In my worst nightmare

everyone loved me

but you.

Rachel stared down in surprise at what she had written on her class notes. Somehow, her mind had wandered from the lecture to the letter she wanted to write to Chloe—and this crap was what surfaced. Bad poetry. If Chloe ever saw this, she'd laugh till—

Dana poked her in the back with a pen. Blinking, Rachel raised her eyes front to where Ms. Hoida was looking at her expectantly.

"Um..." Shit, I didn't even hear the question!

Beside her, Victoria hid a smirk before leaning back on her chair. She was going to let Rachel stew a few seconds longer before raising her hand and stealing the answer with her usual aplomb.

Gritting her teeth, Rachel focused on Ms. Hoida. There had to be something in her body language that would give a clue. The teacher kept gazing at her, waiting, but her hand rested on something on her desk—a crying Greek theater mask. The answer instantly came to Rachel.

"We were discussing etymology, right?" she said. "The Greek word for 'actor' is 'hupokrites '. It literally means 'interpreter from beneath' because they told stories from under a mask."

She could tell that she got it right even before she finished speaking; Victoria deflated in her seat, while Ms. Hoida's face relaxed. The tiny smile on her lips seemed to say, 'excellent, as usual.' Rachel allowed the relief to wash over her.

After class, Dana fell in step with her as she was exiting the room. "You okay there, Rach?"

"Sure am." Rachel flashed her a smile. "Thanks for saving my ass back there."

"You've sorta been a space cadet lately. Something up?"

Lord, you have no idea how many ways I can't answer that. " I've had a lot on my mind lately. Don't worry, I'm good."

"Well, okay, but if you need to talk—"

"Yours is the first door I shall come knocking, my lady."

"And you'd be welcome." Dana hefted her bag onto her other shoulder. "Maybe you can tell me something else then. Like, why is Juliet being such a hermit lately? I couldn't tear away from her laptop, even for a Vortex party."

Yeah, she's never going to one of those, like, ever. "I'm sure it's something important. Jules's always chasing a story, you know? She'll probably talk when she's ready."

"Yeah." Dana pouted. "It's just weird she won't talk to me about it." She perked up when she spotted someone down the hall. "Anyway, Logan's taking me bowling. Catch you later, Rach."

"Ciao." Rachel watched her run to her boyfriend. From Logan's leer, she seriously doubted he had anything remotely connected to bowling on his mind.

She turned and headed towards the main entrance. It was Friday, and people weren't in any mood for anything but fun. All around her, the students milled about, making plans with other people on their phones, looking for a weekend party to jump into. Several bystanders turned to say hello, trying to pull her into a conversation. Rachel waved and smiled but never broke her stride.

Truth be told, she was supposed to have a packed schedule after class. Some freshmen wanted to do group study for their Math finals. Dayanara wanted to run lines with her for their summer production. The skater bros invited her to hang out at the rink tonight.

But no, none of that today. She had one important—secret—meeting, then she was giving herself the space she needed to think about her predicament.

They'll all oblige her, of course. Everyone in town from Principal Wells to the convenience store clerks would regularly do their best to accommodate her. No, not merely accommodate. Like with Ms. Hoida, they'd bend over backward to see her succeed. That had been her power long before she could summon tornadoes.

Everyone loves a winner—she'd learned that from her father as she was growing up in California. She'd watched how people flocked to him for advice, how he had often held meetings in their living room with CEOs and civil servants alike.

She once asked him, "Dad, why does everyone listen to you? Is it because you're smarter than them?" He laughed and ruffled her hair. "No, honey, not even a little. But people love stories, and the stories they love best are about winners. You build that story around you, there's no end to the people who'll believe you. They'll work to make your story come true."

That was when Rachel decided to build her life on winning. It would be her way to make her mark, to make sure the world would remember her. And however much of an asshole and a liar her father turned out to be, she held one lesson to be true: everyone loves a winner.

