There was a certain serenity amongst the halls of the Prescott dorm, with virtually all the students elsewhere, either enjoying their lunch break, or imagining how they might have enjoyed it were they not on detention. The quiet was perturbed only by the voice of Taylor Christensen, who enthusiastically relayed the enormous amount of gossip she'd accumulated within the period of one morning to Victoria: Dana Ward had 'officially' hooked up with some skater, and a betting pool had been started as to whether this boyfriend would last a week; Courtney was continuing to throw her weight around like a prize bitch as Vortex Club chair, the unsaid connotation being that most people wouldn't notice the difference between Victoria's rule and Courtney's; Juliet Watson's boyfriend (and football team quarterback) Zachery Riggins had apparently undergone a transformation, his previously wandering eyes now regarded other girls with guarded suspicion for reasons unknown. Victoria sighed. This had all seemed so important to her just a few days ago. Now with life-threatening adventure being the new norm, it was pedestrian; little more than a burden she was expected to bear to justify her position as high school royalty.

They both came to a halt at the end of the dorm's corridor, where Max and Victoria's rooms sat opposite one another, glaring each other down in an eternal stand-off. Victoria noted, with some small gratitude, that her door had been repaired. Aside from needing a new coat of paint it looked perfect, or as perfect as possible for a penny pinching school looking to fix dilapidated student accommodation on the cheap. As soon as the paint job had been finished, there'd be no external indication anything had ever happened. Her room's interior was another matter, one she'd have to put right herself eventually once she felt up to it. She ran her hand down the side of the door, feeling the smooth wood and remembering how just that morning it had been a mess of hewed splinters. It had had all the hallmarks of Nathan Prescott's berserk rage. Only it couldn't have been Nathan. Chloe had given him an airtight alibi in the form of an ambulance ride. It didn't seem the work of Daphne Grey, she might be able to sneak into the school undetected, but vandalising the property of a target like this, tipping off her target and leaving evidence just wasn't her style. That meant someone else was out to get her. Someone in addition to Sean Prescott, his hit-bitch and that ghost. Victoria sighed. Perhaps they'd care to take a number and get in line?

Averting her gaze from the door, Victoria quickly found something else to offend her. Someone had scrawled a cartoon on the small personal whiteboard next to her room. It showed a rather unflattering caricature of her fainting in the arms of a shorter girl, who was saying "wowsers you're heavy." Victoria studied the scrawl carefully, trying to deduce the artist, and managing a smile at the thought of what she'd do to them. She immediately ruled out Kate, the art style wasn't adorable enough. And she was so insufferably pure, she'd never resort to any sort of revenge. Probably not that overexposed ditz Dana either, she might well resort to revenge, but wouldn't drag Max into it; she'd also keep her co-bimbo Juliet from involving Max, so not her either. Courtney lacked the artistic talent, primarily taking liberal arts subjects, rather than fine arts and photography. Realistically any other student could have been involved, and while she was sure more than a few were 'jealous' enough to want to take her down a peg, those four were the ones she'd really managed to especially offend. Well, at least this week.

"Oh, no." Taylor griped, providing a distraction from the apparently fruitless search for a suspect. "Victoria. I just realised. Your new door has a different lock. You'll totally have to see the custodian to get the new key, before we can get in. Unless you want to..."

Victoria smirked at the suggestion. The locks the school put on the dorm rooms were pathetic, more designed to keep privacy than keep out a determined thief. There was no need to properly pick them. Slipping a bit of strong wire or string around the exposed bolt and pulling, or pressing down with a credit card could overwhelm the bolt's spring allowing instant access. A fair number of the students knew how to pull that little trick off too, either from a desire to maliciously prank one another, or simply to regain access to their rooms if they locked themselves out. That made her door's forcing seem oddly gratuitous. Perhaps the perpetrator wasn't from the girl's dorm. Or perhaps they just really wanted to send a message.

"Doesn't matter. We're not here for my room." Victoria answered to Taylor's surprise. Besides, she didn't want to have to deal with seeing her room like that again. Not if she could put it off. Instead she revealed the key Max had given her. "I left what I needed in Max's room."

Taylor nodded slowly. She thought about saying nothing, whatever was going on with Victoria and Max seemed to be making Blackwell's student queen a vastly more pleasant person. On the other hand, since she'd witnessed that 'spontaneous hugging' incident in the middle of class and everything that succeeded it, she was overwhelmed with curiosity. She simply had to pry.

"Honestly, Victoria, what's up with you and Calf-field? I know you always had this odd fascination with her. But yesterday it's like everything went crazy. Suddenly you're literally jumping into her arms after class-"

"I felt ill and fainted. She just caught me." Victoria protested. Not that she considered jumping into Max's arms entirely objectionable any more.

"Fainted in her arms after class." Taylor corrected. Somehow that sounded even worse. "Then you two rushed off to the bathroom with your fingers linked. You suddenly installed her in the Vortex Club, you and her disappeared together after school last night, and did it again this morning. You totally even spent the night in her room; and now she trusts you with her keys so-"

"Don't try to insinuate something crude!" Victoria snapped, as she gently inserted the key into Max's lock. She carefully rotated it and pushed, causing the hinges to groan slightly. She made a mental note to buy Max some lubricant. "I only stayed in her room because my own place was trashed, and we're only here now because I left some things in there, and-"

She felt Taylor regarding her knowingly.

"And there's a small chance that I'm completely fucking smitten with her." Victoria finally admitted, resting her forehead on the door frame in defeat.

"I knew it. I SO fucking knew it. Ever since you saw her walk into the class near the start of term, you've been splitting your attention between her and Jefferson. So, does that mean last night..."

"We slept. That's it." She decided not to mention that Max had some rather unconventional dreams, which seemed to drive deviously errant hands. And what the hell did she mean 'ever since Max first walked into the class'? She'd treated Max as the enemy until yesterday. A worthy if duplicitous enemy, who expertly milked the sympathy angle to gain more and more attention. It had been so frustrating watching her day after day dithering around, pretending she wasn't completely fucking amazing. She took a deep breath, and contemplated her own thoughts for a moment. In hindsight, perhaps it was possible that she had slightly mixed feelings about Max Caulfield all along.

"I'll tell you more later, maybe." She answered, her face red with a revelation that was obvious to everyone not blind. She didn't want to talk about it there though. There was still the matter of that warning from the future. That Max's room had somehow been bugged. The last thing she needed was some weirdo hearing and leaking more details about her and Max.

