Most days, I awake slowly, realizing that the awful screech of my alarm is real and that all of the dreams I'd been enjoying were totally fake. But when I feel a hand fall into my hair, when I feel nails against my scalp, I immediately twitch awake, gasping as if I were emerging from underwater.

"Whoah, whoah, whoah, hey, it's just me," Rachel says softly just above me.
I freeze, trying to figure out where I am and what's going on, at least aware that I'm not in danger.

Okay, let's see. I'm in a sleeping bag. On the beach. Oh!

I roll over slowly, revealing more of Rachel bit by bit. Her knees on the tarp next to me, her tank top, her hair covering her shoulders, her blue earring dangling down next to her eyes. Her face is right above me, but I can see beyond her that the sky is still dark. What is she getting me up for?

As if she can read the thoughts out of my mind after a few seconds of wordless staring, she answers, "It's 5:00. We can see Leo. Still want to see?"

I nod, swallowing to try and get my throat capable of talking without my horrible rasp, but the nod is enough for her to smile.
"Awesome," she says, and then, "Scoot over."

I just blink at her lamely for a few seconds, not sure exactly what she wants until she reaches over me and begins to unzip my sleeping bag. She swings a leg over me while I try to scoot to one side of the bag, but she doesn't immediately move over, instead turning her attention back to me for a brief second.
There may be a very thick later of fabric between us, but when she squeezes her legs in on me, I definitely feel it. I chew on my upper lip a little, immediately nervous.

"Hey. Good morning." And she leans down to kiss me.
This time, the weird (terrible) taste of morning doesn't bother me so much. Morning kisses from Rachel day after day are far too important to be bothered.

Without further ado, she rolls off of me, finishes unzipping the sleeping bag, and scoots herself inside as well as she can. She can't quite get it to close after her, but having Rachel right next to me is like having a space heater, and I am warmer despite the cool beach air.
I have an arm around her waist immediately, both to make room and to pull her close, quickly making us useless stargazers as we spoon. Her tank top has been pulled up a little by her wiggling into the bag, and she's so warm from sitting in her sleeping bag for hours that her belly almost feels hot to the touch.
I don't mind.

I lean forward, my lips close enough to her ear that my whisper tickles, "So, where's Leo?"
Her face pinches a little as she snorts from the tickle, but she quickly replies, "East horizon. If we wanted a really good look we'd want to be on a hilltop, but we should see most of it."

She gestures for me to share my pillow more, and I try to turn so I can look at the eastern horizon a little bit while keeping an arm around her, although it promptly gets crushed as she turns as well. She only takes a few seconds to look at the sky before finding what she's looking for, and pointing upwards.

"See the sickle there?"
I most definitely do not see a sickle, no.
"It looks sort of like a backwards question mark."
Rachel presses her face close against mine, and although my eyes slide to look at her, her concentration is right up in the stars. I follow the length of her arm up to a curve she's tracing in the sky.

"And it ends right there, you see? At Regulus, that bright one right there. And, actually, right next to it? That's Mars, not a star, so don't include it. Once you see Regulus, go up two stars along the body of Leo and . . ."
Rachel's hand trails across the sky, but I don't think it quite reaches its destination. Instead, my free hand meets hers, and our fingers weave together slowly.

It takes her a fair amount of twisting and turning before we're facing each other, but the proximity in this little sleeping bag feels different. I can't bring myself to open my eyes completely, but I can feel Rachel's hot breath on my face. I can feel her eyelashes tickling my eyelids. I can feel the notches of her spine as my fingers trace the line of her back, and I can feel her shiver as I reach about halfway up her spine.
I'm not sure who kisses who, but it's like we meld together for a moment, and in that moment our legs fit together and I am on my hands and knees over her. It barely even registers to me what we're doing until I need to take a breath. My heart races, and I know I'm breathing too fast to really be justified from kissing.

Even in the darkness, I can see her features clearly. Her eyes are wide open, and her face is . . . I think, for a few seconds, her facade is gone, and I can see her again.
"Whoah," she breathes gently.

"Um," I reply, sitting up a little to swipe some of the hair from my face, "there's more to Leo than a backwards question mark, isn't there?"

"Yeah," she replies, and although she doesn't smile, her expression is very soft. "Come here, lay down. I'll show you lots of stars."

