Nov 27-29, 2013 - First Choice Timeline

Max didn't sleep at all that night, nor any the next day. She didn't leave her room, and she didn't eat. She simply hid away. Her and Kate texted some, but otherwise, she kept to herself, fidgeting on her guitar and listening to a mix of Syd Matters and Sparklehorse. She contemplated going down the hall and finally apologizing to Taylor, but around noon, while idly tapping through the news on her laptop, she noticed Taylor rolling her suitcase through the quad and off towards the parking lot, and realized that apology would have to wait.

From there, Max whiled away the remaining hours of the day, watching what movies she could with her limited collection (wishing she still had Warren's flash drive), and doing everything in her power not to think about Nathan free in his family's likely palatial estate. She knew, deep down, that Nathan had been driven to his actions; that he was apologetic for them and regretted them even, at least once. Yet that Nathan was gone, and that Nathan hadn't killed Chloe. More, that Nathan knew he was about to die, which seemed like a cheat. It was easy to have regrets when you knew karma was on its way for you.

Failing at keeping her mind off Nathan, Max's evening slipped into bitter memories and mild anxiety attacks, which themselves slipped into major panic, until finally sometime after two in the morning, having been awake for nearly twenty-six hours, Max drifted into a weary, restless sleep.


Thanksgiving day passed much the same. Max woke, stomach growling, but without the energy to hunt down food. She considered wandering to the vending machines, but even that had seemed too taxing, so instead, she had stayed in bed wrapped in a comfortable cocoon, ignoring the world. Eventually, she roused herself long enough to talk with her mom and dad on the phone, where they each recited what they were thankful for before eating their Thanksgiving meal. She didn't tell them that she wasn't eating; that she in fact had not been invited to a friends' for Thanksgiving. She couldn't even quite remember if she had told them whether she would be at Kate's or Dana's, so she just avoided the topic as best as she could.

When asked what she was thankful for, she mumbled something about having the opportunity to study her passion at Blackwell. She needed her parents to believe that her staying there was in her best interest, what with her witnessing Chloe's murder and her own photography teacher being arrested for kidnapping, photographing, and tormenting female students. She was lucky that her parents hadn't immediately hauled her back off to Seattle, but thankfully that other her, that previous her, had been of sound mind enough that her parents had given her a chance to stay. Had they seen her after she had returned to this timeline, after she had replaced the other Max, they would have seen right through her; seen the broken, damaged Max that had replaced their naive daughter, and she never would have been allowed to remain in Arcadia Bay.

Luckily, her parents accepted her thanks, each of them speaking to their appreciation for their daughter being healthy and happy, or, in her father's case, for the amazing 2013 season performance of the Seattle Seahawks. They didn't discuss Nathan Prescott and his recent bail hearing; that was avoided, because that's what you did with difficult conversations and unpleasant news. You ignored it and you repressed it and you tried to pretend that it didn't exist, and if you couldn't do that, you ran away from it. You moved away to Seattle and you stopped texting and calling and cut yourself off… and Max's thoughts had completely derailed.

The point was, the conversation with her parents went smoothly, because that's the conversation they wanted. They all wanted each other to be happy, so it was safer to pretend that they each were; that everyone was okay with life and the hands they had been dealt, and that they were happy and coping, and just don't look under the bed, don't open that trunk; don't look underneath the hood and see what is really happening, because then that picture perfect family might not be so perfect. No. Just smile and nod.

So, Max did. She smiled and laughed and did her best to sell the lie with her parents. Had it been her friends, had it been Dana or Kate, maybe even Warren (though the obliviousness was strong with that one), they would have seen right through her lies. Her parents, however, they didn't want to see through them, and that was for the best, because it worked to Max's advantage.

After their call had ended, Max resumed her day of wallowing and idle distraction. For a time she considered her photography assignment, attempting to think through shots. She knew she wouldn't be able to take them, but the planning of it, that gave her something to occupy her mind besides thinking of Nathan playing video games or smoking up or throwing a welcome home party with the swim team, or whatever it was rich, white boys did when they got bailed out from the psych ward. The distraction wasn't going so well, but at least she tried.