"So, Calf-field's room." Taylor said, as the door swung open. She snooped around casually, while Victoria made a bee-line for the window, and the video camera she needed. Truth be told, this wasn't the first time Taylor Christensen had been in Max's room. Shortly after the start of term, she'd been forced to aid Victoria in a clandestine search. "Gathering intelligence on the enemy," Victoria had called it. Creepy, but you had to see it from Victoria's point of view. For years she'd tried and failed to kiss up to Mr Jefferson, both figuratively and literally. It had hurt, the casual dismissiveness. It began with a single birthday present: a book collecting his work given to her by some uncle. She forgot which. The shots in it were all so incredible, and also a little mature and edgy, in a completely tasteful way of course. It had all been so different from the 'boring stuff' in her school's art class; for a girl on the brink of adolescence they were captivating. Soon after, she had all his photography books, and poured over them relentlessly in her spare time, got to know it, and him. It was only natural to think they'd developed some sort of connection.

Then she'd finally attended one of his exhibitions. She'd tried to introduce herself as confidently as ever. Demonstrate her vast knowledge of his work, perhaps even provide her own critique of it. Real artists liked that right? He'd said hello of course, remarked on her precociousness, then made it clear he needed to attend some other young talent, who he subsequently spent the whole event with. The same thing happened at every other exhibition or event of Jefferson's she'd attended. The faces changed, but there was always someone else. Young and fresh-faced and not half as dedicated. She'd thought things might be different once she began attending Blackwell: directly submitting her work to him, he'd have to acknowledge her ability. It turned out the only difference was the other young talent now had a name. That name had been Rachel Amber, and she had the perfect face to go with it. Perfect almost everything. When she just up and vanished last year, hope stirred again. Next term, it would finally be her turn!

Victoria barely gave the new girl, who had mysteriously appeared at the back of his class a couple of days into the term, a second thought. Sure she'd done her usual superficial appraisal, noted that she was "obviously malnourished, but not without charm, from a certain angle, in some ridiculously wholesome waif-like way that neither her nor Taylor could pull off. Beautiful, slender wrists and potentially magnificent lips, if only she had the confidence to pick a stronger shade of lipstick to make them pop." She was prepared to leave things at that unless this new girl stepped out of line; perhaps even consider drawing her into the vortex club. Just so that ridiculously wholesome innocence of hers could contrast and highlight Victoria's more mature charm, of course.

Then Jefferson introduced her: Max Caulfield, his personally selected "scholarship student." All she did was bat her wide innocent eyes, grab her elbow awkwardly and claim she wasn't worthy, then milk more sympathy with some sob story. How she still wasn't one hundred percent from her illness that had made her miss the school's orientation. How she still had an awful headache. That just lead to more praise. More congratulations. The vortex club invitation was summarily destroyed, and replaced with plans for a clandestine break in. Victoria simply had to see what was special about her, beyond the obvious superficial things she'd already catalogued: her eyes and her lips, those fucking adorable freckles and her dainty little arms.

And so, one slightly scratched Platinum credit card later, they had broken into this "Max Caulfield's" room and were conducting an intense search for her professional portfolio. She didn't seem to have one though. Victoria couldn't believe it: what the hell kind of career-minded photographer didn't have a portfolio? The closest thing she had found was an old cardboard box labelled "OK photos". They were all taken with some shitty old Polaroid camera, and yet they were all good. Some incredible. Taylor remembered Victoria obsessing over just about everything in the box, labelling shot after shot tacky and cliché while looking more nervous and insecure with herself with each successive one.

The most obvious difference between then and now was that many of those photos now adorned her wall. It was unnerving, almost like the photos they'd snooped through were now returning the favour, the many faces of Max Caulfield watching them in judgement. Not that Victoria's room was much better: she had huge, professionally taken photos of herself directly above her bed.

Perhaps Max and Victoria were perfect for each other. Taylor mused idly. They both seemed to revere their own images in a manner that borders on narcissism.

A few feet from her objective, Victoria froze in her tracks, witness to a tragedy, a scene of death. Max had a potted plant, which she'd given the name "Lisa" according to the scrawl on its flower pot. And the tense used there was completely appropriate. "She" was in a very sorry state, thin trunk drooped to the floor, leaves wilted and pathetic. An experimental prod of the dirt with a finger revealed it was bone-dry. She recalled Lisa looking better in the morning, and supposed she might have been saved if they'd acted then. It was all too late now, of course. Max had been too busy, caught up with a battery of tasks designed to keep them and the rest of the town's populous alive, to really think about something as mundane as watering her plant. Still, no doubt Arcadia Bay's denizens would be appreciative of Lisa's sacrifice to save them all. She carefully stepped over her broken, desiccated form as it lay helpless on the ground, and reached for the video camera.

"Here we- oh my god." Victoria almost screamed, glaring at the digital video camera in the corner.

"What's wrong, Victoria?" Taylor asked, before noticing poor Lisa collapsed on the floor. "Ouch. Poor plant."

"Right, the plant." Victoria replied. All very tragic, but that wasn't what had upset her. The camera's alignment had clearly been very subtly altered. Her fist balled in frustration. Max just had to put her own little touch on the shot, didn't she? Even after the previous alignment had been declared perfect. Not that it mattered for a surveillance film, but Max always found a way to frustrate the hell out of her. She couldn't even bitch about it to Taylor (which was the main dynamic of their friendship, really). That would lead to questions as to what the camera was supposed to be aligned with.

"Let's go." She finally said quietly, while removing the camera from its stand, and shoving it into a free partition of her camera bag.

"You needed your video camera? Why was that in Calf-field's room?"

"It was one of the few valuables not smashed by the vandal. With my door lock broken, I decided to stow it in Max's place." Victoria said, dredging up the excuse she'd carefully rehearsed on the way there. She trusted Taylor, but if the truth even accidentally got out that they'd been surveilling the exact point where Jefferson's lackey had been lured to, at the exact time of the lure, things could become complicated. She let out a silent sigh of relief when Taylor seemingly bought the answer without question.

As they turned to leave, Taylor once again offered to carry her bag. Once again Victoria declined, causing a despondent look to hang over her friend's face. She felt conflicted. Hanging around Max and Chloe somehow made her feel guilty for treating Taylor like her personal servant, yet her blonde companion seemed genuinely upset when unburdened with Victoria's kit. It was like her place in the world had been torn away from her, and she didn't know what to do with herself. It reminded her of some British period drama she'd watched once about life in an aristocratic manor, where a newly assigned valet was horrified to discover his master actually knew how to dress himself, rendering his entire profession obsolete.

Of course there was one overriding factor for Victoria insisting on carrying her own luggage: she really didn't want to lose custody of that pistol; unlike Chloe, she lacked a bulky jacket to secret it away behind, so the bag was really the only place she could carry it. It was all too easy to imagine a scenario where Taylor, desperate to be of help as always, reached into her bag looking for a replacement lens or something and instead found a lethal weapon, perhaps even pulling it out and showing everyone else nearby in a moment of stunned stupor. She briefly entertained an alternate solution, strapping the gun to her thigh above her skirt-line, living out a long-time fantasy of becoming the fem-fatale from an espionage movie. As usual, reality interceded to ruin a perfectly serviceable fantasy: the gun Chloe had stolen was too bulky to be worn garter-strapped. Perhaps next time Chloe could be considerate enough to steal her a Beretta 418 or Walther PPK?