She only manages a few before I'm asleep, curled around her warmth with my head on her chest.

"Hey you two, we need to get going."

I don't start awake this time, but instead slowly open my eyes, realizing that my entire upper body is bathed in sunlight, and that I am way, way too warm. That, and I can hear a heartbeat.
Then that the heartbeat is Rachel's.
Then that Rachel and I are still in the same sleeping bag.
Then that Chloe is leaning over us, fully dressed, with her hands on her hips.

"H-hi, Chloe." My voice doesn't rasp, but it isn't much more impressive, as I suddenly find myself paralyzed. I'm not afraid, although my heart skips a beat. Embarrassed? Ashamed? No, none of those but . . . I'm not sure what to expect to happen in the next few seconds.

What I don't expect is the sudden jerk from Rachel, and me suddenly having to support my own weight to sit up.
"Oh, hey Chloe!" Rachel sounds far too surprised to be cheery, although I think that's the tone that she's going for. "What's up?"

Chloe rolls her eyes and takes a step back. "Come on - get dressed. We've got a lot of driving to do today and we've got a late start."

Rachel is quick to crawl out of my sleeping bag, sliding her hands along her scalp to move all of her hair to her back. Meanwhile, I roll to the side of the sleeping bag she had just been occupying, snatching my phone from the tarp beside me.
"What time is it?" I ask, seconds away from being able to check that myself.

Somehow, though, Chloe's got a quick response, "It's eight. We were supposed to leave half an hour ago."

"Sorry Chlo," Rachel apologizes quickly. "Wasn't sure when we were supposed to be up."

I click the power on my phone and, instead of my lock screen picture, I see that I have a single notification from Kate, and a small wall of notifications from Instagram. The Instagram stuff is probably just due to me being tagged in every picture of Rachel's for the past two days, so I swipe on Kate's name to see what's up.

Kate: Hey Max! How are you? How has the trip been? Max: Good morning Kate!
Max: It's been really cool, actually. We went to the redwoods yesterday and today we're heading to someplace called Mendocino. Really big forest a few hours north of Sacramento.
Max: And I'm doing okay. Things have been a little awkward, but I'm glad I came.

Unlike Rachel, Kate is a very slow responder, so I don't expect a reply while I'm getting ready. Instead, I focus on packing up the sleeping bags and tarp with Chloe while Rachel is getting dressed in the truck.

Chloe doesn't pick a conversation, and for a minute we work in silence. Except when she's smoking, Chloe doesn't usually tolerate much quiet from me or Rachel. Has she been smoking already?

"So, um, Chloe. What's the plan for breakfast?"

She shrugs, grinding her knees into a rolled-up sleeping bag to push any remaining air out of it. "I don't know, a Denny's I guess? Or we can grab like, donuts or something, I don't know. We should probably do something fast."

She's gritting her teeth as she works. Is she mad? No, she gets loud when she's mad, not quiet. Frustrated? Frustrated would make sense if we made her late - it might feel like we're interfering with her plans despite our promises. Or is it because of Rachel and I sleeping together? She seemed to have noticed that we'd gotten . . . closer during the contest. I mean, she cracked the joke about us "smoochin'", and even distant people like Juliet seemed to have caught on. Maybe it is awkwardness? Does she think this will mean that she's a third wheel? Despite what's going on with Rachel and I, I still think we're both most comfortable with Chloe. She's both of ours best friend - she gets that, right?

I sigh gently, still unsure of the answer.
"You okay?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies, a little too fast, "just want to start driving. The place I want to camp is walk-in, so all delays take time out of Mendo... whatever."

"Oh." There was no way I could have known that, and yet, "I'm sorry."

"S'cool."

When we're packed up and carrying our bags and the tarp back up to the truck, I notice that Rachel is done changing, but is leaning against the bed of the truck on the side opposite of Chloe and I's approach, not immediately noticing us. By the time that I notice that she's talking on the phone, though, she turns her head and notices us. Chloe raises up a sleeping bag before dunking it into the back of the truck slowly and over-dramatically, as if to say, 'hey.'

Rachel raises a finger to indicate that she needs a minute, and kicks off of the truck and begins to walk along the sidewalk.

"It's gonna be a few minutes," Chloe warns. "You should probably go brush your teeth and change while you've got the chance."