Max focused back in on the photographs that she needed to somehow take. She considered how she might play off the strong linearity of Blackwell's architecture contrasted with the silhouette of the evergreens or the curvature of the surrounding hills. Or perhaps she could catch a decent shot at American Rust, the harsh angles of the discarded scraps shifting and falling away as the destruction of rust and corrosion blended the man-made with the organic, the natural surroundings and flora mingling amongst the carcasses of discarded technology. She didn't know why she bothered though. Her ideas were all stupid, and it's not like Principal Wells knew what he was looking at or talking about anyway, so even if she did manage to somehow take a shot, would he even be able to see what she had been hoping to accomplish? Of course, that could also work to her advantage. Maybe he wouldn't be able to tell how crap her photos really were.

Lost in this train of thought, she almost didn't hear her phone buzz. It stirred her from her reverie, a distant beacon barely recognized. Then, a second buzz came through, the phone vibrating in her pocket, and Max slipped out her phone to check. She didn't want to deal with people today, but after missing the panicked texts from everyone on Tuesday night, she felt compelled to at least make sure everything was okay before ignoring anyone.


Kate Marsh: Go to the front door.

11/28/13-4:41 pm

Max: What did you do?

11/28/13 - 4:42 pm

Kate Marsh: Just go out front. =)

11/28/13 -4:42 pm

Max: You better not have ducked out of Thanksgiving on my account.

11/28/13 - 4:44 pm

Kate Marsh: Are you out front yet?

11/28/13 -4:45 pm

Max: Fine, fine. I'm coming. =P

11/28/13 - 4:45 pm

Max: Wait. Seriously?

11/28/13 - 4:49 pm

Kate Marsh: Happy Thanksgiving, Max!

11/28/13 -4:50 pm


Max stood just outside the Prescott dormitories staring at Kate's surprise on the stairs. Two insulated fabric bags rested at the top of the stairs. An envelope lay sealed on top, 'To Max' written across it in Kate's delicate script. On the side of the envelope Kate had drawn two cartoon girls digging into a turkey dinner, illustrated in her usual cheerfully cute style.

A smile breaking through her previously melancholic malaise, Max gently opened the envelope pulling out the handwritten note from within.

Happy Thanksgiving Max,

Thinking about you, today. I told my dad how you couldn't come out for Thanksgiving and how you were all alone at Blackwell, so we cooked up this special delivery just for you. This way, you can have all the warmth and joy of a Marsh family thanksgiving without having to deal with my mother and my aunt. I made dad promise to drop it off for you at the dorms, while he was driving Auntie Marsh home.

XOXO

Kate

P.S. - I'll try to make it back tomorrow, but my mom's not sure we'll be able to get out that way until Saturday. I'll see you soon!

Carefully slipping the note back into the envelope, Max peered inside the insulated bags, and sure enough there was a complete thanksgiving dinner divided between the two, still heated with steam rising from the turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes. And was that green bean casserole? And fresh rolls? And pumpkin pie. Dog. She was going to owe Kate big time.


The remainder of Max's Thanksgiving passed peacefully with little of note. She devoured multiple helpings from the Marsh family feast left outside the dorms, smoothing over much of the dull ache of hunger that had stolen over her during the past few days of self-imposed isolation. She also noted, as she ate her Thanksgiving meal, that now she truly did have something to be thankful for; she was thankful for the surprise meal, for Kate's kindness, and for the realization that even despite all her awkwardness and her damage, despite how much she had hidden away in her dorm and cut herself off from the world, she did still have one true friend in Kate. Why the girl bothered with her, Max did not know, but she was glad that Kate had not given up on her, and she knew that she would have to try harder to be there for her as well.

Beyond the meal, she busied herself with further thoughts on her photography assignment (though finding no way to actually act on any of her plans), watched the few movies in her collection that she hadn't already watched over the break, and fidgeted a bit more with her guitar. A few holiday texts came in over the course of the day, including greetings from Dana, Warren, and Alyssa. She wasn't sure when or how she and Alyssa had connected, considering how little the two spoke to each other, but it was clear that she had made an impression at some point.