As the two girls began walking out, something metallic glistened from Max's wardrobe; catching Victoria's eye and tempting her. It was a tin of cookies, the one Max had offered her a selection from in an attempt to cheer her up after they discovered her room had been vandalised. A partially successful attempt, in spite of the depths of misery she'd been exposed to; those things were divine, and her mouth watered just looking at them. They called out to her and she acted without thinking, beginning to reach out. She caught herself. There was trust between Max and her now. She couldn't go around stealing her delicious chocolate chipped treats. And what if Max somehow caught her?

What are the chances of that happening? Some dark corner of her mind shot back. Taylor's actually understating things when she says you've been obsessing over her. You're practically worshipping her like a deity. You need to prove to yourself that you can still get away with something, anything, behind her back. Otherwise you'll end up little more than her "Taylor with benefits", kissing her dainty little all-powerful hands and anywhere else she desires.

Victoria's hand still hovered above the tin, indecision rendering it as effectual as the claw in one of those fucking crane games. She could feel Taylor watching her, giggling quietly to herself. Her last loyal follower laughing at how weak she'd become, how weak tiny little Max had made her.

"Victoria, you're not afraid of Calf-field?" Taylor gently mocked. She was met with a moment of silence. Blackwell's queen-in-exile could hardly explain that Max had these ridiculous powers that surged out of the slender fingers on her petite little hand and changed the course of history. That behind those freckled cheeks was a streak of righteous fury, terrifying and captivating. And if that weren't enough she had this ridiculously hot muscular delinquent wrapped around her little finger, who could reduce you to a pulp in seconds. And seduce you almost as quickly.

"Are you?"

"Of course not." Victoria snapped back. In spite of all that, she'd come around to associating safety with being in Max's arms. And safety from being hurt with Chloe's, though she felt certain other dangers resulted from being in her grasp. Fates that she might enjoy on some level.

She made a decision. She'd just reimburse Max later. Buy her a year's supply of cookies or something. That would assuage her conscience. She had to do this now though. One little completely pathetic secret she could hold onto behind Max's back. Just to keep her sane. Just to prove Max wasn't a god. Her hand moved. She felt the tin's cold metal touch her fingertips.

A sudden buzzing startled her, and the final fantasy victory fanfare rang out, the message received tone she'd set on her phone for texts from Max. It sent a shock down her spine, and she halted immediately. Gingerly taking her phone in hand, she read the incoming text.

Max: If you and Taylor want, you can have a cookie or two. You know which tin they're in. ;)

For the longest time, Victoria just stared at the message, dumbstruck. A daydream of Max, glowing in translucent and barely secured white robes assailed her mind, her every slight curve visible in silhouette. She looked up at the vision, kneeling in a position of reverence, desperate to moan at the sight but unable to do so. Her lips had far too important a job, surrounding and gently worshipping the lithe fingers on that all-powerful hand.

Taylor's hand gently shook Victoria's shoulder, snapping her back to reality. She was greeted by the sight of the cookie tin lidless, exposing its indecently delicious content, the sound of teeth munching cookie, and the sensation of her own lips quivering to the memory of that daydream. Taylor must have looked over her shoulder, read the message, and helped herself while her imagination indulged itself. She brought her hand to her lips and tried to still them. Sucking at Max's fingers? What the hell was she thinking?

"I'm sure the message is coincidental." Victoria said, trying to keep an even tone. "Max is a kind generous person who decided to offer us a small baked good that she knows I enjoy."

"Duh, of course it is." Taylor replied, brushing a crumb from her mouth. "It's not like she can see the future."

You really think Victoria wants my cookies?" Max asked absent-mindedly, as she walked together with Chloe along Blackwell Academy's front lawn. A cool breeze brushed against her face, and she felt her lips tingle from its gentle bite. Or perhaps from the memory of how they'd pressed against a certain blue-haired girl's lips, after throwing said girl up against the wall. Did I really do that? She constantly asked herself since then. She'd been so aggressive. She idly brushed a finger across the corner of the smile that had permanently fixed her lips since that moment. Then she looked across at Chloe, who returned her smile in an uncharacteristically nervous fashion, her cheeks slightly flushed. Yes, I really did that.

"Max, everyone wants your cookies." Chloe replied in a way that made Max question if she was really referring to delicious buttery treats, or at least the kind you baked in the oven. "Victoria probably more than most. Rachel always used to say she had a sweet tooth and that she couldn't handle spontaneous generosity, so tickling both spots is gonna hella mess with her."

The strange thing was, since that moment, their conversation had kept gravitating toward Victoria. Perhaps they needed a pause to digest what they'd just done, and the idiosyncrasies of Victoria Maribeth Chase were a convenient diversion. Or perhaps they'd both kind of been waiting for a chance to talk about her behind her back. They seemed to have a lot to discuss: How she was always calling them idiots; how her left sock probably cost more than their combined wardrobes, how she always seemed to need to prove herself, and how intoxicating the scent of her perfume was.

"I think you're overselling the effect a cookie can have." Max smiled back at her. "It's not like she's blue, furry and googly eyed. Besides, I don't actually want to mess with her. I just want to be nice."

That wasn't entirely truthful. Part of her did want to mess with Victoria, just a little. She felt a slight thrill every time she managed to provoke, mildly offend or otherwise grab Victoria Maribeth Chase's attention.

"OK let me follow this logic." Chloe said, her tone gently mocking. "In order to be nice to her, you have to deny her something you know she'd enjoy, because you know she'd enjoy it?"

Well, yes. When put that way, that did sound a bit stupid.

"It just feels, I don't know, a little manipulative." Max tried to explain. "With these weird powers, I feel I should be especially careful of that. The things I could do-"

"Max, it's just a biscuit. It's not like you're manipulating her into falling in love with you." Chloe replied, a provocative grin lighting up her face. She expected Max to laugh that off. Perhaps call her a dork again, at worst jab her lightly with her elbow. Instead Max's smile, which up until that moment had been gloriously radiant, suddenly became a little laboured, and the only thing Max did with her elbow was nervously grab at it herself.

"You're not, are you?" Chloe asked.

"Of course not." Max replied. The idea was abhorrent. It was also uncomfortably close to what had actually happened. How her future self had hurt Victoria in order to engineer her figurative and literal falling into her arms. The memory felt like it was haunting her: it was easy enough to ignore while dealing with a near continuous onslaught of threats, but it always seemed to slink back into prominence to spoil a blissful moment of peace. Whispering in her ear that, somewhere down the line, she was going to turn into a monster.

"But..."

"But, what?" Chloe asked, discarding most of her front, her usual attempts at humour. There was real concern in her voice now. "Max, you can tell me anything. You know that right?"