"Yeah." I watch Rachel walking for a few seconds before she sits herself down on the railing separating the sidewalk from the beach, far too far away to hear what she's saying or make out the words on her lips. "I'll do that."

It's 8:19 by the time I'm ready and leaving the nearby bathroom. Kate's hit me back with another text, and I can see that Rachel is still busy on her phonecall, hunched forward with her elbows on her thighs. Chloe's going to get pissed if it goes on too much longer. She feels ignored if you get too busy with your phone or computer.

Kate: That sounds awesome! Except for the awkward bit. Why has stuff been awkward?

"She's still going, huh?"
Despite the fact that Chloe is sitting on the edge of the truck bed with her back to Rachel, even my short trip from the bathroom informed me that she was looking back at Rachel every few seconds.

"Hmm?" Chloe asks, as if she hadn't heard me. Then, "Oh. Yeah. Rachel is pop-u-lar." Although she often confronts the topic of Rachel's spectacular popularity with sarcasm, her eyeroll seems particularly spiteful this morning.

My instinct to validate Chloe immediately comes into conflict with my desire to protect Rachel. My mouth opens, but I hesitate for a few seconds. "It seems like a lot of pressure. I don't know how she does it."
Despite the week that we spent together, that is still true. I may have a much better understanding of why she does it, but how she even manages to be so receptive, to be 'on' so often amazes me. I think that is one of the reasons why I know she's going to be an incredible model - not only is she beautiful, but she knows how to be what people want.

I know that she feels weighed down by it. Does Chloe?

Chloe deflates a little in response. "Yeah, I mean. Yeah, I guess."
She reaches into her jacket pocket to retrieve a pack of cigarettes, slides one out, returns it, and pulls out her lighter. As she puts the cig in her mouth, she talks through her teeth, "Don't know how that school's even gonna stay standing without her there."
She lights her cigarette and takes a deep drag from it before continuing. "Guess I can't talk, though."

I take a seat next to her on the truck, both so I'll stop staring at Rachel and she'll stop blowing smoke towards me.

Kate: That sounds awesome! Except for the awkward bit. Why has stuff been awkward? Max: I'm not sure Chloe totally appreciated us coming.
Max: She really wanted to do something independent.
Max: How are things back at Blackwell, though? How are you?

I know that's not the only reason things are awkward, but I don't know how to tell Kate about Rachel and I. I don't really think she likes boys, but I don't exactly have a lot of evidence that Kate likes girls, either. I know she'd be cool with it, but I don't exactly want to get slotted in as 'her lesbian friend' when I'm not even there. If Victoria found out (and she would find out, somehow), she'd have way too much ammunition by the time we got back.

As I slide my phone back in my pocket, I shuffle a little to look at Chloe better and ask, "Hey, Chloe, should we talk about-"
"Nope."
"Uh, okay."

It's 8:37 by the time that Rachel is done with her phone call, and several more minutes pass before we're actually in the car, ready to go. Rachel is spilling apologies all over the both of us for the hold up, but Chloe quickly stops responding to them. An hour out of our day is pretty bad, yeah, but I'd prefer we all try to enjoy it than Rachel be guilty for devoting a few minutes to someone who isn't us.

After a few minutes, Chloe says, "Yo, Max - got another mix tape? We've got a lot of driving today."

"Yeah, totally," I reply, and pull out all of the sleeves. I think Chloe's eyebrows quirk once she notices that the titles do not fit the pattern she was expecting - instead of Mixtape 2, I pick "Apples and Oranges" to replace "Mixtape 1″.

"How far is Mendocino?" I ask as the first track begins to play.

"Like, six hours? You can check your phone."

"All right."

We arrive at Black Butte Lake later than we hoped, but Chloe still manages to grab us the final spot and pick up firewood before everything's closed down. Unfortunately, even in California, October sunsets come pretty quickly, and the campground is dark by the time we've set up - and by that, I just mean we've got a fire going. Well, at least, Chloe and I've got the fire going - Rachel took the truck as soon as we arrived to go buy beer and food in nearby Orland. How exactly she never fails to get beer if she wants it is beyond me, though I can't claim to know much about . . . well, anything having to do with alcohol, I guess.

It can't be later than 8:30 by the time we're totally situated, sitting in a little triangle with our Wendy's meals around the campfire. I'm sitting in the bed of the truck with my legs dangling over the, carefully eating fries one at a time when Rachel finally speaks up.