She shone in California, and though Arcadia Bay constrained her, moving there didn't change her. It didn't take long before everyone in town knew her by name—the girl with the perfect grades, who could talk with anyone, who could do anything.

She made herself loved but committed to no one. It was a game for her to come fashionably late to parties and leaving before they ended. She dated a few handpicked boys but always knew when to break it off before things got stale. People flocked to her anyway, precisely because she seemed so unattainable. She was their Roxanne, Dulcinea, Guinevere—courted by everyone, never pursuing anyone.

Until Chloe.

To be sure, Rachel had seen her before, always from the corner of her eye. The tall skinny blonde who always skateboarded to school instead of taking the bus, who balanced on the hind legs of her chair in class while staring up at the ceiling, who never bought so much as a Pop-Tart from the cafeteria but could somehow afford cigarettes. Who sported ragged hair and equally ragged jeans (both undeniably cool), who let their grades languish, and who never seemed to give a shit. If Rachel seemed invincible for caring about so much, Chloe seemed invincible for not caring at all.

The first time she really saw Chloe was right in this very hallway. Rachel had just finished her final class and was on her way to talk with Mr. Keaton when the slam of a nearby locker door caught her attention. She looked up from her texting her mom to see Chloe collecting her bag from her locker and turning toward her. There were tears in the girl's blue eyes.

For a moment, Rachel was too startled to do anything but stare. Chloe didn't even see her—her empty gaze was far away, face devoid of hurt or anger, nothing but the tears sliding down her pale cheeks. No one else seemed to have noticed. Hefting her bag on her shoulder, Chloe brushed past Rachel and trudged zombie-like down the hall before disappearing around the corner.

Before she could even understand why, Rachel was following her. Curiosity drew her along, made her hurry past the corner just as the school entrance doors swung shut. By the time Rachel pushed past them, Chloe was riding her skateboard to the sidewalk, too far away to reach.

What's wrong with me? Rachel wondered to herself as she trudged back home. She couldn't get her mind off of the tears marring Chloe's stoic face. And those eyes. She'd never noticed what a bewitching shade of blue they were.

Chloe had captured her imagination. She occupied Rachel's thoughts for days. True, they were nothing alike. But Chloe was also like no one else in this town full of phonies and posers. It was like she'd let Rachel in on a secret, a side of herself hidden away beneath that tough exterior. And Rachel wondered: how was Chloe around people she liked? What would it take for her smile? What would it sound like if she laughed?

From then on, she watched Chloe very closely. She noted her class schedules, her club (Mathletes), her interests (Science and Art), her love for punk bands. Finally, she found her opportunity to meet her when Firewalk rolled into town. She hyped up the show in Ask Miss Arcadia to make sure Chloe knew, then kept an eye out for her during the concert itself. Saving her from some skeevy thugs just made the drama all the sweeter. And for the next three years, they were roped together into the terrible, beautiful mess of each other's lives.

Rachel jumped a little when she saw someone staring at her through the glass of the entrance doors, then realized it was just her own reflection. She shook herself—God, I'm losing it—before pushing past the double doors and walking into the golden afternoon light. On the steps, some of the skater boys looked up at her arrival—it seemed like Justin was gearing himself to say something to her. She kept walking, pulling out her phone and pretending to be busy with it.

She saw that a message had come in while she was in class. The sender's name made her heart skip a beat.

[05/17 4:24 PM] [Max 3] Hi Esmeralda, how are you?

For the first time that day, Rachel smiled in genuine pleasure. She sat down on the shaded school bench and quickly replied.

[05/17 5:03 PM] Phoebus! :) Glad you checked in. I'm doing great now. You back in town? [05/17 5:03 PM] [Max 3] Yeah, just settled in with Chloe. Thank goodness no PM classes today. Mom let me come early. No run-ins with Frollo or Quasi? [05/17 5:04 PM] They're both scarce. Heard Frollo took a leave, thank God. [05/17 5:04 PM] [Max 3] Glad to hear it. We'll see you tonight yeah? [05/17 5:04 PM] A 7 nation army couldn't keep me away. See ya!