Max remained silent, reliving the moment inside her head. Watching Victoria's legs suddenly give way, and her head clash against the table with a decidedly unhealthy crack. Rushing to her, witnessing the extent of her injuries, blood oozing onto her hands. Then undoing everything, feeling relief wash over her at having duplicated whatever she'd done in the girl's bathroom to reverse time, seeing Victoria's injuries evaporate with the wave of a hand. Desperately clutching the statuesque blonde to prevent events from repeating. And perhaps gaining a heightened appreciation as to just how statuesque Victoria Maribeth Chase was, and also how fragile. Vulnerable, like a small animal that arched its back and hissed at anyone who approached it out of fear. Someone she wanted to protect and coddle, to reassure that nothing bad would ever happen again, that she wouldn't allow anything bad to happen again. Like she had last night.

How could she explain any of that to Chloe though? Having those kinds of feelings now, after their first real romantic moment together, felt like a betrayal. At the same time she found herself suddenly burdened by a guilty feeling, that there might have been something unsaid but somehow implicitly agreed on between herself and the statuesque blonde. Something she might have just betrayed behind the school gymnasium. Then on another level, it felt the height of insincerity having those feelings toward Victoria in the first place, given she'd been the one to endanger her. And there was the corresponding fear that she was doing worse, and for far longer, to Chloe. Reshaping her whole life, giving her the impression that Max Caulfield wasn't just some insecure coward, too busy feeling sorry for herself to reach out to someone in far greater need. She thought of her future self, so hesitant to explain anything to them. Perhaps she'd done so much, reduced everyone to puppets and woven such a tangled web from tugging their strings, that revealing the full truth would destroy her in their eyes. Was that what she was absolutely going to become? Or could she still manage to become someone else?

"Max?"

"I guess I worry I'm not as good a person as I like to think I am." Max replied quickly.

"Pfffffff," Chloe snorted. "Max, you're only a soiled diaper short of Gandhi. Seriously, you know all the dumb shit I'd probably do if I had your powers? Basically all you've been doing is helping people avoid tragedy and trying to catch serious criminals. Even your edgy-as-fuck future-self's just trying to save everyone."

"My future-self's got some strange ways of going about it though, Chloe." Max said. She paused, wondering how much she should explain. How much she had the courage to explain. "She plays with people's pasts and even hurts them if she thinks it will further whatever she's up to. She's someone I don't think I want to become."

Chloe rolled her eyes.

"If you mean shanking Mark Fuckerson, it sounds like he totally had it coming-"

"Not just Fuckerson." Max replied, a smile forcing its way back onto her face in spite of everything. Something about how Chloe threw crude insults around was just kind of funny. Then, craning her neck back to meet Chloe's eyes, she was met with an uncharacteristically thoughtful and concerned look, for just an instant. It evaporated within a second, replaced by her trademark confident smile that seemed to all but guarantee everything was going to be fine.

"Max." She began, her words just as soothing as the warm hands that came to rest on Max's shoulders. "I know you're a force for good, and that's something that will never change, no matter what's in your future."

"How can you be sure though?" Max asked.

"That's my superpower." Chloe said with a wink that left Max staring at her with mild incredulity. "What, you got time travel so don't be too jealous, even though knowing Max Caulfield's heart is objectively a better power. It's got a more interesting origin story, too. Remind me to tell you all about it some time."

Just about anything would be a better origin story than randomly discovering superpowers at a highly convenient moment. Max thought. Not that somehow having the power to save her oldest friend at the right moment wasn't hugely appreciated, and something she was glad to exploit to it's fullest extent.

"So anyway." Chloe said, goosebumps forming on Max's arms as she worked in just a hint that smooth provocative tone of hers. "Afternoon classes with the feisty Victoria Maribeth Chase. I can't help but feel kind of jealous, being as I'm all expelled and everything, and she gets to sit in class with you."

"It would have been great if we could have gone to school together, and the worst thing we had to worry about was if we were going to keep our grades high enough to hold onto our scholarships." Max agreed with a surge of child-like innocence. She couldn't help it. That's how she honestly felt.

"But this way you get the lovely Victoria all to yourself." Chloe teased. "Hey Max. You're not going to, you know, hit on her during class, are you?"

"No. Of course not." Max replied with just a little too much haste. Honestly why did Chloe have to ruin a good and wholesome fantasy with a bad and better one?

"Two screams of 'of course not' in the space of a minute? The lady doth protest too much, methinks." Chloe quipped.

And then, Max felt something unexpected. Chloe's choice of words echoed inside her head over and over. Her mind seemed to short out. She turned pale, and in an instant there was something beyond anger, an explosive mix of molten rage and icy hatred seemed to surge through her veins. Her hands balled into fists. It was like that moment in class, where her future self had taken over and probably stuck Jefferson in the neck. Only there'd been no photograph taken this time, and no takeover.

The instant passed, and with it the rage, leaving behind a void of numb shock. Her hands shook with fear at the thought of having done something again. Having hurt someone again. She looked down at those suddenly cold shaking hands, found them thankfully blood-free this time. Then she looked back at Chloe, who was trying to process this sudden change in Max's emotional state.

"Um. OK fine. I won't mention Tori again." Chloe tried to joke. Then she noticed how Max was actually shivering. How her fists were balled so tightly that her knuckles were close to turning blue. She slipped her hands from Max's shoulders and offered them, and Max took them in her own gratefully, unballing her fists to reveal the angry red crescents her nails had left in her palms.

"Oh GOD. Chloe, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened. It's just, that phrase. For some reason it made me so angry. Maybe it's just all the pressure I'm under. Having to save the town, being hit by all these weird side-effects to my powers; first headaches, then periodically shocking everybody. I just don't know why it set me off like that."

"Maybe a teacher gave you a bad grade in English lit?" Chloe suggested, her thumbs gently massaging those nail marks away.

Max stared blankly in confusion. "I thought I got the use of periodic right. I looked it up-"

"You did, Max." Chloe said. "I'm talking about that phrase that got you raeging, it's from some play. Probably Shakespeare since it's got 'doth' in it. I'm sure Victoria could tell us-"

"It's Hamlet." Max answered without thinking.

"Or you might know it yourself and show me up for underestimating you. See this is why you're not evil-"

"Because I know which play some random line out of Shakespeare comes from?" Max asked, wishing she could remember details like that in class, and for some reason also that her teachers could look more like Chloe.

"Because you give so much as one nasty glance, and you immediately apologise unreservedly for it. Knowing Shakespeare is actually worrying. It's the trait of a cliché villain. Of course, I choose to think knowing things like that just means you're smarter than you give yourself credit for." Chloe answered. "Now, ready to share your worries? Or do you want me to hold your hand and quietly grin like the luckiest idiot alive because I'm holding your hand? Because I'm fine doing either."

Max steeled herself. She had no idea if it was possible to avoid becoming her future self. But she rather intended to try. Then, nervously, she asked the obvious question. "Can we do both?"

"Why limit yourself to binary choices?" Chloe smiled back, gently stroking her fingers.