She also heard from Kristen, which was a pleasant, though perplexing, surprise as they had barely spoken since Max relocated to Arcadia Bay. Correction: they hadn't spoken at all, but Kristen had texted once or twice after Chloe… the other Max had answered those texts. It had been radio silence ever since. Looking at the text (which simply read 'Happy Thanksgiving'), Max had felt that ever-present surge of social anxiety bubbling to the surface, her nerves tying themselves in knots as she typed in reply after reply, only to, in the end, delete each one and settle for a simple 'You too' as a response. That settled, she'd set her phone aside and tried to push away thoughts of how similar she was treating her San Francisco friends to how she had regrettably treated Chloe for all those years.

Yet, it always happened with Max, didn't it? When she was present, when she was with her friends, their confidence, their energy assured her that they actually wanted to be a part of her life. As soon as any physical distance entered the equation, however, those voices in her head, those whispers of self-loathing and doubt, crept back in and convinced her that those same friends didn't need her; that they didn't want her, but were only putting up with her, and that in the end, they only humored her out of pity. Then she let the anxiety take hold and she resisted texting, avoiding the confirmation that their lack of responses would provide, until in the end too much time had passed and she became even more certain that even if they had been her friends they wouldn't want to hear from her anymore.

Her mind wandered back and forth down those paths for the remainder of the day, wondering how she could have convinced herself for so long that Chloe wouldn't want to hear from her, while simultaneously wondering why Kristen was humoring her now, to how Kate could possibly want her in her life, and back again to Chloe, until at last she drifted into another fitful night's sleep sometime in the early am hours.


The next day began with a text from Dana. Max had managed to avoid the news for most of Thanksgiving day, but Dana apparently had done no such thing. Max swatted away her phone alarm, only to see the text alert. Still wary of avoiding her incoming messages, much as she was inclined to do so, Max flipped open her phone to see what Dana wanted. It was only 8:30 in the morning.

Why am I friends with a morning person, she wondered. Dana's propensity to rise dancing and full of energy completely baffled her. Who texted before nine in the morning on a holiday, anyway?


Dana Ward: Spoke to Juliet last night.

11/29/13 -8:05 am

Dana Ward: Been wondering why there's been almost no news coverage on Nathan's bail posting.

That and the whole decision to give him bail in the first place.

11/29/13-8:07 am

Dana Ward: Says it was suspiciously timed. Her words not mine.

11/29/13-8:07 am

Dana Ward: Holding the hearing right before the close of the courts for a holiday and all.

11/29/13-8:08 am

Dana Ward: Likely timed to minimize coverage.

11/29/13-8:09 am

Dana Ward: Fucking Prescotts.

11/29/13-8:10 am

Dana Ward: Also, timing so that Blackwell is out on holiday also seemed on point.

11/29/13-8:11 am

Dana Ward: Give the student body time to cool down before back in session.

11/29/13-8:13 am

Dana Ward: I hate the politics of it all.

11/29/13-8:13 am

Dana Ward: She hasn't reached out to you, has she?

11/29/13-8:21 am

Dana Ward: Juliet?

11/29/13-8:23 am

Dana Ward: I love the girl, but she has blinders on when she locks onto a story. I'm pretty sure she's not going to let this go.

11/29/13-8:24 am

Dana Ward: Don't let her pressure you into a quote. She's under strict 'leave Max alone' orders. =)

11/29/13-8:26 am

Max: Tired. Sleep want. (-_-) zzz

11/29/13 - 8:32 am

Dana Ward: lol

c u Sunday!

11/29/13-8:32 am


Max set down her phone, hopeful that she might be able to get back to sleep, but the sounds of laughter outside drew her attention, and, against her better judgment, she forced herself out of bed. Pulling back her blackout curtains, she noticed that the lawn was empty, and guessed whoever it was, they must be in the breezeway.

