while Rachel and I like her music, we also like substantial more variety.
I am quick to recognize that I don't know much of Rachel's taste in music beyond what she and Chloe both like, so I head to her Facebook to start sorting through her liked bands. Most, I expect.

Arctic Monkeys, Metric, MGMT, Muse, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Led Zeppelin, Blink 182, Angus and Julia Stone, Modest Mouse, Avril Lavigne, Sleeping with Sirens, MCR, Panic! at the Disco, Metro Station, Death Cab for Cutie, Pierce the Veil, AFI, the Used . . .

Wait. No way.
I click on Rachel's name and then over to her pictures. I click on pictures with her, and immediately click left to go as far back as I can.
Oh my god.
Rachel was emo. Like full-on, 2007 black hair with a single green highlight emo. She was nearly prepubescent but clearly migrating from Myspace where that was still in vogue.

I text her while looking around for a way to quickly pirate as much of this music as possible so I could burn it onto the CD.

Max: YOU WERE AN EMO KID? Rachel: ?
Rachel: oh god
Rachel: you went looking through my FB photos didn't you Max: :D
Max: You did something cringey.
Max: Someone, at some point in their life, probably cringed at your lifestyle choices. Rachel: that person is me
Rachel: and my parents
Rachel: -.-
Rachel: first of all how dare you Max: Maybe Michel the Mystic was right.
Max: Maybe we're just too different
Max: ~a nerd and a goth~ Rachel: stop Max: ~never meant to be~
Max: omg your first profile pic was literally that gothic anime girl from the mid 2000s off Deviantart that literally everyone has seen Rachel: :(
Rachel: why must you hurt me
Rachel: why would you say that you know how i feel Max: rawr Rachel: =[
Rachel: no Max: That means 'I love you' in dinosaur Rachel: i'll love you too if you just erase this from your mind
Rachel: forever Max: Wow, that's a lot of commitment
Max: I mean I've heard of u-haul lesbians but I'd say I'm probably bisexual Rachel: you're a turd
Rachel: i should have eloped with lisa when i had the chance
Rachel: i know she'd be willing to calmly soak up the LA sun with me Max: Well, sorry! ^^ You're eloping with me instead Rachel: ...
Rachel: you win this round.
Rachel: pick you up in 30? Max: ! e ! x ! c ! i ! t ! e ! d ! Rachel: always knew we'd run away together ;)

The playlist is done. Now all that's left is to burn them, and I've got plenty of time to do that.
My body seems to hum.

Rachel's out in the parking lot, waiting for me to bring out my stuff. She didn't have too much to take from her room, so she packed up before setting off for her house. I managed to fit everything into two gym bags and my photography courier bag, so I should be all set to haul it out by myself. I'm prepared. I'm ready.
Deep breath.

I exit my room and immediately find myself face-to-face with an unpredicted obstacle - Victoria Chase in a yellow button-up about two feet from me just exiting her room. She scans me quickly, primarily focusing on the bags before slowly sliding her phone into her slacks.
"Y'know, when I said you should think of things beyond school, I didn't mean . . ." she twirled a finger around, encircling my body and the bags. "whatever this is."
I shrug as well as I can under the weight of the bags. "Well, you weren't the only inspiration, Victoria. Sometimes a journey of self-discovery is just called for."

Her eyes squint now as her hand falls out in that same pedantic pose, like she's needing to spoon-feed sense into me. "Wait, you're serious right now? You're packing up and going on a spirit journey 'just 'cuz'? Can you even drive? You don't have a car, do you?"
I would really like to be able to fidget with something right now, but it would look kind of weird to put down my bags. "Well, no, but Rachel and I are going to met up with Chloe and she-"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Victoria cuts off, suddenly way more hostile than I expected. "You're ditching out of school for so long you need three bags to go hang out with Rachel Amber? Who do you think you are, Max? You're here on scholarship, and you don't get to just disregard the school because you won some little photo contest."
She's right, of course, but that doesn't make what I'm doing wrong. This trip will be good for me as a photographer, and there's no way I could do it alone. There is no better time - delaying had only pushed Chloe to the point she'd needed to leave without us. "It's not like that," I reply, hating how whiny my voice sounds. "I'm still going to be doing my homework and expanding my portfolio, and I'm not going to have a better chance to experience so much-"

Victoria gives such a loud, contemptuous snort that I shut up. Her voice brightens and the pitch rises in sarcasm, "Oh, sure, I'm Max Caulfield. Ditching class is really just my way of finding enlightenment. Nature is so beautiful that I sob waves of romanticism." Then her voice turns cruel, "Maybe you should think with your head instead of your dick for a second here, Max."
"Shut up!" I snap, finally dropping my bags and pushing my courier bag back further, less in my way. "Why do you act like I'm just some dog eating out of Rachel's hand? Why do you even care? Can't I enjoy myself without you shitting on me for no reason?"

