Stirring, Max felt as though a fog had settled on her mind. She groaned and buried herself back into the pillow, blocking out what light permeated through her eyelids. But the smell of bacon filled the air. Her stomach rumbled in complaint. Even so, the bed was so comfortable, so soft, that she didn't want to move.
When did my bed get this hella comfy?
Her eyes snapped open. The room was unfamiliar to her. The comforter was white with beautiful black roses splashed across it. There was one night stand on either side of the bed, one with a lamp and the other a clock. 10:13AM, it read. Max blinked at the numbers a few times.
Did I really sleep for, like, twelve hours?
She looked over and found a black vanity directly across from her. Her hair was rumpled. But her makeup was surprisingly still intact with just a little smearing. Wiping her eyes, she cleaned up her makeup as best she could. She also started running her fingers through her hair. She fluffed it out before patting it down.
It took her a moment for everything to sink in. She had slept over at Mr. Jefferson's house. Looking around, she quickly took in the pristine curtains and otherwise empty room. It was the guest room. She felt relieved that she hadn't inconvenienced him so much that he had gone without a bed.
The aroma of bacon summoned her out. Her bare feet padded against the cool, wood floors. Walking down the hall, she emerged in the living room. The television was on, showing the morning news, and Max could hear the sounds of breakfast being made. She half-expected to see the Prices when she rounded the corner. Instead, she found Mr. Jefferson, looking as dapper as always. His white button-down shirt was covered with an apron, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
Max stopped and cleared her throat awkwardly. When Mr. Jefferson didn't hear her over the sizzling pan, she called out, "U-um… good morning, Mr. Jefferson."
Turning, Mr. Jefferson looked back at her and smiled. "Good morning, Max. You crashed pretty hard last night. Still having problems sleeping?"
"Not as much," Max admitted. She rubbed her arm nervously. "Sorry about passing out like that, though."
"Don't concern yourself about it. I'm getting pretty used to it," Mr. Jefferson replied, lightly teasing. "I must admit, it was far easier to get you to that bed than the last one."
Max's face went scarlet. "I-I-"
"Relax, Max," Mr. Jefferson soothed. With that, he placed a plate onto the counter before sliding a fork up next to it. Scrambled eggs, bacon, and pancakes filled the plate. "Go on and enjoy it. I'll join you in a minute."
Grabbing the plate, Max walked towards the door. She looked outside to find it was a beautiful day again. Instinctively, she walked over to the sliding glass door and pulled it open. She stepped out onto the patio and sat down. Looking out across the sparkling, beautiful blue water, Max couldn't help but smile. She loved the natural beauty of Arcadia Bay.
"I was wondering where you went," Mr. Jefferson called out from the door. Stepping out, he sat down in the other chair. He had removed his apron and gotten himself a plate as well. "There's something about this sight that never quite gets old for me."
"That's because it's ageless," Max responded, forking up some of her eggs. "The ocean is older than human history. Generations have looked out across its waters."
Mr. Jefferson stared at Max as she spoke, his eyes sparkling. His gaze made her suddenly aware of herself. "You never cease to amaze me, Max," he complimented.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Max replied before stuffing her mouth with eggs so that she didn't have to talk any more.
"That's because you don't see it," Mr. Jefferson said. "Most great artists don't, though. That's the true tragedy."
Eyes dropping, Max shuffled a piece of bacon around before cutting a bite off one of her pancakes. "I'm not a great anything yet, Mr. Jefferson."
"But you will be. I have faith," Mr. Jefferson informed him before taking a bite of bacon.
As the silence settled, Max felt the surrealism of the situation. She was eating breakfast with Mr. Jefferson as if it was an everyday occurrence. If Victoria knew, she would have been unbelievably jealous. Max smiled. As much as Victoria wanted to be special, Mr. Jefferson wouldn't bend to her will. And that made this moment even more remarkable. Because in her mind, someone like Victoria deserved this. She was beautiful, intelligent, outgoing, and had a true photographer's eye. Not only that, but she wasn't afraid to let her feelings be known.
"Last night was a lot of fun," Max offered as she looked down at her half-empty plate.
"Didn't bore you to sleep?" Mr. Jefferson joked. Before Max could answer, though, he continued, "I'm glad you enjoyed last night. Do me a favor, though, Max? Don't mention any of those stories to anyone else. I don't need any students besides you having blackmail on me."