Stretching herself awake, Max straightened out her sleep shirt, and made for the hallway to check the window looking out towards the main campus. After having spent all of Wednesday and Thursday alone, she longed for the sight of someone else, anyone else. She didn't necessarily want their company, but knowing Nathan was out there in Arcadia Bay, she hadn't felt this unsafe since that long gone week. Knowing that she wasn't alone, it might help.

As she stepped into the hallway, her phone in hand, it occurred to her that she had not heard back from Kristen since she texted her back. Yes, she'd hadn't given Kristen much to work with, but it did hurt some nonetheless. Of course, it was probably for the best. It had been so long since they spoke, what would Max even say to her? Sorry, I've been too traumatized to reach out ever since my former best friend was shot and killed in front of me. How are you?

That probably wasn't the best lead in, though if she dropped the passive aggressive how are you at the end, it was fairly accurate. Max was pretty sure there was a saying or two about honesty and friendship, and if the truth hurt, well, sometimes that's life. Of course, that's not how the Caulfields operated was it? Put on that happy face and pretend it is all okay, right? That's what her parents and her had been doing ever since the shooting. Hell, they'd been doing just that for a lot longer than the past couple of months. Hadn't Max been presenting a smiling facade ever since they moved her to Seattle?

Even her friendship with Kristen and Fernando had been forced. Sure, they were both nice enough, and Kristen had good taste in music, but neither of them had forced her out into the world the way that Chloe had. They didn't understand her anxiety and how to calm her when it took hold. They didn't stand up for her against the high school bullies, the way Chloe had fended off the Victorias of the world when they were children. That last criticism wasn't fair, though; Kristen and Fernando were just as much outsiders as Max; just as likely to be bullied as she was. It wasn't their fault they couldn't fill the role of protector that Chloe always had.

Max rubbed at her eyes, forcing away her negative thoughts and snapping herself back to reality. The dormitory hallway stood empty, but the sound of laughter was definitely louder here, and accompanied by the sound of grinding and a clatter from outside. Glancing down into the breezeway, Max could make out Justin and Trevor and a few other kids whose names she hadn't bothered learning yet. Trevor was riding a rail down the stairs from the quad to the breezeway, while Justin sat on the concrete wall and the other kids practiced flipping their boards, kicking down on the tail ends and attempting to catch the front.

Max had always liked skater boys. She remembered in Seattle, on those occasions that she went out with Kristen and Fernando, they'd occasionally swing by the skatepark after grabbing some coffee and geeking out at Golden Age Collectibles. This was always at Max's behest. After a little cajoling, if she was lucky her friends would cave, and all three of them would head up Pine Street to Capitol skatepark, avoiding the heavy crowds of the skatepark by the Space Needle. Max had always been too shy to actually go into the park proper, but she'd often find a place to sit or lean off Nagle Place and watch through the chain link as the skater boys performed various tricks on the ramps and rails. She was never good with the terminology, but she thought the skaters were cute and despite Kristen and Fernando's protests, she always felt drawn to them and the park.

Lately though, Max had wondered whether it had been the skater boys to which she was attracted or if it had been the memory of Chloe. Before she moved, Chloe had always been so proud of her skateboard. She had tried numerous times to get Max to take up skateboarding as well, but Max had never given in. The thought of trying to balance herself on a board scared her; she was clumsy enough with solid ground beneath her feet. Thinking back on it though with over five years of space for reflection, Max wished she had taken Chloe up on her offer.

Maybe, she thought, I should try my luck with Justin and his posse.

Max laughed. Chloe would have got a kick out of that, wouldn't she? Her learning to skate after all these years. Yeah, Max bet Chloe would have loved that.

The inkling of an idea taking hold, Max got herself ready, showering and slipping into her usual jeans and generic t-shirt, before stopping herself. If she was going to do this, she was going to do it right. She grabbed Chloe's deer skull tank top, and her Hawt Dog Man t-shirt, slipping on the tee first so as not to be too revealing in the tank top that she slipped on over it. Over the past five weeks, the smell of Chloe had largely faded from the clothes, but the faintest hint of her scent remained. Max thought about grabbing her spiked bracelet, but she knew Justin hated posers, and she didn't feel it would be the right impression to give. She did grab Chloe's beanie, however, to keep her hair tucked away and out of her face.