"I guess part of it is about Victoria." Max said. She felt Chloe's hand stop its gentle caress and freeze. Just for an instant, but so noticeable. Her right hand flinched instinctively; were Chloe not holding it, she might have rewound time right then and taken up the offer to just sit grinning at each other. It would be far, far easier. Instead she found some untapped reserve of courage, and managed to carry on. "Something happened yesterday, just before I saved you." She said quietly, her voice soft and steeped in guilt. "My future-self left a scribble on my hand telling me to wave at Victoria at a specific time. It seemed harmless, so I did it without a second thought. It set a chain of events in motion that left her badly hurt."

"OK. Well she's unhurt now. I guess that means you gave a fuck you to future you and undid it."

"Not fully. It was easier to just rush over and save her than go back further in time and undo everything. Later, future me revealed that was always her intent: to make me rush over and save her. Victoria thinks I'm a hero, but the whole thing was staged for her benefit. I'm a fraud. I actually put her in danger."

"Jesus." Chloe swore. She had no clue what to do, what to say. Her usual response to problems, beating them into submission couldn't be applied here: Max's future self was the problem, and she'd never lay hands on a Max from any time period. It went further than that though, her life to that moment had taught her that Max was absolutely trustworthy, that while she may not come through for her quickly, she would absolutely do so in the end. She had to believe that whatever future Max was up to, there was a good reason behind it. A plan. In her world view, a genuinely evil Max simply could not exist.

It belatedly occurred to Chloe that there was something she could do, something Max never objected to. She pulled her close and hugged her tightly, and after a moment felt Max bury her head in the nape of her neck in response.

"I don't think I could take that again Chloe." Max said, face buried so tightly that her lips brushed Chloe's neck her as she spoke, voice rough with an edge of desperation. "I can't let anything happen to her or you or anyone again. I need her to be OK. I need you to be OK. I just need everyone I've seen hurt to be OK."

"Max. It sounds like you're just as much a victim in this as her."

And suddenly, both of them paused for a moment. They slipped apart, hands sliding down their opposite's arms until at last they were hand in hand again. Then they looked at each other, each struck by the same revelation. Chloe had originally only meant to point out that Max had been used as an unknowing agent, trusting her future-self and acting with no clue as to the final consequences of her actions. But on further thought, Chloe's statement seemed to be taking on a rather different second meaning. That perhaps Victoria wasn't the only one Max's future self had been trying to influence.

"What if she was trying to manipulate your state of mind just as much as Victoria's?" Chloe asked. "Since you've got the power, controlling your behaviour has to be more important than controlling Victoria's."

Max considered that for a moment. She'd literally gone from glaring at Victoria in a stupid classroom cold-war, to hosting a sleepover in a matter of hours. That couldn't have been achieved with the state of mind she'd had on Monday morning. She had to undergo a major change of perspective as well. Perhaps she was just as much a victim as Victoria and everyone else in this.

"It puts an entirely different spin on fucking with your selfie." Max said. "Chloe, what do I do about it? I can't not go along with everything, or people will get killed or badly hurt. But if I blindly follow her instructions, I become complicit in more of this."

"I don't know Max, I guess we've just got to carry on, trust your future-self is doing all this for a reason, and decide if we can follow through with whatever she tells you to do on a case by case basis."

"We've just got to carry on?" Max asked.

"Well yeah. You aren't alone. I've got your back on this no matter what you choose. I thought that went without saying."

"Don't just decide to leave out the emotionally reassuring part!" Max snapped. "It's the one bit I need to hear!"

"Hella needy girlfriend." Chloe grumbled. Her complaint somehow lifted all of Max's worries just for an instant, as her mind focused on what it apparently considered a far more important point: Her actually being Chloe Price's girlfriend. Of course she was back to feeling guilty an instant later, with the added discovery that she might secretly be a shallow person, in addition to being a bad one.

"Anyway, maybe we're worrying about nothing." Chloe said in response to the return of Max's frown. "Future you hasn't done any more morally dubious shit since then, has she?"

Not really. Max thought. In fact, for all the problems they'd faced today, everything seemed to be a lot less morally complicated. Just avoid getting killed by what seemed like unambiguous evils and enact schemes to bring about their downfall.

"Maybe future you has done all the morally fucked up things she needs to then. Victoria took your photo at the diner and she didn't show up to tell us to do anything different. Just imagine: we could be riding the perfect timeline, with Victory literally inevitable!"

Max allowed herself a brief smile. She desperately hoped that was the case, but somehow it felt like wishful thinking. Then again, being reunited with, and this close to Chloe had felt like wishful thinking up till yesterday afternoon.

"Just one more thing Max." Chloe asked, with a hint of scepticism. "How did you manage to cause serious injury just by waving at Victoria?"

"It caused her to severely panic, which made her faint when she got up, and she hit her head on the corner of her desk on the way back down." Max answered. Chloe nodded slowly. Well it wasn't exactly the easiest thing to believe.

"It was straight after she found out about my powers, so I guess she thought I was going to use them to melt her brain her or something. You remember how she was in the car yesterday, and that was after having had a few hours to calm down."

"Really?" Chloe asked, still more than a little dubious. "That's more convoluted than that fucking mouse-trap game. You know, you turn the crank and a bunch of weird shit happens with stop signs and bathtubs and marbles. Eventually a cage drops down on the cheese."

"We only got to play it twice before you lost the spring for the spring-loaded hand that knocks the bowling ball over." Max reminded her.

"That wasn't my fault, I think Mom accidentally vacuumed it up after I left it on the floor." Chloe said defensively, and somehow Max found it in herself to smile again. "Anyway, just how many variations on this week do you think future you has gone through to pick up on a possibility like that?"

"I don't know." Max replied. "Lots?" She'd been too wrapped up in the effects of her future self changing time to really think about the mechanics of it. But on reflection it seemed strange, especially given the pain she felt in her head each time she used her powers, that her future self could use them over and over. Just how many rewinds did you need to discover small details of such potency. Hundreds? Thousands? Or More?

"The frightening thing is, it's worked so well." Max said. She supposed she could take some solace at being destined to become a somewhat successful manipulator. At least that meant there was a pay-off for her duplicity in lives saved. "Victoria's gotten, well, not exactly nice, but you know, nicer."

Chloe did in fact know, a little too well. Yesterday, she'd have been sorely tempted to sock Victoria on the jaw. Now Victoria tempted her in entirely different ways. She had the scratches on her back to prove it. It felt deeper, more than Victoria draping her body all over her though. Just sitting with her this morning, helping her with her chemistry lab prep had been a revelation to Chloe: her brain still worked. More than that, someone else noticed her brain still worked, and got her working it. Last time anyone had done that was, well, Rachel probably. Not that Victoria was Rachel. There were similarities, but she was far more blunt, less free-flowing, and seemingly forever pissed off. Not that that was all bad; it was nice to see a pissed off face without looking in the mirror.