Max couldn't tell if Mr. Jefferson was joking or not. She decided to remain on the safe side. "Mr. Jefferson, you know I would never-"
"I'm not worried about you, Max," Mr. Jefferson cut in. That statement did little to reassure her. "I know that you would never take advantage of this. Just… keep it to yourself, okay? There's no real good way to spin, 'I slept at Mr. Jefferson's house because we're planning to sue a newspaper together.' It'll lead to more questions than anything."
"Yeah, no, of course," Max replied. "I won't tell a soul, Mr. Jefferson."
And I won't even write anything in my diary about it, just in case.
"I knew I could rely on you, Max," Mr. Jefferson replied, giving her a wink.
Max smiled back before dropping her gaze back to her plate. "Thanks, Mr. Jefferson."
Through the idle morning chatter, Max finished the rest of her eggs and bacon but only half of her pancakes before she couldn't eat any more. Max could feel the food baby when she stood up. Stretching, she walked past Mr. Jefferson and into the kitchen. She pitched what was left of her pancakes, hoping he wouldn't take offense, and walked over to the sink. Pans were piled in it, and Max pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. She grabbed the dish soap and turned on the sink. Snagging the nearby sponge, Max began to scrub the top pan. The warm water rushed over her hands as she scrubbed away the remnants of the eggs. A drying mat sat next to the sink. Max set the first pan down and grabbed the next.
"What-?" Mr. Jefferson started to ask, balking at Max from the doorway. Max froze, uncertain why he seemed so surprised. "Why are you doing the dishes?"
"Because you cooked?" Max stated, not understanding how that was so incomprehensible.
"Max, you're my guest," Mr. Jefferson pointed out as he walked over.
"That's how I was raised. If you don't cook, you clean."
It wasn't completely a lie. The Price family had raised Max just as much as her own family did. Whenever William cooked, if Chloe and Max didn't help, they cleaned up. And if they did, everyone cleaned up together. Max had it drilled into her that any grateful eater cleans their plate and the dishes. She had already failed the first bit, but she wasn't going to insult him by failing the second. Only that he apparently didn't perceive it as a sleight. Then again, she hadn't spent the night anywhere since leaving Arcadia Bay five years ago.
"Do you have a single bad bone in your body?" Mr. Jefferson inquired, his jaw slightly dropped in awe as he spoke.
Wowsers. I haven't heard that question in ages.
"I have moments," Max confessed. "Sometimes, I get pushed too far."
"It's hard for me to imagine," Mr. Jefferson confessed as he opened his dishwasher and placed his plate inside. He then grabbed Max's plate and fork from the counter and put them away as well. "It's probably why you become such a target for them."
"Who?" Max inquired, not following the line of thought.
"The Vortex Club girls," Mr. Jefferson stated. Startled, Max wasn't sure how to react. "You think I don't notice how they treat you? Teenage girls can be vicious and unjust."
Max finished cleaning the bacon pan and set it aside. "Then why don't you do anything?" she inquired, a frown pulling at her lips.
"Perhaps I should. But I only step in when I believe that intervention is necessary. Because, Max, the world is just as unkind out there as it is in Blackwell's halls. People will gossip. People will use cutthroat tactics to get ahead. If you don't start thickening your skin to it now, you'll be eaten alive," Mr. Jefferson explained. He crossed his arms and frowned. "I know it's not a pretty picture. But tabloids don't care that you're a flawed human being. Critics don't care if they don't understand your vision. No one actually wants to get to know you for you. They'll say whatever they can to get you to talk to them. And they'll write whatever they can to sell their story. And if that involves turning on you, they'll do it without a second thought. You don't matter to them."
Max felt anxiety prickle at the back of her mind. Honestly, she hadn't really thought much about joining the art world. She knew that it was unforgiving. She knew that it had destroyed many hopefuls. She knew that only the best - or maybe it was really the strongest - came out. And she knew that photographers were, for the most part, only famous in small circles. Her name would never be a household one. But if she could just take photos for a living, she couldn't help but believe that it would be enough. Besides, Max didn't imagine she would do well in the spotlight.
"I didn't mean to scare you," Mr. Jefferson said, his voice softening. He gave her a half-smile and small shrug. "I am just used to being criticized for my perception of a teacher's job."
"No, it's just… all very foreboding," Max confessed before turning to the last pan. She focused - perhaps a bit too hard - on scrubbing it clean of the pancakes' remains. "I'm still trying to find myself."
Mr. Jefferson scoffed. "Max, you already have found yourself. No pun intended."
"The art world will only laugh at my silly retro selfies," Max pointed out as she finished washing the pan. She turned off the water and looked for a towel.