Next she grabbed a turkey leg from the leftovers she'd crammed into the mini-fridge in the TV lounge, reminding herself as she headed out munching on the makeshift breakfast to thank Kate when she saw her. Hopefully she'd be back soon, though based on her note with the meal delivery, Max doubted that she'd see her before Saturday. Despite Kate's efforts at scrawling out her original message, it was clear that Mrs. Marsh was not ready to let her daughter return to Blackwell, despite Kate's wishes.

Repositioning the messenger bag on her shoulder, Max headed out onto the lawn in front of the dorms. A light breeze played with the strands of her hair peeking out from under Chloe's beanie, and the day had yet to warm up. Max hugged herself tight against the cold and made her way around Principal Well's residence and out to the breezeway.

Trevor skidded to a stop as Max turned the corner.

"Hey, Maxi-Max!"

"Hey, Trevor." Max flashed a sincere smile his way.

"You cool," he asked, hesitating a little on the word cool.

"All good," she nodded. "Dana?" She figured that Dana must have been talking to Trevor about the news lately. Why else would he be worried about her?

"Yeah."

A thought occurred to her then. She had been so distracted watching the skaters — and thinking about Chloe and, let's face it, how maybe she could reconnect with Justin like she had briefly that week and maybe even get a skating lesson, and hell, let's be honest, connect with Chloe however little she could now that she was gone — she'd been so distracted by all of it, that she'd not even stopped to consider that Trevor was dating Dana.

"Um…" Max started, scratching at the back of her neck, and wondering at the familiar yet foreign gesture if perhaps she had become a little too close with Warren at some point over the past few weeks. "Any chance of you, uh, not telling Dana that I'm here."

Trevor glanced down at his board, avoiding Max's eyes. "I mean, if it comes up…"

"I know. Bit much to ask."

"I mean, I won't tell her. She told me you were in Seattle, but… uh, if she mentions it, you know, I don't think I could like, lie to her about it or stuff."

"It's fine. Don't worry about it, Trevor. You're a good boyfriend."

Trevor blushed, cocking an odd look at Max.

"I just mean, I get it. You can't lie to Dana. And you shouldn't. That's why you're so good for her."

"Cool, cool." Trevor looked over his shoulder to the other skaters, clearly uncomfortable with the mushy turn it the conversation. "I should probably, like, be getting back and all."

"Of course."

"You sure you're good?"

"Yeah," Max nodded again; and in that moment she felt a sense of surprise bubble up within her. She really was good. She felt at peace. It didn't last, of course. Max Caulfield couldn't miss out on the possibility of a good guilt trip, and although it had been over six weeks since Chloe had died, she didn't feel right feeling okay about anything, let alone good.

Still, as she constantly reminded herself, she was supposed to be living, truly living. That's what Chloe wanted, and she wasn't going to fail her. She'd come outside for a reason, and she was going to follow through for once.

Trevor had already skated off towards the two unknown skaters further down the breezeway by the time Max stirred from her thoughts. Max figured she should probably introduce herself at some point, but that also felt far too anxiety-inducing for her today. WithTrevor and Justin, even if they barely knew her, she was familiar with them already, at least reducing some of her natural social anxiety. Determined to make those introductions another day, Max made her way over to Justin. Her heart jumped a little as she caught wind of a familiar scent that brought with it fond memories of Chloe in the morning.

"Wake and bake?" Max asked.

Justin coughed, expelling a puff of smoke in surprise.

"Uh…"

Max chided herself. This Justin wasn't comfortable with her. She hadn't made any effort to get to know him, and she just called him out for smoking pot on school grounds. Idiot.

"Sorry. Mind if I try again? Yo, Justin."

"Oh." Justin fidgeted with the bill of his hat, still somewhat uncomfortable but seemingly willing to play along. "Well, check out the Max. Come to thrash?"