She had a front for every person in Arcadia Bay, including her parents, including Chloe. But with Max, Rachel never felt the need for a mask. She hoped Max felt the same.

Her phone dinged again.

[05/17 5:04 PM] [Max 3] Rachel, I think you and Chloe should talk already. I can't stand the feeling of keeping something from her, and I think you feel the same.

Rachel's heart sank. She typed back: "I know," before butting her forehead against the screen. Shit. Of course Max would bring that topic up after Chloe had proposed to steal Frank's logbook.

Ding.

[05/17 5:04 PM] [Max 3] I know you're scared. I know it's going to be tough for both of you. But don't you think it's going to be harder the longer you wait?

Rachel replied, "Yeah," and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Thankfully, Max didn't pursue the conversation. What more could they possibly say?

Why did I even start things up with him, she wondered, tugging at a lock of her hair. Another voice inside coldly answered, You know why.

She had hit upon the idea during a low point of her life in Arcadia Bay. Chloe's truck had given up the ghost and they needed a bundle of money to fix it, more than what they had in their stash. Chloe had to go to the only person in town with 3,000 bucks and even the slightest willingness to lend it.

But the money itself wasn't the real obstacle. Truth be told, it was Chloe.

Rachel could deal with her friend's occasional mood swings and brooding and rants about how shitty their life here could be, but she didn't know what to make of Chloe's growing distance. Chloe had stopped coming to her house, would come up with reasons not to stay for dinner or even stay the night. She would rarely go to parties, often leaving Rachel to go alone.

Most of all, Chloe no longer seemed keen on leaving Arcadia Bay. They used to love talking about it, daydreaming out loud as they lay together in the bed of Chloe's truck, but those sessions had dwindled down to nothing. It wasn't one of the things they'd talk about anymore, and most days they'd rather fuck than talk anyhow. It seemed that the fire had gone out of their dream and Rachel couldn't tell why.

Well, she wasn't about to lose her dream to this hick town. If they could get the truck fixed, Rachel was sure she could get them back on track. They just needed money fast. And again, only one person in Arcadia Bay could do that for them.

When Rachel visited Frank at his trailer, he was surprised she came alone. When he learned why she was there, he reacted predictably.

"No fucking way," he blustered. "This ain't a trip to the ballgame, princess. You wanna play courier, do it in one of your social clubs in that shit school of yours. I'm running a business here."

Without so much as a blink, she gave him a slow smile and said, "I know it's a business, Frank. And I can tell you right now, you're not maximizing it. Are you really going to spend the rest of your life selling to barflies and homeless junkies? Haven't you ever wondered where the biggest market really is? That's right. My social club, in that shit school of mine. And I'm your passport to them."

She didn't tell Chloe, of course. Chloe would've said no, would've insisted on another way. But Rachel was confident she could get Frank under her thumb.

And she did. And it worked. She became the face while Frank was the store. She found the marks and set the meetings, Frank provided the goods and collected. The Vortex loved it; in their first week alone they scored over two grand, selling weed, then ketamine.

Frank lightened up after that first big haul. Rachel would hang out in his RV, and he'd tell her stories of the places he'd visited, roaming the highways outside of Oregon, just him and Pompidou. He taught her how to shoot a gun and throw a punch. She taught him badminton. When they were together, he smiled often, and his brown eyes lit up with happiness. He even said yes when Chloe got the courage to borrow three grand from him. That, Rachel was proud to say, was thanks to her influence.

The first time she fell into bed with him came as a surprise to them both. They'd just completed a big score for an upcoming Vortex party and were rolling in money; Frank even replaced his old stinky mattress with a brand new memory foam one. They were so stoked by their victory that Frank didn't object to Rachel's suggestion of dipping into the merchandise a bit. They were both fairly high when Rachel found herself sitting on his lap, on the new bed, their lips locked together. He smelled like earth and cheap soap. It was comforting in its own way.