"Where do you think you would have gone, if you could have gone anywhere?" She stares across the fire at Chloe, sitting cross-legged on a convenient rock, stirring a quickly-melting frosty into a smooth consistency.

Meanwhile, Chloe is busy with her chicken nuggets, which she needs a completely unnecessary amount of barbecue sauce for. She's busy chewing, but I think I know the answer.
"Paris, right?" I ask.

She nods, but luckily finishes swallowing before actually saying anything. "Yeah," she replies simply, immediately dunking another nugget.
An implicit 'why' hangs in the air, though, and she can feel it. "I've been trying to get there since . . . well, fucking forever, I guess, although I kind of gave up after Dad died.

"But, when you were a kid, what made you want to go?" Rachel insists.

I'm surprised she doesn't already know all of this, honestly. Although talking about our past wasn't something we ever seemed to do as a group, I assumed they'd talked about it plenty while I was gone. Chloe wanting to go to Paris was like Chloe wanting to be a pirate captain or a super hero - they were ever-present and not very quiet.

Chloe sighs, and then just tosses a whole nugget in her mouth, using all the extra chewing time to mull it over. Why questions with Chloe were never easy. I think it takes the fun out of it for her.

"I honestly can't tell you. To me, when I was like ten or whatever, Paris just seemed kind of like magic. You've got the Eiffel tower, duh, and you've got the Louvre, and you've got all these incredibly famous writers who used to live there, and just."
Chloe huffs as she tries to put all of her thoughts together. Another nugget provides the fuel that she needs. "I mean, spending a day in Paris shows you more cool stuff than living a year on the west coast. It's got history, and not all of it's about, like, fucking genocide."

Chloe reaches for another chicken nugget but discovers that they're all gone, that her whole meal is gone. Her mouth pinches into a circle of disappointment before she tosses the container into a paper bag.

I know Rachel gets it, even if she doesn't come up with a response. The history of Arcadia Bay, despite the attempts of its many nature trails to convince you otherwise, is unpleasant at best. Rachel probably knows that best of any of us. Despite Ms. Grant's stubborn, enthusiastic attempts to convince everyone that the natives of Arcadia Bay and the families that settled here in the 1800s was harmonious, my family had taught me much better long before I ended up in her chem class. I know Rachel mentioned that her father was native, although for the life of me I can never seem to remember the tribe's name. At the very least, I know he's originally from Arcadia Bay, but not if he's related to the local natives that I only really know of from newspaper articles.

"Ah, on the subject of childhoods, Rachel."

Chloe begins to hunt around for the trash can outside of our spot, while Rachel looks at me curiously without responding.

"Why did you family move to Arcadia Bay?"

She makes a sweeping scoop in her frosty, but doesn't delay the question with eating. "Um. Well. When the housing market bubble burst, we knew we had to move out of Long Beach, probably out of California. Arcadia Bay's economy had kind of been in the shitter for a while, but it was improving when everything else was getting worse, thanks to the Prescotts. This is my dad's hometown, and we could afford an actual house, so we moved."

She shrugs in conclusion. "Why did your family leave?" Finally, she flips her spoon over and drops it over her tongue, quirking an eyebrow at me.

I quickly deflate, blowing my chest empty at the topic I'd rather avoid. While it's not really that big of a deal, I really don't like bringing up what led to me leaving. The timing has always been a sour note with Chloe and me, even if me leaving wasn't my fault.
And, on that note, Chloe returns, holding as many beers as she could carry before crouching down next to Rachel, so she can take a few for herself.

Once they're situated again, I start in, "Well, it's pretty simple. My mom's a lawyer, and she got offered a much more lucrative position in Seattle than she was ever going to have here. She works for the DA there, now. Plus, my dad's a networking engineer, so he can always make more money in a big city, so I think it was kind of a no-brainer for them."

Chloe's got five beers at her feet and one in her hand. I hope that's all she plans on drinking . . . at least when she's smoking, Chloe is quiet and silly. When she drinks, I think she's just sad.
She's just started on her first one when she tacks on, "Well, I mean, there's more to it than that. I don't know, maybe."

Rachel tilts her head, shifting the patterns of firey light on her hair. For such smooth hair, it's amazing the texture that light can create in it.
"What do you mean?"