Realizing what she needed, Mr. Jefferson handed a hand towel to her. "That's not true. But if that's really how you feel, we need to sit down sometime soon and talk about your future in photography. Cool?"
"Yeah. Cool. Thanks, Mr. Jefferson," Max murmured.
"It's my pleasure," he said, his voice warm. It could still make Max melt. "Oh! Before I forget..."
With that, Mr. Jefferson disappeared. Max thought about following, but her arms were still dripping wet. As she dried them with a towel, Mr. Jefferson reappeared with a photo frame in his hand. "I believe you asked for this. I never could find a good time to give it to you, though."
Curious, Max took it. She looked down to find her photo of Arcadia Bay at night, printed. Mr. Jefferson certainly had access to some state-of-the-art technology, given how beautifully printed everything was. Max could see the almost minuscule differences in shading, and the fact that it still printed out the stars was better than Max could have done at school. Beaming, she looked up at Mr. Jefferson and wished she could hug him. "Thank you so much. This is... super cool. I super appreciate it. D-do you want the frame back?"
"Keep it. I have a stockpile of free frames in my office closet. Keep getting them for free from companies for some reason," he noted with a sly smile. "I'm glad you like it. Now, I better get you back to school before someone realizes you're missing."
Max headed to the front and collected her bag before pulling her shoes on. Mr. Jefferson slipped on his own shoes with the assistance of some stick that Max had never seen before. However, he made it look easier than bending down and cramming his feet in. Then they were both out the door and in Mr. Jefferson's plush car. As the quiet hum of the engine filled the air, Max fiddled with her gift as she considered his words. Mr. Jefferson was so confident in her capabilities. But what happened if she proved him wrong? What would happen when she finally disappointed him?
It was one of the reasons she was so obsessed with capturing moments. Someone can't go back in time. They can't recapture something that was lost. Pictures, at least, could catch it in some semblance of it. They could remind people of better times, worse times, important times. It reminded people of what was lost, but also what was gained.
Max still adored her picture of her and Chloe dressed up as pirates. It had been a common game that they played as children, but there was genuine joy in both of their expressions. It was one of the last photos that they took together before Chloe never smiled that way again. That was the reason her heart still throbbed looking at it, even all these years later.
You're such a terrible friend. You need to call her.
"Mr. Jefferson?" Max called out.
"Yes?" His voice was still calming, confident even now. "What's on your mind, Max?"
"Why do you like photography?" she inquired. She needed something to distract her from her own circling thoughts.
Mr. Jefferson hesitated a moment. "There is so much destruction in this world. Natural and manmade. Many people want to capture it. They want to pull at the hearts of people with overwhelming sadness because they know no other route. We are already barraged with such images every day. Bombs going off, people murdering each other, wildfires, tornadoes, global warming. And we are becoming more connected to it every year."
"But you don't like that?" Max asked as she listened.
Shaking his head, Mr. Jefferson continued, "We are losing something precious. Innocence doesn't come back once corruption sets in. Once your eyes have been opened to the world, you cannot fully shut them again. I want to capture those bits - where innocence remains untouched - to remind everyone what it was like. Before there's no more innocence left to capture."
Max let out a long breath as she heard that. It certainly was a heavy answer. "Has it become harder to capture?"
"Harder? Yes. But I am not sure if that's because I'm finding less of it or because I have a better understanding of what 'innocence' actually is," Mr. Jefferson replied.
"How do you find it in models?" Max asked. Given the industry, it must be difficult for Mr. Jefferson to have subjects for his focus.
Chuckling, Mr. Jefferson answered, "I don't find it in models but in moments. For instance, a young woman sliding across a Slip-N-Slide in the rain with her friends."
Max perked upon hearing that, flattered at the thought. "I… I see."
"Why did you ask?" Mr. Jefferson inquired.
"I was just curious. You're renowned for your portraitures and use of chiaroscuro. But you've never really talked about what made you passionate about photography," Max explained, only half-lying.
Mr. Jefferson hummed. "Do you think I should?"
"What?"
"Do you think I should talk to the class about that?" Mr. Jefferson clarified. "Do you believe it's important?"
Max shuffled her feet, considering his question. She was a bit nervous about answering, as though she was being given a pop quiz. After considering it, though, she said, "I think it's important for people to think about their focus. And you talking about yours might help."
"I'll consider it then," Mr. Jefferson said before stopping his car. They were a block away from the school. "Probably best you're not seen getting out of my car. Wouldn't want to add any fuel to the fire."
Max nodded before getting out onto the sidewalk. "Thanks again, Mr. Jefferson."