After that, she could tell he was wondering if she would ever show up again. But show up she did, and carry on they did. She didn't call it a mistake and neither did he. After all, they had a good thing going and it was hurting no one. The important thing was that Frank was her creature—he doted on her, called her his lioness, followed her every whim.

That feeling of being in control, of doing something illicit and getting away with it, helped offset the growing disquiet inside her. Because for the first time, Rachel wasn't sure she liked the person she was becoming.

She was glad, then, that the drugs helped chase that feeling away. For a time, life was good. Rachel felt she was finally going to escape.

When it ended, it ended badly. Frank gradually turned quiet and moody, even as he began dipping more and more into his stash. She didn't ask him what was up; talking about their problems wasn't part of their arrangement. They quickly graduated from heavy use of weed to hallucinogens.

One afternoon, as she was high as a cirrus cloud, lying on the floor of the trailer with Pompidou on her lap, Frank burst out of his bedroom, limbs twitching, eyes bloodshot and looking like a caveman. Rachel had thought he'd taken a nap, but she'd been wrong—he was tripping bad. His head was doing a sort of clockwise motion, like he was tracing a square with his forehead.

"Frank?" She put her hands out to him, but he didn't even see her. "Hey, you okay?"

His head bolted up when she touched his shoulder; he gazed at her like he was seeing a ghost. He shrieked, "I did it for you! All of it, for you!"

Pompidou was barking and whimpering on the floor. "Frank, what's gotten into you!?" Rachel cried, but he shoved past her and lunged for his desk drawer. Before she knew it, he had a glittering knife in his hand.

"Don't come near me!" he roared, spittle flying through the air. For an instant, Rachel thought she was going to be tomorrow's headline. Before she could do or say anything, he bolted out the open doorway.

"Frank!" But calling out to him was useless. He was on his own planet, trudging around and around in the grass, muttering to himself while drawing squares in the air with his head. Then he stopped at some random spot, dropped to his knees, and started stabbing the ground. "I'm sorry," he sobbed. "Know you're there, always there. I'm sorry." Rachel realized he was digging a hole. That was when she grabbed her bag and bugged out.

Hours later, he called her to apologize and beg her to come back. She never did return, ending things a week later with a letter in one of their drop-off points. Now and then, she still received messages from him, asking if they could meet so he could hand her the rest of her cut. She knew enough not to fall for it.

Rachel had come to understand that Frank had never fully been under her control. He was a wild animal, something she couldn't quite predict or understand. And the worst of it was that if she had stayed with him any longer, she might end up the same. Hell, with the drugs, maybe she already has.

A mistake. Not proud of it, but no one ever knew. The important thing was she'd gotten sober; she was moving on.

Of course, the Jefferson fiasco soon followed. More stories, more masks, and it dawned on her that she was barely steering her own ship, if at all. If it hadn't been for Max...

Rachel stared down at the last message and wondered if she could really go through with it. "We have to do better," Max had told her back at the construction site. Now here she is again, exhorting Rachel to do better. And if she were being perfectly honest, Rachel wanted to. Here she was, the most powerful creature in town, perhaps on the entire planet, yet she followed Max's lead.

Do I really have it that bad for her? No, it's got to be more than that. I don't just like her; I want to be more like her.

What was it about this girl? Max came into her life and swept away everything she had pinned her hopes on, then rebuilt it all almost in a day. Max had even relit the fire in Chloe. Chloe was hungry again, constantly seeking contact with either of them—both of them. Chloe was finally dreaming of leaving this place. All thanks to Max.

The thought of being cut off from Chloe, of being cut off from Max, left her paralyzed with fear. It would take only one broken promise, one exposed secret—

But Max had given her an out. She had never said when; only soon.

I've got time. I need to keep it together, just for a bit longer. Then I'll make it right—for all of us.

She would win in the end. Because it's her story.