Chloe taps the bottle against her palm a few times, a tic, before sipping from it. "I mean, our dads knew each other. Like, they were friends in college. They played rugby and d&d like fucking hipster losers. Max and I were friends before we even started grade school."

I don't know if William's death encouraged my parents to leave. They've never talked to me very much about it, not since it happened. As open as my parents are with me about things like sexuality or drug use (not that I've caused them much concern in either department), death isn't a topic they seem comfortable touching.

I open my mouth to speak, but I shut up instead. I remember now that, about a year after we moved, my dad started playing World of Warcraft, and that he had a character named after William's favorite character. Diedrick, the troll rogue. But there's something about the look in Chloe's eyes that tells me we should leave things there, and Rachel doesn't add anything more, either.

I don't like the sullen feeling that sets in as they start drinking, and I'm just left staring at the fire in the silence. I don't want this trip to be so solemn and reflective like it has been. I don't think puns will save us from that, though, so I'll have to try and bait banter out of them.

Hmmm...

"So. Would you: Usher?"

Chloe groans immediately, dropping her head into her free hand. "Are we seriously going to play this g-"

Rachel sits up a bit straighter and cuts her off, "Definitely."

She and I both turn our attention over to Chloe, who sighs at being put on the spot. "Yes. Fuck, I have eyes and a vagina, yes."

"Yeah, me too," I admit, quickly searching for another name to try and get them involved. Rachel showed me this 'game' when we all went bowling together, and while it feels trashy, it's really easy to play.
"Would you: Phillip deFranco?"

Chloe gives me a weird look for a second. "Like . . . the Youtube guy?"
I nod, and she looks confused to the level of sarcasm.

Chloe raises her hands up in an uncomfortable shrug as she replies, "Uh, no? He's not even that funny."

"I would," Rachel replies, nodding to herself a little.

Now Chloe and I both give her weird looks. Rachel's eyes slide over to me.
"I mean, you asked, so wouldn't you?"

She looks absolutely offended as I begin laughing, although it only lasts a second. "Oh, god no. I was trying to get like, a baseline of acceptable beauty."

Rachel's look only grows grumpier at my words, glaring at Chloe and me. "Well, fuck you two, then. Rude."

"Would you?" I ask, and Chloe snickers immediately.

I don't think I've ever made Rachel blush with a comment, but the way she stutters makes me think she must be furiously red. "Not. Not with that attitude."

She points at Chloe with her bottle, trying to redirect the attention, "Would you: Winona Ryder?"

Chloe snorts. "Fuck yeah."

"Yeah."

"Yeah... me too. I guess that was kind of an easy one."

Eight bottles of beer later and Chloe is asleep inside her truck, Apples and Oranges playing very quietly to provide some white noise for her. Rachel slid the back window open enough that we can hear the quiet songs playing while sitting against the back of the truck bed. Rachel's doing her best to teach me me the constellations and how to find them, despite the moon being too bright and the view being much worse than it was on the beach.
I finally begin to hear Chloe snore, and I figure it's safe to talk about what's been on my mind since this morning.

"Do you think Chloe's freaking? About finding us this morning?"

Rachel sighs, pulling her knees up to her chest, crossing her arms over them, and laying her head down on her arms. "I don't know. I hope not."

I try to add up the evidence anyhow, "I just mean, she's been pretty surly all day. She kept saying it was about being late, but she didn't really seem to . . . like Mendocino that much."

Rachel pinches her earring as well as she can, twisting it back and forth while staring ahead. "I'm not sure. We might be landing in old kerfuffle territory, though."

"Why do you say that?" Rachel still seems fixated on the dying fire, so I try to keep my eyes ahead, too, although that mostly comes down to me turning my spiky wristband over and over.

Rachel puffs up her cheeks before slowly deflating them, a warning sign for awkwardness. Considering how long she takes to exhale, it must have been quite the . . . uh, 'kerfuffle'.

"Chloe had a thing for me back when we were first friends, like fifteen-sixteen. I said I didn't think we were a great fit, and she got it. Eventually. I'm just afraid this might have brought up old feelings."