"She did help save my ass a few times." Chloe said. Why did it always come back to that with her? "She's also kind of fun to be around, all sexy and sassy." She paused briefly to look at Max hopefully. "That's something I've got in common with her, right?"

"I think I made my opinion clear behind the school gym." Max replied. Chloe's lip tingled in response.

"You so hella fucking did." Chloe agreed. She'd expected Max to back off, at best plant her with a gentle peck. But to somehow trip her, push her against the wall and make her go through with it, Make her helpless, was kind of incredible. Unbelievable. And something she hoped would happen again, soon. What were they talking about again? Oh yes, Victoria. From the girl who literally just pushed her against the wall, to the girl who practically begged to be pinned against one.

"I guess," Chloe said, "with Victoria, once you get used to being called an idiot every five minutes and realise she mostly doesn't mean it, things go swimmingly. I even somehow ended up helping her with her homework. Chloe Price doing homework? How does that happen?" She paused for a moment, realising she was at risk of becoming just a little too effusive with praise. "I know she can be a complete bitch from time to time but-"

"She's our bitch." Max answered for her, nodding sagely. Her hand rushed to cover her mouth a second later, as Chloe failed to stifle a laugh.

"Damn, Max. That's-"

"I didn't mean it like that!"

"Sure you didn't." Chloe replied with thick sarcastic undertone, savouring the indignation that flashed across Max's face. "Hey, you're not planning to ride off into the sunset with Victoria in her flash sports car, the wind in your hair and her leash in your hand, and leave poor old Chloe and her cheap, broken-down truck all alone."

"No!" Max answered automatically, and rather loudly, drawing the attention of the handful of random students sitting around the front lawn. She blushed deeply as she imagined how she must look, standing there hand in hand with "The Price" of all people, gazing longingly into her eyes and intermittently uttering loud, brief exclamations. They probably thought she was just the next notch in her belt; that just proved they didn't know the real Chloe Price. Quickly, she decided she didn't care what they thought, tightening her grip on Chloe's hands. After all, she was going up against armed criminals, and some sort of ghost. Why would something as minor as school yard gossip matter to her? She did make an effort to keep her volume down though.

"Actually, I might prefer your broken-down truck, at least when it's not leaking brake fluid." Max said. "It's got character and soul and-"

"And it accommodates three?" Chloe suggested.

Well yes. Passenger capacity was an important and practical consideration. And apparently one that made Max a little short of breath.

"Can you make it work? The truck, I mean." Max asked, trying her best not to cringe. Why did she have to tag on that last bit?

"Depends what fucking Irma Bunt did to it." Chloe replied. "If she just slashed a brake line, It'll be done by this evening. I'm, um, quite good with my hands."

"I may have noticed." Max smiled back, and noticing with some satisfaction that she'd put Chloe in an uncharacteristically shy frame of mind all over again.

Taylor Christensen munched the last of the second biscuit she'd taken from Max's private reserve, following quietly behind Victoria. The fast click of their shoe-heels against paving rang out as she was led along the path back to Blackwell's main buildings at a brisk march. It was more or less the usual pace for them: Victoria Chase always had a busy schedule, and found moving from place to place an infuriating waste of time to be minimised. Taylor prided herself at being able to keep up, her legs were good for far more than just looking at. She remembered Courtney had always struggled though, probably because she was shorter. Still she supposed Courtney didn't need to worry about that any more. Now she was the one setting the pace for everyone else to follow.

"So." Taylor began, re-tasking her mouth after finishing the biscuit. "Am I going to have to keep pestering you about Calf-field, or are you going to, like, spill?"

Victoria let out an over-the-top sigh then halted her forced march to look around. No one seemed to be within earshot.

"Don't gossip about this to anyone." She said. "Seriously, half the problems I'm having wouldn't exist if you hadn't shot your mouth off to Courtney about what you thought happened at the end of last photography class."

They probably wouldn't have happened if Victoria hadn't treated Courtney as a total homework mule either, or pissed off Dana and Juliet, but Taylor thought it politic not to mention that.

"And this is worse. It could literally ruin me. I'd be nothing."

Whatever Victoria, Taylor thought. She seemed deadly serious, but prior history had demonstrated she could throw a fit from just about anything. Catching a light misting from a garden sprinkler last week had caused an enormous scene about how her "fucking cashmere" was ruined. How serious could this really be?

"Fine." Victoria sighed, trying to compose herself. "This is really awkward." She scuffed her heel against a paving brick, out of need to buy just a little more time. "I'm only telling you this because I totally trust you. All those bitch-sluts walked away, but you didn't. Where do I begin?"

Anywhere! Taylor thought. Just get on with it. You've got me on tenterhooks here.

"Sweet T," she said. Her tone became increasingly uncertain, nothing like the Victoria that Taylor knew. Their eyes met, and then Victoria actually looked down and away. Victoria 'my bitch gaze is stronger than Superman's heat vision' Chase couldn't hold eye-contact! In a strange way it was cute, adorable really, and charming. Not that she'd ever say so, the thought of being flayed alive and worn as part of Victoria's winter collection was decidedly unappealing. Speaking of Victoria, her spontaneous failure at self expression continued: her mouth hung open dumbly, like a puppet without a ventriloquist, almost as if her body was trying desperately not to vocalise her brain's instructions. And then, finally, she said it:

"What do you think of three-way romances?"

To the longer haired blonde's credit, her jaw didn't quite brush against the ground. But it wasn't from lack of trying.

"You- you mean you want a three-way with Max?" Taylor gulped, face stooped in a sudden heat, infinitely grateful that Victoria was occupied dealing with her own embarrassment. "Well she definitely isn't my type. Give me someone taller, someone I can totally talk shop about fashion with and-"

"Why the hell would your type matter?!" Victoria snapped, her face a mix of indigence and obliviousness. Her words struck her companion like a slap in the face, an instant reversal from the kinder, more considerate and even a little awkward Victoria, to the old faithful petroleum soaked blaze of fury that everyone loved.

"This is a purely hypothetical scenario between a theoretical person who resembles Max Caulfield in all relevant respects, her oldest friend, and a third person who may have some coincidental similarities to myself. You're my completely dependable friend, the only person in the Vortex inner circle who didn't betray me. The third-, no, better make that the fourth party who I can rely on absolutely to give me impartial advice."

Oh, right. Taylor replied, trying to conceal feeling like she'd just been sucker punched. It had been followed up so quickly with being told she was trusted and relied on for this, that it left Taylor unsure how to feel.

"Look. Am I making an idiot of myself?" Victoria demanded impatiently.

At that instant, Taylor felt herself something of an expert in that field. She wondered if this was how that weird nerdy guy Victoria kept pointing out last week felt, the one that seemed to be desperately trying to replace Max's shadow. Probably not, if so he'd have definitely given up by now.