Max knew she had to be careful. Justin loved his skateboarding about as much as he hated posers. At the same time, over the past few weeks she'd become increasingly aware of just how fake her connections from that lost week actually were. She'd rewound through her mistakes; she'd played with time to learn just what to say to connect. All those friendships, they had been founded on manipulation. And why? Because the real Max wasn't worth knowing.

Much as she wanted to get to know Justin and Trevor and try her hand (feet?) at skateboarding, she had to do it the right way. She wanted to prove to herself that she didn't need her rewind powers in order to form new friendships; and unfortunately that meant that she couldn't use what she had learned during that week. She couldn't just bust out a reference to a noseslide or a tre flip. It felt disingenuous; and it would just further prove to her that the real her, she wasn't worth the time of day.

"Well…" Max started, eyeing his skateboard.

"Whoa, really? It's nice to have the females on board, too." Justin immediately picked up on her interest.

Max tried to think back to her childhood with Chloe, to remember any of the tricks she had been trying to learn back then; but Max hadn't paid much attention to the terminology. She'd spent most of the time watching Chloe and the way she lit up on the board: her smile, and her hair flowing behind her, and how beautiful — oh crap. She'd been into Chloe even before she moved hadn't she? Before she'd even realized that she liked women that way. Well, way to come late to the game, Max.

"Um…" Max had been standing awkwardly for far too long, lost as usual in thought; and suddenly she had nothing to say.

"So are you a skater or not?"

"Kind of… I mean…"

"Don't tell me you're a poser."

Crap, she thought. This is going poorly.

"Well, I don't really know how to skate, but…"

"Breaking my heart, Max. Can you even name a single move?

She so wanted to bust out with a tre flip or a noseslide, but she knew that would be cheating. She had to try to do this on her own. She continued to rack her brain searching for even one memory where she actually picked up on the tricks Chloe had been learning.

"Um… an owlie?"

"You mean an ollie? Man, you are a poser. Maybe you should walk on."

Max hung her head. He was right. She was a poser, and she didn't belong there. It had been a stupid idea to begin with.

"Yeah," she muttered under her breath, and pushed on past Justin and up the stairs to the main campus.

A moment later she found herself alone at the fountain, chiding herself for thinking she knew how to connect with anyone on her own. As kids, Chloe had always done the talking. In Seattle, well, Kristen and Fernando practically adopted her; she'd had very little active say in that. Then in Blackwell, Kate was just so kind to everyone, and Dana was the hall's mother hen; you couldn't avoid her. She'd tried to connect with Taylor Tuesday night, and she'd completely botched that. Warren, well, he had his own motivations; she was probably just leading him on. If she were just more direct with him, he'd be gone, too.

The only one that she couldn't figure out was Alyssa, but with Alyssa she hadn't even tried. She just blinked and one day Alyssa was there following her around and sitting nearby, always quiet but present. Max wondered how she had ever been so stupid to think that she'd actually started to form real friendships.

She missed Chloe.

Without her rewind, Max was just the retro selfie girl; a freakish oddity at best, a loser at worst, and nothing more.


She'd been sitting on the fountain's edge for nearly thirty minutes, the morning sun glaring off of the statue of Blackwell's founder and namesake, Jeremiah Blackwell. In a previous life, Max would have marveled at the play of light and would have hurried to pull her Polaroid camera from her messenger bag and capture the moment… (I'm obsessed with the idea of capturing that moment, that shift from black, to white, to gray and beyond – nope, nope, nope. Not now!) …take the shot… (Always take the shot. My number one rule of photography – get out of my head, already!) … snap a picture. She would have photographed the interplay of light and shadow, capturing the gleam of the sun against the silhouette of the statue, played out against the soft sky, and she would have lost herself in the art of it and the beauty of it. She missed that Max, a Max that hadn't been burdened with so much trauma and loss. Her life had been far from perfect, but she had still known how to enjoy the little things in life.