"Oh."
Considering how close the two are, I really hadn't expected that there had ever been anything between them - I would imagine that would make things awkward. Plus, I know they used to go, well, 'hunting' for boys sometimes, back before I transferred to Blackwell. I mean, they were plenty flirty with each other, but it never seemed serious. Normally, I'd just conclude that was all in the past, but if Chloe was jealous of me . . . what did that mean?
I ask, "How bad was it?

Rachel shrugs. "I don't really know. I mean, it's Chloe. She'll act like it's nothing, then suddenly burst out with all of these feelings, then withdraw and pretend like it never happened. That happened a few times, and then it's just never happened again. You coming along really helped smooth things over, I think."

But did I smooth things over? Or did I just make Chloe feel too awkward to express her feelings?

"Do you think she'll be okay?" My voice is saturated with concern to the point of sounding whiny. I know, in fairness, that there's nothing wrong about Rachel and me, but I don't want to drive a wedge in our little trio. As close as Rachel and I have gotten these past few days, Chloe and I have been close our entire lives. I can't just disrespect that, even if Rachel makes my skin crawl with electricity, even if she fills my stomach with butterflies, even if she smells like lavender-

"Okay with us dating?"
Rachel finally turns towards me, her eyes wide and open and curious. It's that strangely innocent look she gets when her grinning and smirking dies away, and it lances my heart with this cold, breathless feeling. Wonder. Wonder at that word:

"Dating?" I swallow, trying to find enough breath to speak. "Are we dating?"

Rachel's eyes dart around almost frantically, but soon they settle on me. It occurs to me that I don't think I've ever seen her this awkward. It's actually pretty fulfilling to see.
"D'you wanna?"

The question hangs there for a second, but then I crack a grin, and although Rachel looks slightly scared at that, I just begin to laugh. Maybe cackle is the better word - it's relentless and high, and I find myself leaning on Rachel a little while I try to laugh it out. It only feeds back into me when she giggles, escalating until we're both cackling much too loudly.

"That was - so anticlimactic and uncool."
Even if the words aren't very nice, Rachel's eyes crinkle as she grimaces. "I know, I know. I wasn't prepared. for this, okay?"

"No, no," I protest, "I love it."
And the silly, pinched grin that she gives in response to that leaves me biting my tongue just to prevent laughing more.

"So?" she asks.

I breathe in. I've never gotten to say these words. But I'm going to say them now.
"Yeah. I'll be your girlfriend, if that's cool."

Her face is bright and happy, and I'm so full of feelings I don't even know what words to attach to them. How is Rachel Amber this happy to hear it? How am I this lucky?

"Totally cool," she replies, rolling forward a little onto her knees so she can directly face me.

She holds up her pinky in the air.

Yeah, that's the feeling. Wonder. My cage is breaking down, breaking apart, and I am gaseous.

I wrap my pinky around hers.

The track changes on Apples and Oranges, and I almost blush at the appropriateness. "Electric Feel". I know she loves this song - she sings it every time that it's on.

"On one condition," I add.
Rachel's eyebrows immediately shoot up, intrigued, our pinkies still connected.

"I get to tickle you - EVERY DAY!" I pounce forward as soon as her shock sets in at the word 'tickle', using my free hand to begin tickling her stomach, her sides, her armpit - anywhere I can reach.

"No! No! Deal's off!" She manages between giggling, but she doesn't let go of my pinky just yet.

Not until we hear Chloe's groan, and we both freeze, sitting up to take a look inside the window. The groan doesn't seem to be much of anything, as Chloe just turns from her side to her stomach, and quickly resumes her normal snoring.

Rachel breaks our pinky contact and raises a finger over my lips. "Sssh. We've got to be quiet."

There's a smirk back on her face, and before I know it, she's got her hand on the back of my neck and my waist, falling back so that I topple down on top of her. It's wordless, fluidly automatic as we kiss, Rachel keeping me so close with a hand in my hair. She wraps a leg around my waist, and my whole body is pinned down on top of her.
I hate the taste of beer, but there's such a texture to our kisses that I barely notice it, hurried and hard. After a minute or so, Rachel uses her leverage over my body to roll us, so that her hair cascades down onto my face. I have the hair bands to prevent it on my wrists but . . . annoying as hair is while kissing, the smell of her is such a wonderful part of it.