"See you tomorrow, Max," Mr. Jefferson replied. As soon as she closed the door, he took off.
Heading down the road, Max considered Mr. Jefferson's words. He had such a strong belief that Max felt a bit lost in its wake. Did she really feel as strongly about her own photography? Should she? Or was his confidence something that came with age? Or experience? Or was it a core part of his personality? And that brought back her concern that certain personalities were required to become a renowned photographer. And she didn't have it. She had never had it.
But he believes in you. It must be for good reason.
Honestly, Max hadn't seen such unshakeable faith since Chloe. Chloe had always advocated for Max's photographs and pronounced her as a "future famous photographer" more times than Max cared to remember. No matter what - no matter how down Max got - Chloe was always there to pick her back up. And then she had left when Chloe was at her most vulnerable. Not because she wanted to but because she had to.
Max pulled out her phone. She knew where Chloe lived. She knew where Joyce worked. And she bet that Chloe's home number hadn't changed. It only took one call - one voice message - and she could have her best friend back in her life.
If Chloe will have you.
Doubt nagged at her mind. What if Chloe wanted nothing to do with her? Not that Max could blame her, but she would be crushed. And she couldn't face that. She wasn't brave enough. Shoving her phone back in her bag, Max walked up the stairs back onto campus. A piece of paper fluttered by, catching Max's attention. She then looked up to see a bulletin board covered. All of the papers were the same:
MISSING
Missing from: Arcadia Bay
Date Missing: Mon April 22 2013
Other:
Age: 19 years old
Height: 5'5" Weight: 110 lbs
Hair: blond Eyes: Hazel
Tattoo on calf of a dragon and a star on the inside of the left wrist.
Rachel Amber
Age 19
PLEASE CALL WITH ANY INFORMATION
CALL: Arcadia Bay Sheriff's
(555) 388-6020
There was also a photograph of a beautiful girl with long hair and a feather earring. She must be Rachel Amber, and Max couldn't help but think it was a tragedy. She had heard that Rachel had gone missing earlier in the school year. A couple of students had whispered about it, no one talking too much. Apparently, though, someone missed her, because Max could see hundreds of fliers all about the campus, put up seemingly overnight.
I wonder what happened to her.
Max turned away from the fliers and headed to the dorm. Head low, she wondered if these fliers would make a difference. Would people start talking about her again? Or would they politely ignore her as they would a homeless person? There was no telling with Blackwell students. Just when Max thought them predictable, something always came about that surprised her.
"Max!" The familiar voice pulled her instantly from her thoughts. Surprised, Max looked about to find Warren waving a hand from his window. "I've been looking for you! Stay there!"
Obeying, Max stayed put as Warren disappeared from view. She could feel anxiety start to well up. How long had he been looking for her? Did he realize how long she had been gone? Quickly, she put her photograph into her bag to hide it. The less questions he asked, the better. Warren, meanwhile, came running out of the boys' dormitory. He was waving something around.
"Hey, Warren, what's up?" Max asked.
Warren held out a thumb drive. "I keep forgetting to give this to you."
Taking it, Max stared in confusion. "Uh... thanks?"
"The movies!" Warren stated, his voice energetic. "Hopefully, they'll help you sleep."
Max felt realization wash over her. She had completely forgotten about it altogether.
That conversation feels like it happened foreverago.
"Oh, thanks, Warren. I'll def check them out," Max managed to answer. Smiling at him, she continued, "I need to go, though, Warren. Homework awaits."
Warren nodded and bowed. "Don't let me stop the slaying of homework. See you around?"
"For sure!"
Max headed off, giving one final wave. She stared down at the thumb drive, slightly nervous about what exactly he had loaded onto this. Walking down the hall towards her room, Max thought she heard something. She paused and listened. It was muffled, but she could make out the heart-wrenching sobs. Looking about, she tried to locate their source. It was only when her ear pressed to Kate's room that she discovered it.
Softly, she knocked on the door. "Hey, Kate? You… you okay?"
That's a hella dumb question.
"I-I don't really want to talk about it right now, Max," Kate called back, her voice slightly hitching.
Max felt her heart break. "O-okay. Well, when you do, Kate, you know where to find me. I'm happy to listen."
"Yeah, thanks, Max. Just… leave me alone for now, though," Kate replied.
Backing away from the door, Max worried for her. She had never heard Kate like that before, and something terrible must have happened. Maybe a family member passed? She hoped not. But she knew that, no matter what, she wouldn't let Kate down. Not like she had Chloe. The moment Kate needed her, she would be there - come Hell or high water.