There was a creak on the other side of the bench as someone sat behind her. With that, Rachel's secret meeting had begun.

"Yo," said Brooke, keeping her eyes on the tablet on her lap.

"Hey," Rachel replied without turning around. Inwardly, she gave a sigh of relief. For the moment, she'd rather face this set of external problems. "Any word on Quasimodo?"

Brooke kept her face turned away, feigning nonchalance. She'd insisted on not raising any suspicion at Blackwell, given that she wasn't in Rachel's social circle. "MIA. Rumor has it that he's in a clinic out of town. I say good riddance. Anyway, how's Juliet's article?"

"She got to talk with Kelly Davis the other day. Today she's calling Megan Weaver to ask for an interview. Once we get her story, that's all Jules needs to complete her piece." Then we can finally expose Jefferson, Rachel thought with some satisfaction. "How'd it go with the package?"

Brooke paused. "Look, before we start, lemme make one thing clear: this is the last time. No more shady shit. I rummaged through that laptop to get you info, but now I'm done. Jailtime isn't going to look good on anyone's resume. Okay?"

Rachel tucked her hair behind her ear and hid her impatience. "Last time. Got it."

"Great. I cracked the password last night. Wasn't much of a challenge. I went through his hard drive and—"

Rachel's phone dinged as a file came in through Bluetooth. She tapped on it quickly, opening up an image file. "That's what they're making," Brooke said.

The picture was of a tall building with a white isosceles triangle roof, so sharp it jutted out like a shark's fin, or a knife point held against the sky. Strange spiraling black symbols were etched across the front wall of the entrance. Below them, double doors stood open, leading into inky darkness. Looking at it was like having ice water dripping down her back.

"It's called a Theater," Brooke said.

Of course, thought Rachel, for absolutely no reason she could discern. It would be called that.

"I showed it to Warren," Brooke continued. "He took a swing and did a reverse Google Image search—and guess what? There are others like it elsewhere."

Seventeen more pictures came in. One on a mountain in Norway. Another in Siberia. Then Indonesia. The buildings sometimes differed in color, but the shape and size seemed exactly the same.

"Yeah, they're pretty much identical," Brooke replied when Rachel pointed this out. "But who puts theaters in the middle of nowhere? And they look so similar it's almost..."

"Ritualistic," Rachel finished for her. The hairs on her arms were slowly rising. "Who built them? Prescott?"

"Only the one here in town. Some of the others are decades old, so somebody else put them up."

"Anything on these symbols above the door?"

"Nope, other than they freak me the fuck out."

Yeah, Rachel hated those symbols; it was as if the etchings were eyes looking back at her. And that gaping doorway filled with darkness looked ready to swallow her whole. It's built for me, came a horrid, unbidden thought.

She shut her eyes, imagined Chloe and Max sitting next to her, and instantly felt safe.

"Is there anything else?" she asked.

"On the laptop, no."

"What do you mean?"

Brooke cleared her throat. "I went through his emails and found that he has to access a private server sometimes to get additional information. Probably on how to build their thing. He also references something called...uh, well, have a look. Not sure what it is exactly."

An email appeared in her inbox, dated two years ago:

To: chalicebearer

From: forerunner

Re: Target completion date

Indonesian Theater finished today. We're ready. From one cup we drink. Hail Dionysus.

Rachel read the message again and again, not for the first time wondering if she was going crazy. Jefferson. The Prescotts. The Incarnate. The Theater. Dionysus. What are we looking at? How does it all tie together?

I have to know.

"Can you get into that server?"

"Okay, let me stop you right there." Brooke actually turned to look at her. "I already said I'm done with—"

"I heard you the first time," Rachel responded calmly. "I just think that that's a very weird thing to say for the person they call 'contr01'."

Brooke stiffened in her seat. "What are you talking about?"

"That's your handle in the hacktivist group you run with, isn't it? Don't ask how I know. You're handy with software and hardware, but I'm handy with people. And people talk, especially after you deface the mayor's website." Her eyes flickered to Brooke. "They say you're good and you just proved it. If anyone can get into this server, it's you."