Then, something changes in our kiss. There's this large, almost sighing sound as Rachel takes a breath, and the kiss slows. I begin to feel Rachel's nails raking down my side, and she shifts her weigh down to her hips, a gyration that seems to move like a wave through her lower body. I pull her closer again, my hand on her waist, but she only repeats the motion.
It feels . . . very different.

I don't really have time to think about it before our kiss has ended, and Rachel plants another kiss on my jaw, then on my neck. She lays another kiss along the tendon of my neck, but holds this one, so warm that I shiver. We hadn't really explored anything but -
I let out a gasp as she bites the tendon, and although it barely hurts, the warm-shiver feeling radiates from that point, and my pulse jumps at the same time.

I don't know what to expect next, and I definitely don't know what to do next. I just sit there, frozen in anticipation for a few seconds before Rachel slowly sits up, still straddling me.

She's frowning, and she's not looking at me either - just staring deeply off to the side, though nothing's there.

"I . . . don't want to have sex with you," she says. "Like, not right now."

I have no idea what to say to that, but as I try to sit up, Rachel groans and slides off of me, just lying down on one of the sleeping bags in the truck bed, though distant from a pillow. I had no idea that was even on the table at all. And although the past few minutes or so sort of made that not seem like a crazy idea, I definitely hadn't expected it.

"I. Uh. I wasn't really aiming for that so . . ." her face is buried in the sleeping bag, while I just stare out into the moonlit camp. "So, like, that's cool with me."

Rachel turns her head enough to the side that I can see her face, although she's still smushed against the sleeping bag. "I know, I know. It's not . . . you."

I have no idea what that means. Why would Rachel even think we were going to have sex? I'm not the best at body language but I don't think I was flashing any secret mating calls. Plus, she's been drinking, so even if otherwise everything felt great I wouldn't have been comfortable with it. Where would she have gotten the idea at all?

Rachel somehow manages to deflate more before saying something. "Max, I, I kinda need to tell you something." It's the closest thing I've ever heard to mumbling from her, but I can still make it out pretty clearly, as a former expert mumbler.

"Yeah? What is it?"

Although I can tell she's uncomfortable, I don't want her to think I'm pissed - just concerned - so I reach out and lay my hand over hers. After a second or two, she rolls her hand, and we manage an awkward, but still comforting hand-hold.

"I've . . . kind of been involved with someone for a while now. Like, long distance."

"Oh."
I try to keep myself from feeling like everything is imploding. I don't know how to reconcile these words with our conversation just a few minutes ago about dating. What is going on?
My pulse is still going like crazy, but it's not my body reacting to Rachel - it's cold, shallow. I'm not sure I can carry on the conversation with my anxiety shooting out of control.

Rachel just keeps going, though. "I mean, I'm not anymore, but I was. Until this morning, basically."

Oh god. Her phone call. The one that took forever this morning. She was breaking up with someone? After ditching out on her responsibilities to hang out with not one, but two girls with crushes on her? How does she manage all of that? If that many people were in love with me I'd completely lose my mind. And I'm pretty much losing my mind in this one scenario.
I know I'm not saying anything in response but I don't know how to make my mouth work.

After maybe half a minute passes, Rachel asks, quietly, "Do you, um. Want to say anything?"

It takes me quite a bit more before I can repeat a single word in my head enough times that it actually comes out: "Who?"

She sighs, pushing herself up into an almost-sitting position. She swipes some hair behind her ear with her free hand before answering, "Her name's Kristine. You wouldn't know her, but she, ah, she was there after Frank and I broke up. And we weren't dating per se, but I knew it wasn't platonic. So I told her it had to be."

My jaw is so tightly closed that I'm grinding my teeth, I know it. What do I say? I mean, on one hand, I wish I'd known that. On the other hand, Rachel has been so open with me, including with this, when she had pretty little reason to tell me. But also, mixed in with the shame, I feel betrayed. But does this mean she broke up with someone to date me? Should I be flattered? Hurt? Should I comfort her? Or am I the one who should be comforted? Would that be appropriate either way?

"Uhhhhhhhhh," I manage, flat and quiet and yet still resembling a scream. My thoughts are little but white noise, jumping every few seconds.

"What are you feeling?" she asks.

That, I can answer. "Everything," I reply.

We should probably talk this all out. Figure out what that means, if it means anything. Figure out what us dating means. Or does this mean that we're not dating? I don't know. But I'm too frozen in my erratic thoughts to start.