"I don't think I get the whole dynamic." Taylor replied, still wincing from her misunderstanding of the situation, and trying to wrap her head around it. She tried to imagine what Max and her mysterious oldest friend might be like, personality wise. Mousy, inoffensive and socially retarded came to mind. Zero fashion sense but apparently great taste in biscuits. And generous and thoughtful. Having been exposed to Victoria for extended periods, she could appreciate those qualities; it didn't make sense that they'd stir this particular reaction from Victoria, though. Not unless...

"Is this, like, a case where you saw these two helpless, awkward, inexperienced girls and swept them off their feet with your power, sophistication, and charm? Because that's totally messed up."

If only that were true. Victoria thought. The idea of being the one calling the shots tickled her in strange ways and places. She shook her head. Reality, while just as enjoyable, was the polar opposite of that little fantasy.

"I'm completely at their mercy." She explained. "They dominate my every thought. We aren't even really a thing, and I still can't help thinking about them. It's like a fucking obsession. An addiction. I don't know how else to explain it, it's not easy, unless you've experienced something like this yourself, or seen someone else go through it. Am I making a fucking bit of sense here?"

"So... exactly how you act around Mr Jefferson?" Taylor suggested.

Victoria grit her teeth in abject annoyance before grinding out the answer "yes."

"It's more than that, though. You might find this hard to believe but Mark-" she winced at having referred to him using his first name out of force of habit. "Jefferson never really returned any of the affection I did my best to subtly offer. It almost seemed like he was pushing me away."

Taylor could in fact believe that rather easily. The nature of that prior obsession with him, and complete inability to grasp she was being rejected over and over did bring up one thing that she felt needed clarifying.

"And you're sure this is more than that?" She asked pensively. "I know you haven't, like, signed the deed, but you've at least put in an official notification of interest or whatever?"

The scowl Victoria gave in response to that made Taylor consider taking out life insurance.

"Not official." She admitted. Still, the way they all seemed to exchange longing gazes, lingering touches, and transparent innuendo. It was about as blatant as armed robbery. Almost definite. Wasn't it?

"That's probably the cause of half your anxiety. If-"

Taylor gulped as Victoria's death stare intensified.

"When you get a commitment that you're officially a pair; no it's actually two, no wait, it's three pairs, if you take every combination. But you're actually only in two of those. Once you get that anyway, you'll totally feel more secure."

Still, that was easier said than done. How did you propose a serious three-way relationship? She presumed mostly like any other. Someone had to stump up enough courage, assume they'd read the signs correctly and take a risk with the limited information they had. It either paid off, or they looked like an utter weirdo and had to move out of town. But if she didn't try, she'd end up standing at a distance, shooting the other two longing gazes while they moved on with their life. The behaviour of that filthy little limpet she'd caught spying in Max's window, in other words. And that was a fate worse than death. Still, it left an important question. Could she find that courage?

At that moment, the path abruptly ended, opening into Blackwell's front lawn. Victoria's eyes were immediately drawn to Chloe and Max, who were for some reason loitering at the far end of the lawn near the gym. They were facing away from them. And they were in each other's arms again. She looked on in envy, and confusion. Confusion because her mind wasn't sure which of them to be more envious of.

"God, look at them. They're so fucking perfect together, embracing and probably discussing how many kids they're going to adopt. How am I supposed to compete with that? Wait, hold that thought."

Her hands were like lightning, fishing out the DSLR camera from her bag; eye to the viewfinder, she snapped off a few quick shots in rapid succession. The lens on her camera really was remarkable, catching a close-up of Max's face buried against Chloe's neck, pulling out of that horrifically suggestive nuzzling action she seemed to perform while hugging. She swore under her breath. Why couldn't she be the one standing there being nuzzled, or be the one doing the nuzzling?

Thanking technology for having supplanted the need to wait for some Polaroid to develop, Victoria studied the shot she'd captured on her camera's rear display screen. Jesus. Max's normally innocent eyes looked desperate and needy. Her full lips were open a crack, and practically rasping against Chloe's long, slender neck. She'd probably just caught Max at the moment of taking a breath, but it looked like she was about to enact a scene out of Bram Stoker's most well known work. It was definitely behaviour from Max that most people would find surprising, but really not the sort of thing she wanted a creep like Jefferson to see. Another bust for her homework assignment, but a keeper for that secret Max folder of hers.

"Um, why are you competing? Don't you feel some weird- I mean, non-conventional thing where you all want each other?" Taylor interjected.

Victoria considered that as she returned her camera to her bag. She wanted both of them. Desperately. The thought of both of them either side of her, working her into a frenzy as she laid bare writhing on a hard desk was the most deliciously perverse thing her mind had produced to date. It would double as the perfect revenge too, if they happened to use Jefferson's desk. But seeing them together without her, enjoying that casual familiarity unique to the two of them made her feel seethingly jealous. Inadequate.

"I just want what they have together. With both of them." She said under her breath. That wasn't too much to ask, was it?

"Um, hello Victoria? You can't just have that with someone. It's something you slowly build up and- God! Is that really Max's friend? I didn't get a good look at her before. She's..." Taylor paused to gulp and settle a sudden flutter in her chest. "...kind of dangerous looking."

And this is hardly helping the issue of my jealousy. Victoria thought, rolling her eyes. Yes Chloe Price was magnificent. She was also flawed, tragic and poor as anything, a fuck-up who was wasting every aspect of her potential and capable of so much more. Someone who probably needed to be coddled and encouraged, not just physically admired. She felt angry that no one else saw that. Not that Victoria Chase knew much about coddling, or encouraging. But she liked to think she'd be open to trying new things, things that made her slightly uncomfortable even. For the right people.

"Haven't we seen her somewhere before though? I think I remember her at one of your parties. The one where that fight happened?"

"Yes. She started the fight. And finished it." Victoria grumbled. And the guy she tossed out the window was probably trying to drug Taylor's drink. She decided not to mention that. Taylor was far too worked up already.

"That's, like, wow. I think I get what you meant by being at her mercy." Taylor said, casually running her eyes up and down Chloe, watching her slowly separate from Max and swagger back to an old pickup truck parked outside the front gate. "She'd be great playing opposite a fashion model in a shoot. Someone who could match her in height, but had the opposite aesthetic. All clean and refined, completely begging to have a little grime smeared on them."

Victoria desperately suppressed a whimper at that idea, and decided to start reciting multiplication tables in her head. It didn't help matters that Max had expressed similar thoughts. Chloe and her together in front of the camera, and Max behind it, explaining exactly how she wanted them both.

"We should slip inside before they notice us." She managed, between impulses to gnaw her own lip off.

"Right, we wouldn't want Max to know you were gazing longingly at her and her hot alt girlfriend from a distance like a total weirdo." Taylor agreed.