Although she noted the beauty of the scene now, it was more in a passing, a fleeting thought, there one moment, then gone, whisked away, an unwelcome guest rushed out the door. No, instead of enjoying the morning, Max had spent the time in solitude, while the skater boys performed tricks off by the breezeway, and she cried missing Chloe and wondering how she had just that morning thought that she could keep going without her; that she could maybe even make some new friends – not to replace Chloe, but perhaps to help fill the vast void that her death had left in her life, and, more, to help honor Chloe's choice (murder). She had sat there and she had cried, not a loud bawling, sobbing sort of cry, but a muffled whimpering, hiding her tears as best as she could. You weren't to make a scene; never make a scene. That's not the Caulfield way.

Wiping the tears from her eyes, and hoping that they weren't too puffy, Max collected herself scanning to see if the coast was clear before returning to her dorm. She had actually forgotten her hoodie and the morning chill had dug in deep, Max shivering as she hugged herself. When she had left the dorms, she hadn't thought much about bundling up as she had been hoping to actually spark up that rapport with Justin again and get a lesson or two in skateboarding. Layers had seemed potentially problematic, although she had meant to at least grab her hoodie, and a jacket for that matter. Oh well. Best laid plans and all that…

Unfortunately the breezeway was definitely not clear. She could still hear Justin and Trevor's friends skating, and perhaps if they had all been on their boards, then maybe she could have snuck past them and back to the Prescott dormitories, but Justin was still sitting on the concrete wall smoking while Trevor leaned against the rail beside him. The two appeared to be in a heated discussion.

Max tried to observe them without being obvious, watching them out of her periphery as best as she could. She didn't want them seeing her cry, which, likely they already had. Great. One more thing to live down, Max.

From the looks of things, she was right, too; and Trevor looked pissed. He kept motioning in her direction while talking down to Justin. She couldn't hear what was being said, but she could get the gist of it. Trevor had seen her crying, and he'd figured out that Justin had called her a poser and sent her on her way. She didn't want to cause a rift between them; they were such good friends. They deserved better than her messing that up.

Justin threw his hands in the air, and stepped away from Trevor kicking up his board as he did. Trevor just shook his head, and then climbed up the stairs, heading towards Max. Dog damn it. That's the last thing Max wanted.

Then, inexplicably, Trevor stopped, slid his hand through his hair and pivoted on his heel, heading back down the stairs. All of the other skaters seemed to be gathering up and leaving as well. What the hell?

"Max?"

Oh man, that's a voice she hadn't heard in a while; but it did explain the sudden departure of the half-stoned skaters.

Max dabbed at her eyes again as discreetly as she could, hoping he wouldn't notice that she'd been crying. She definitely didn't want him of all people to notice. Shifting back to face the man behind her, she plastered on as happy a look as she could.

"Mr. Madsen."

From the concern in his eyes, Max was pretty certain that she had failed at any sort of subterfuge. Beneath that concern she also noticed the deep bags that had taken residence under his own eyes over the past month, coupled with deep creases and age lines just above those bags. He looked both tired and terribly aged. He and Joyce must have been taking Chloe's death hard. Of course they were.

"Max," he said, his voice choked and stumbling over her name.

Shit. Suddenly, Max was very aware that she was wearing Chloe's clothes. She ripped the beanie from her head, pulling it to her lap and worrying it with her hands. "Sorry," she said, not sure why she was apologizing, but definitely feeling that she owed him an apology nonetheless.

"It's okay," he said. "Joyce told me she gave you some of her things."

"Yeah." Great job, Max. You're such the conversationalist.

"Are you… are you doing okay?" He paused. "I know. You and I, we don't really know each other that well, but Joyce, she speaks very highly of you."

"How is she?"

David shrugged. "She's… she's trying. She's a strong woman, Joyce, but Chloe and her, things weren't like when you were kids. There was a lot between them. Anyway, you don't need to hear this."

"It's okay. I was thinking about her, too, you know. Chloe. I hadn't spoken with her in so long. She didn't know… didn't know how much she still meant to me."

"She does now."

"You think so?"

"I do."

Max glanced around at the empty lawn and breezeway, the skaters having made an expeditious retreat. She realized that school wasn't in session and that maybe it wasn't okay to be loitering.