"I'm, uh. I'm going to go to bed, Max, I think."

She's chewing on her lip, I can see that. She's not done talking, but I don't think she knows what to say, either.

"I hope you don't hate me."

I shake my head, finally able to regain some control of myself - enough to know what I need to go do. "No, no, never. I'm just having anxiety, and I didn't bring my Xanax, so I need to go walk."

"Oh. Do you want me to go with you?"

"No, no, that's all right. I'll be okay."

"Okay."

And with that, I scramble out of the truck bed, zipping up my hoodie to keep out the fresh chill over my skin.

I think I'm okay about twenty minutes later, after I've paced most of the campground a few times. It's around ten, I think, and while it's not a weird time for my phone to buzz for a text, it is a very strange time for the incessant vibrating of a phone call to start.
Which it does.

I pull out my phone and take a look at the caller ID. Victoria Chase, along with one of her selfies from Facebook, just in case I forget the name.
Why would Victoria be calling me at 10:27pm on a Thursday? Why would she be calling me at all?

I tap to pick up.

Me: "Hello?"

Victoria: "Hey there Max Caulfield. Having a nice night?"

Her voice is way too loud, like she's talking with a headset on.

Me: "Um. I'm not sure . . . why?"

Victoria sounds confused at first, but quickly picks up her loud, rude tone again.

Victoria: "Well . . . I . . . I just hope you're having a shitty night."

Me: "Thanks Victoria. You're a real pal."

I hope she can hear my eyeroll through the phone. Maybe she actually can, seeing as I just hear a loud sigh from the other end.

Victoria: "Well, have you fucked Rachel yet?"

God, she must be drunk.
I crank up the sarcastic tone to the point I hope it'll make it through to her.

Me: "No, Victoria, not that that's any of your business. Why are you calling me?"

She totally ignores the question.

Victoria: "Well, then, maybe she's not as fast as I've heard. At least not for awkward little girls who couldn't-"

Me: "Are you seriously trying to slut shame my girlfriend right now? Seriously, Victoria? Can't you mind your own business for five seconds?"

Victoria: "Y-your girlfriend? Ha ha-"

She literally says 'ha ha'

Victoria: "-holy shit you're pathetic. Rachel Amber is not your girlfriend, Max. She's like me, don't you get that? You're her pet."

Will Victoria ever let this go? If she hates us all so much, why doesn't she just let it happen?

Me: "I feel sorry for you, Victoria."

Victoria: "What? What the fuck?"

I've stopped walking - I'm just standing out somewhere in the road, far enough away that none of the remaining camp fires feel too close. My feet are planted like I'm about to be hit, even if Victoria can't actually do anything from where she is.

Me: "Did you ask Taylor out so she could be your pet? Do you do everything you can for and with Courtney when something's wrong? Do you have any fucking clue who Rachel is? Do you have any clue how she makes me feel? Huh?"

There's several seconds of silence before I can really hear anything coming from the other line. And it's not what I expect.

Victoria: "Yes."

Me: "Victoria, are you crying?"

Victoria: "No. Fuck you."

Me: "Victoria, why are you crying?"

Yeah, I can definitely hear her crying. I don't get it. I don't get Victoria for one second. Maybe it's just the alcohol making her overly emotional but I still don't get it. She doesn't sound incoherent-emotional-drunk, just I-shouldn't-drive drunk.

Victoria: "Max."

Me:

Victoria: "Come back."

Me: "For a long time, I actually wanted to be your friend, you know? I thought, somehow, despite you being such a bitch, maybe."

Victoria: "Me too."

That shuts me up for a few seconds. What does that even mean, coming from Victoria? She's been dismissive of me at best, cruel at worst.

Me: "But if you're never going to treat me with respect, why would I ever-"

Several loud beeps from my speaker let me know that the call is over. I pull the phone away from my ear and read it: Call Ended

I sigh, and put my phone away. I don't think I'll ever understand Victoria. I'm not even sure she understands why she's like this.
And I'm starting to think that's a problem all around.

All I know is that I'm done for tonight. Today has been far, far too much to deal with, and I don't even want to start in on it right now. I just take a few minutes to find Chloe's truck, crawl in back, find which sleeping bag Rachel's body is making lumps in right now, and get in the other one.

It's the first night since Sunday that I've slept alone.