Brooke planted her hands on her knees and stared hard at her. "This isn't a 'can' thing, it's a 'should' thing. Didn't you read that email? Who writes shit like that, Rachel? Religious extremist whackjobs, that's who. And the last thing we need—"

"The last thing we need is to walk into everything blind. Who is Dionysus? What's their connection to Prescott? Why kidnap girls? Yes, Brooke, these people could be dangerous. That's even more reason why we need to know what they're doing. Don't you see?"

"Maybe I'm the only one who can see. The fact is—" Brooke broke off, distracted by something behind Rachel.

Rapid footfalls on the grass. Rachel turned to see Juliet making a beeline towards them, her head bowed and arms wrapped around herself. Surprised, Rachel got up to greet her, but the sight of tears brimming in the brunette's eyes made her pause. Juliet closed a hand over her mouth to stifle a sob, and even without knowing anything, Rachel trembled in sympathy.

"Jules?" She reached out to take the other girl's shoulders. "Jules, what's wrong? Did something happen?"

With a shuddering breath, Juliet whimpered, "It's Megan."

The evening was descending across Arcadia Bay, accompanied by the serenade of swifts discretely hidden in the trees. The sky to the west had turned orange and pink, and to Chloe, it looked just like the many sunsets she and Max had enjoyed while playing in this backyard.

She picked up the juice boxes from their cooler and approached Max, who was sitting on the swing. "Hope you haven't outgrown Hi-C."

"I'll never outgrow Hi-C." Max grinned as she accepted the drink. "Are we still picking up Rachel later?"

Chloe slumped down onto the other swing seat. "Yeah. We're not taking chances with her going by bus. She'll text when her meeting's done."

"Good." Max poked the straw into her juice box. It touched Chloe that Max worried about Rachel so much; it also made her just a tiny bit jealous.

"Dog, it's been ages since we hung out in your backyard like this," Max said, looking up at the sky, where the first star had faded into view.

"Yup. Not since five years ago."

"Yeah." Max paused. "I'll never not be sorry I took so long, Chloe."

"Hey, hey, chill. I told you we're good. You believe me, right?"

Max merely smiled and took a sip from her juice, and Chloe took a moment to realize that, for her, it's been five years. But for Max, they'd been hanging out like this just over a month ago. Time travel sure was weird.

But that doesn't matter. She's here now. This is our present.

Chloe snapped her fingers. "I just remembered something! Hang on a minute." She leaped off of her swing and stalked inside the house. When she returned, she was holding a box with a red ribbon taped on top, which she offered to Max. "Happy Birthday!"

"Oh!" Max hid her face behind her hands. "Chloe! I still haven't gotten you anything!"

"You will. I'm just way ahead of you—naturally." She poked Max's hands with the box. "C'mon, open it. No time like the present —get it?"

"Insert groan here." Getting over her embarrassment, Max lifted the lid. She gasped as she looked inside.

"Oh my God!" She picked up the teddy bear with the bandanna and eyepatch. "Chloe! It's soooo adorable!"

Chloe beamed as she threw the box over her shoulder. "Allow me to introduce the First Mate to your Captain Woolychins. It's Rachel's idea. See, I was telling her about the time you swallowed your teddy bear's button eye and your parents had to bring you to the ER—"

Max hid her face behind the stuffed bear. "Chloe, WHY."

"—And man, she laughed herself sick. Then she said I should get you a First Mate to keep the good Captain out of trouble. So that's what I did." Grinning, she tickled the bear's ear before ruffling Max's hair.

"Unnecessary story aside, thanks, Chloe. I love her already."

"Her, huh? Neat. They'll make a great pair." Chloe sat back down on her swing, enjoying the sight of Max hugging the teddy bear and, yes, feeling a bit jealous of it too. "What'll you name her?"

"I guess I'll come up with something connected to you. Like...Lizbear."