The central hall of Blackwell's main academic building was abuzz with people: students mostly, either preparing for the afternoon classes or idly chatting. Victoria's eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Juliet Watson bouncing down the corridor, overexposed as always and dragging her idiot boyfriend Zachery around by the arm. She braced herself for a verbal altercation, but Blackwell's foremost student journalist failed to notice her, adsorbed in a one-way discussion with her boyfriend. Whatever she was saying seemed to be making him absurdly uncomfortable. Victoria followed their eyeline to a gaggle of rather attractive girls. They crowded around a central figure, her eyes striking, highlighted by smoky eyeshadow; her generous cleavage all but poured out of a low-cut black top that was studded with silver sequins in a crude heart shape.

Dana and her ditz cheerleaders. Victoria grumbled.

The whole cabal of them seemed focused on the phone in Dana's hand, giggling in an obnoxious way that made Victoria think their cumulative IQ could be expressed in two digits. One suddenly made a lunge for it and quickly texted something; long, practised fingers like lightning against the touch screen. She watched as Dana seized it back, and wrote something equally quickly, her cheeks reddening. Then there was another fit of that obnoxious giggling, and an exchange of smiles. Texting that new boyfriend Taylor mentioned, obviously.

Victoria turned away, her nose raised in contempt. Just a day ago she'd had dozens of followers and sycophants hanging off her every word, and none of them would dare snatch her phone. But then again, she strongly suspected that none of Dana's would knife her in the back and usurp her. Seeking out somewhere less busy and bubbly to rest her gaze, she turned toward one of the two long corridors that ran either side of the hall, providing access to classrooms and smaller offices. She humphed in disgust. At the end of the corridor lurked something ghastly, a mop being propelled by the ever-oily caretaker Samuel. He looked remarkably contented for a scruffy and disheveled lunatic, he and that mop seemingly in a world of their own, though that was probably just because no one else wanted anything to do with him.

Finally Victoria reached her destination: A cheap wooden table and two chairs set up along one of the walls. Posters hung from it pronouncing the Vortex Club's latest event: the "End of the World" party. On the desk sat a binder with "Victoria" written along its spine. She sat at the desk and opened the binder to find all the necessary forms for the party's preparation, and a note penned in Courtney's handwriting.

Get to work 'secretary Victoria'. These forms have to be completed by today.

Her hands balled into fists as she read the note. Courtney was completely insufferable.

"This is so fucking humiliating. What the fuck did I do to deserve this?" She asked, ripping the note into confetti and casually discarding it beneath the desk. With Vortex club posters covering its front and sides, no one would notice her act of litter. She quickly scanned through the binder's content and began running through the last minute preparations. It all seemed fairly routine. A guest list, already mostly drafted to finalise for the vortex club's VIP section, which she quickly added Max and Chloe's names to. A note to harass the caterers to make sure there was no repeat of "last event's incompetence," whatever that meant; Victoria had never really paid much attention to the minutia of running the parties before, so long as everything turned out well in the end. Finally, a transfer of funds to the school. The Vortex Club made a point of renting the gymnasium building from the school for the duration of the party. It apparently allowed them to skirt some of the school regulations and divorce them from responsibility over what tended to happen there. She harboured doubts over whether it would hold up if a court or Department of Education decided to look into the matter, but for some reason, the small layer of legal padding apparently satisfied Principal Wells. Or perhaps it was the monetary padding, she thought, as she saw just how much money they were transferring. She wondered if they'd be able to keep that up in the long term, now that Nathan and his seemingly bottomless pockets had been removed.

"Make her do all your homework and generally treat her as your footstool?" Taylor suggested, distracting Victoria from the mess of papers. She was rewarded with a reproachful glare.

"Do you know what a rhetorical question is Taylor?"

"Um, no." Taylor answered. Victoria's head sunk into her hands. Taylor had many admirable qualities: her loyalty, her apparent resistance to extreme cold. Command of the English language was not foremost amongst them. "Should I look it up?"

"I still feel like I'm acting like an idiot." Victoria said, treating Taylor's question exactly the way Taylor should have treated her last two. "Chloe and Max are perfect together. They've got this relationship that goes back almost their entire lives, then a stupid, tragic break where Max had to move out of state and neither of them spoke, which I can only assume was caused by their mutual inability to use Skype. And they've somehow turned their stupidity into romantic nostalgia. How do I match that?"

"Have you tried being yourself?" Taylor asked.

Victoria grumbled derisively. As far as relationship advice went, 'Be yourself' was the sort of crap you read in insipid glossy teen magazines, and to relationships what 'try turning it off then on again' was to IT support. Then she realised Taylor had indirectly just called her stupid. She glared for an instant, noticed Taylor wearing her usual vapid smile, and decided it was probably an accidental insult. Besides, Taylor quickly began gushing praise. It was difficult to stay mad under those circumstances.

"Victoria, I totally have no clue about the dynamic between petite Max and her not-quite-so-petite companion, but you've got plenty of your own thing going on. You're stylish, refined, and know fucking everything. You can talk shop about photography with Max. I don't know what her tall friend's into- "

Tits and science, based on the magazines strewn around her room. Victoria thought.

"-but I'm sure you have commonalities with her too."

Well she liked to think she could speak with some authority on either of those topics.

"You just need to confidently present yourself and take a chance. It'll either be or it won't."

When put that way, it didn't seem so difficult. And it wasn't like Victoria Chase wasn't used to presenting an incredibly confident front, fraudulent as it may be. She'd confidently sent her best photos to a half dozen art galleries last month. And they'd been equally confident in rejecting her outright. "Incompatible with our mission statement." one had actually told her. She'd gone and looked up their mission statement. When she'd read "to discover the greats of tomorrow, and exhibit them today," it made her seriously consider mailing them an envelope full of icing sugar combined with another photo submission, this time of someone dying of anthrax. She eventually settled for redoubling her efforts to become an established and famous photographer, just so she could publicly snub that gallery and every other one that had rejected her. Compared to all that, what was one more rejection? She'd just allow herself a moment to collect herself, summon all her elegance and sophistication, then-

"And you need to do it fast because she's walking this way now."

What?

A shot of adrenaline surged through Victoria and she went rigid, her knees audibly, and painfully, banging the tabletop. She looked up slowly while trying to fight off the urge to wince in pain at having banged her knees, and the mess of butterflies that seemed to have settled in her stomach. A condition that was in no way helped by the sight of Max walking in, seemingly clueless as ever, her cute little right hand and with it all the power in the universe swinging idly by her side.

Concluding Author Notes:

OK I'm trying to get back into posting after a long gap. I say get back, but I've actually been writing then deleting everything I write since the last update since it didn't seem to fit. Hopefully I can find a new groove here and get some consistency again. Thanks to everyone who sent me encouragement. I know this chapter seems to be mostly miscellaneous details, and probably not the big event everyone was hoping for.

Just one additional thing. While I appreciate all the support I get, please don't trash other fanfic authors if you leave reviews. If there's some issue with their work, either leave them a constructive review, or just practice some self-censorship and don't go near any of their stuff.