For a second, I think I hear Juliet's door open, but when I look over, it doesn't look like anyone is coming out. Victoria glances over at it too, then returns her pissed stare back to me. At least she's quieter now, "I don't care, Max. But you're better than whatever manic pixie dream quest you think you're going to get, running off instead of staying here where you belong."
My face is heated in the exact opposite way from when a conversation normally turns to Rachel - I'm pissed. "Maybe I belong with my friends when they're out living their life, not stuck here with you and your snooty sycophants and dumb club. Maybe I can do something meaningful instead of getting drunk on the weekends off my boyfriend's-"

"- He is not my boyfriend, and don't you bring Nathan into this." Victoria takes a step towards me, and being nearly a head taller, the close proximity allows her to lean down to get closer to my face. She presses a finger into my chest as she spoke just above a whisper, "This is the sort of shit I meant when I said don't fuck it up for yourself." She almost sounds pleading. "You only get so many shots, Max."
I am silent for a moment, trying to understand where this is all coming from.
The silence is too long for her. The venom is back. "Whatever, Max. Have fun." She turns and heads right back into her room, practically slamming the door behind her.
I don't know why I feel so sad.

Rachel can see that I'm upset as soon as I sit next to her in Trevor's three-seater pickup. He kindly let us borrow it today, just having Rachel drop him off at work after school and now returning it as he gets off, although that's still not for about another hour.
"Hey babes," she greets, hand on the ignition for just a second before my expression seems to settle in. "What's wrong?" She's so quick to tap into it, to reach over and grab my hand, that my heart melts, and I accidentally slip into tears.

"Whoah, hey," she she emits in surprise, and scoots across the seats to basically scoop my upper body up against her. "I know this is kind of a new thing but I'm pretty sure this means that I've gotta beat someone up."
I raise a hand to my eyes as well as I can to wipe away the stupid fresh tears. "No, no, no beating up. I just ran into Victoria and she was kinda . . . mean about the trip. She's been really rude to me since last week. Like, more than usual."

There's a little grumble in Rachel's chest. "I really don't get her," she confesses with irritation. "Back before we got into Blackwell, Victoria seemed cool, or chill at least. But she's gotten to be such a bitch - I can't believe she's acting like that." Then, quieter, she adds, "And I'll totally beat her up, just you watch."
That provokes a laugh from me, and soon afterwards from her too. I poke her shoulder playfully on my first two words, "No - fighting. She's like half a foot taller than you. Plus . . . I really don't want to be her enemy."

Rachel deflates a little against me, recognizing I'm not really settling in for a cry session. "Yeah, me neither. I might like the spotlight, but I don't think I want to get famous for fighting other girls. It's tacky. Even if they deserve it."
I nod repeatedly in agreement, "Totally tacky. But I don't even want to fight. I'd way prefer to be friends, talk photography and be totally chill. But she's so . . ." I raise my hands in a vague strangling shape and shake them, "meeeaan."

Rachel finally begins to de-tangle herself from me a little. "Now, I know this might seem a little funny coming from me, but sometimes it's not worth it to make friends. Some people feel they have too much to fight for to do that, no matter how nice you are. Or how pretty they are."
I giggle a little bit at that, reaching for my seatbelt. "So you think so too?"
Rachel glances at me with comically wide eyes. "Well, I have eyes, don't I? But what can I say - lions don't always belong in the same pride."

I find myself with a smile, despite everything, and pull out my phone to text Chloe. It was time to let her in on what was going on.

Rachel and I slept very little the night before our train ride. This was in part because we stayed up to watch old horror movies, virtually unable to sleep, and also because sleeping over at the Prices' gave Rachel and I a very new opportunity to practice making out. I was a slow, clumsy learner, and Rachel really seemed to enjoy teasing me by pulling back like a half inch when I tried to kiss her, but it was still so nice. There is so much skin to her and it is all warm and ticklish. She's so ticklish! And somewhere between the tickling and the kissing and the spooky thunder on-screen we just didn't manage all that much sleep.
At least, until we were actually on the train, because we managed to sleep our way through almost the whole thing.

It's well into the evening by the time we're off the train and on a bus, nearly arrived in Crescent City, both because it's so close to the California-Oregon border and because tickets there were cheaper than almost anywhere else. We're not even sure we're in the right place when the bus stops, until the driver calls out: "Crescent City, right? You guys are out here."

We take a moment to grab all of our things, and then we're outside, somewhat unpleasantly surprised to find that every surface in sight is damp. But we don't have too much time to focus on that, because before we ever see her, we hear: "Hey you crazy townies!" and, as if out of nowhere, Chloe appears between us with an arm over both of us, pulling us as close as she can with our bags as impediments.

We're here. Just inside the California border in one of the wettest parts of the state, despite the drought. And we have our Chloe back.

"Heya, hippie."
"Hey you."

Rachel and I squeeze her as tight as we can, given the circumstances.