"What?"

"It's from your middle name. First Mate Lizbear."

Chloe rolled her eyes and pushed off into a slow swing. "First off, I hate my middle name. Second, coming from Captain Woolychins, that's pretty weak. Do better."

"Maybe I'll let Rachel name her then," Max laughed. "And thank her for the gift idea."

"Oh yeah. She found this one online for you."

Max set the teddy bear on her lap, looking at it thoughtfully. "I'm so glad Rachel likes me. It made things so much easier, coming back to the past."

"Why wouldn't she like you? You're not half as dorky as you look."

"You know what I mean. You and her—" Max paused and glanced at Chloe. "I mean, you and Rachel are dating, right?"

Taken aback, Chloe stopped swinging. "Uh..."

How do I answer that?

"Y-yeah," she muttered. "I—I guess you could say that. It's a bit, ah, it's a little—"

"Chloe?"

Chloe turned in place so the swing's chains twisted into a knot above her. "We never really—it's not something we...really talked about? We just did, you know, what felt right." She squinted at Max. "Did I say anything different back in your time?"

"Um, n-no, not really. You didn't really go into any details about what happened between you two. Only that..." She paused, hands curling around the chains. "She's important to you."

"She is," Chloe said, gratified that her feelings wouldn't change—not six months from now, not ever. She let the swing spin her back into place. "She's my angel."

Max smiled. "That's what you told me." Drawing a breath, she went on. "Have you told her, though?"

"Told her what?"

"How you feel about her."

"I..." Chloe trailed off. What's happening right now? "I mean—like, not in so many words," she gingerly replied.

"You should, you know." Max stopped swinging, her eyes fixed in the middle distance. "Because Rachel really loves you, Chloe."

"Ah," Chloe muttered. Her cheeks were warm. Blazing. "She...said that?"

"Yes. So you should tell her how you feel. I think...I think she needs to hear it."

"O-okay." Not knowing what else to say, Chloe scuffed her shoes against the ground, sending her swinging again.

She's not wrong, Chloe thought. But fuck, Rachel already knows how I feel, like I know how she feels. Right? It's been three years. Do we really have to spell it out? But then, will Max think I'm too chickenshit to do it? Maybe I should say something.

But where does that leave you, Max?

She peeked at Max from the corner of her eye. The brunette sat there thinking, looking a little lost, a little too young. Chloe's mind raced back to their first phone call in five years, remembering the quaver in Max's voice when she said 'I love you.'

Do you feel something for me too, Max?

Before she knew what she was doing, Chloe found herself standing behind Max's swing. She gave Max a gentle push, rocking her. Max looked back at her in surprise, but then her face eased into a smile. Emboldened, Chloe pushed a little harder, and when Max laughed in delight, Chloe leaped onto the swing, planting her feet on both edges of the seat.

She chanced to look down to where Max's hand was curled around the chain. The ring she'd made winked on Max's finger.

"Say, Max?" Chloe breathed, pulse galloping madly in her ears.

"Yeah?"

"Rachel and I were talking." Chloe cleared her throat, trying to keep her thoughts in line. My palms are sweating—God. Sucking in a breath, she gazed into the distance and kept talking.

"See, she'll finish her course next school year, and after that, there's nothing tying us down here. She, ah, she and I made plans to leave Bigfootsville for good.

"We were both wondering—and this is if you're cool with it—would you, uh, what would say if—would you like—to c-come with us?"

Chloe's heart skipped a beat as Max stared up at her.

"You mean like, sail away like pirates on a high seas adventure?"

Chloe grinned down at her. "Exactly. Pirates for life?"

"Yeah," Max whispered, eyes shining. "Pirates for life. I'll go where you go."

Chloe was so overcome that she couldn't speak. So instead, she laughed and swung them harder, faster. Max squealed as the chains squeaked and the wind rushed past their ears. Soon they were high enough to almost face the deepening sky. Chloe thought that if she tried hard enough, she could fly them into that field of stars.