"I'm sorry. Should I go? I stayed behind over break, but are the grounds…"

"No, don't worry about it. As long as you aren't drinking, smoking pot or something along those lines —" His expression had shifted revealing the paranoid David that she remembered.

"No, nothing like that. Just thinking through a photography assignment," she lied. "I thought the morning air would do me good."

"It's a bit chilly." He nodded to her bare arms, and she shivered as he called attention to the chill in the air.

"Yeah," I was about to head in.

"Good. I'd hate for you to catch cold."

"You would?"

"I'm not a monster, Max." He smiled attempting to lighten his words, but the lack of mirth in his eyes and his step-douche mustache didn't help him achieve the desired effect.

"Of course not." Max really didn't feel like engaging in this conversation. She knew he had saved her once (doesn't exist anymore), and she knew that he really did care about Chloe, but she had also seen him hit her. If he'd done that once, in any timeline, there was no telling how many other times he had done the same. Debating how much of a monster he really was, she didn't have the wherewithal to go down that path right now.

"Plus, Joyce wouldn't want that either." Ah there it was. He doesn't want to upset Joyce. That's why he's worried about you.

"You can tell her I'm okay."

"Good. Yeah, I'll do that." He looked at her, a deep long look that made Max distinctly uncomfortable, then continued. "You could too, you know."

Great. She really needed another guilt trip right now.

"I know," she said. "I will." And dog, why did she say that? She hadn't meant to promise that, and now it was out there.

At that, for the briefest moment, David cracked a real smile. "Thank you," he said. "She'll like that."

"Yeah. Ok." Max shuddered inside at her mastery of awkward conversation, then rose. She couldn't do this anymore. "I'll… I'll try to swing by soon."

"Max." David reached out a hand to stop her. His fingers brushed on her wrist and she noticeably winced, pulling back her hand. David raised his palms in a gesture of apology.

"Sorry," he said. "Just… I'm here Max. And… you should know…" He stared off, scanning the grounds (checking the perimeter?).

"Should know…" Max prompted.

"You're safe here. With Prescott. I know the principal has a hard-on for his father. I'm not blind. I know you kids, you know it, too. But Nathan, he won't get within five feet of this campus."

"He's on house arrest," Max said, as if the idea of him coming to campus were too far-fetched to even consider.

"I know. But I know this town and the Prescotts. You grew up here. You probably do, too. Laws don't seem to mean as much to that family."

Max shivered at that thought, but tried to pass it off as just another chill from the cold. She didn't think that David was buying her performance.

"I don't mean to scare you."

Yep, definitely not buying it.

"Just the opposite actually. I've been meaning to come by ever since I heard the news."

"You have? I've been here all week." Her words came out sharp and hostile, but she didn't care. She'd had enough of this conversation.

"Yeah, well, I make it a policy to not go in the girls' dorms unless I'm asked for. You deserve that respect. First time I've seen you on the grounds since the news broke."

"You were watching for me?"

"Watching might be a bit strong, but I noticed you, yes. Thought I should check in."

"Ok."

"Look, Max, what I'm trying to say is, the Prescotts, they seem to have some sort of Kevlar in this town. Nothing hits. Nothing sticks. And I know, I know that this administration, it bends over backwards for that family. I just need you to know that I don't. I don't care what that means for my place here, but if I see a Prescott, any Prescott, even approach these grounds, you have my word, the full force of Blackwell security will make sure they don't set one foot on this property."

"Thank you?" Max didn't know how to take this admission. She knew that David was trying to comfort her, and she knew that he meant it, but she could also picture that other David shooting Jefferson in the head, a defenseless, bound Jefferson. He had shot him for killing Chloe. In this timeline, Jefferson never got the chance; Nathan Prescott took that honor. If the Prescott's came to Blackwell, she had no doubt that he would keep them away; what she wasn't sure about was just how far he would go to make sure they stayed away.

"You're welcome, Max. You're safe here."

Yeah, she thought. Maybe. Yet David's hand at his hip worried her, resting on his nightstick, but with the unmistakable impression of reaching for a gun.