Her phone rang in her pocket. "Shit," Chloe said, "that's probably Rachel. Hang on."

Slowing them down, Chloe leaped off the swing and pulled out her phone. "Hey, Rach! Ready for the weekend?"

"Chloe," said the quaking voice on the other end of the line. Her tone made Chloe stop in her tracks. She turned and caught Max's eye.

"Rachel, did something happen?"

"Yes." Rachel's voice sounded heavy with tears. "I just talked with Juliet. She was supposed to talk w-with Megan Weaver today..."

A cold finger traced her way down Chloe's spine. Oh no.

"What happened with Megan, Rachel?" At her tone, Max looked up in alarm.

A long breath from the other line. "Her parents found her overdosed on sleeping pills in her room. She's dead, Chloe."

The cold finger had turned into an icy torrent. Megan. Chloe hadn't allowed herself to think of her for more than a year. After Max and before Rachel, Megan was the only person Chloe could remotely call a friend. She'd once wished it could be more, but Megan drifted away at the first hint of her affection. She had faded into little more than a minor regret over the years.

Now she was really gone, soon to be reduced to a name in the newspapers.

Chloe yanked her beanie off her head and flung it on the ground. "Fuck Jefferson. Fuck him. I'll put a bullet in him one day, I swear!" Max had gotten up from her swing, the teddy bear pulled close, a hand resting on Chloe's shoulder.

"Chloe," Rachel went on, "c-could you and Max come pick me up? I really don't want to be alone right now."

"Sure, yeah, sure. We'll be there in a minute."

They hung up. When Chloe broke the news to her, Max paled and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Let's go," Chloe muttered, reaching for her beanie. "Rachel needs us."

Max decided to wait in the truck, knowing that it would be harder for two non-students to sneak into Blackwell. So Chloe made her way through the school grounds, crept in through the fire exit, and climbed up the stairs to girls' dorms, ignoring the stares she met along the way.

A glassy-eyed Rachel answered at her first knock. "Hey," said Chloe, smiling, "someone order a hot punk for dessert?"

"Chloe..." Rachel stepped gratefully into her embrace. Chloe held her close, running her hand through her soft, golden mane.

"It's gonna be okay," Chloe whispered. "We were too late for Megan, but we'll get them back in the end. I swear."

"I believe you," Rachel said. "Just...hold me for a little while, okay?" And Chloe did, soaking in the feeling of Rachel's warm breath against her neck.

After a moment, Rachel lifted her head and asked, "Is Max...?"

"In the truck. Don't worry, I told her to lock the doors and stay put. But let's not keep her waiting."

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm a mess. Lemme get my overnight bag and we can go."

"Actually," Chloe flashed her a mischievous grin. "I have a plan. Call it the Crazy Chloe plan. My house is hella dull, you know, not ideal for hanging out the way we are now. And none of us are up for some lame-ass party. What do you say we go someplace better?"

Rachel tilted her head. "Like?"

"Like the beach! We can camp out there, light a fire, practice some of your magic, and forget everything and everyone for one night. Just the three of us. So how 'bout it?"

That prompted a laugh from Rachel. "I love your plan, Crazy Chloe. Yeah, that sounds perfect. But would Max be okay with this?"

"Why wouldn't she be okay with this? And let me tell you something else she's okay with." Chloe leaned in till their foreheads touched. "She said yes, Rach. She'll come with us when we leave Arcadia Bay."

Chloe loved every bit of the unguarded joy that lit up Rachel's face. "That's the best news I've heard all day," Rachel replied, hazel eyes dancing. She took Chloe's hands and kissed them reverently. "Thanks, Chloe. You make me happy, you know?"

"Y-yeah, I figured." Flustered, Chloe stepped to the side and offered her arm. "Shall we?"

Chloe never once saw the dozens of eyes that followed them out of the dorms. The only things that mattered were the warm hand in her grip, and the thought of Max waiting for them to arrive.