It all started when Max turned down Jacob, the artistically skilled wunderkind and hopeful photography pride of Seattle's Arthur High School. Knowing that the strange boy sat in the desk directly behind hers, Max kept her attention focused to her journal, doing her best to stay focused on recording her thoughts. Anything to distract from the inevitable hell after class.

Jacob Landhauser. Younger brother to star quarterback Drew (who seemed to have inherited the athletic genes). Tall, lean, and cut with short dark hair, Jacob always wore a brooding expression that screamed "bored." It was as if he had seen every "cool guy" anime stereotype and thought that's me. On any other student this would've been nothing more than teenage angst, and be given no more purchase than any other emo-kid. But Jacob had made a splash on the local photography scene, winning last year's covetous prize to have his work exhibited at the prestigious Chase Space art gallery. Of course, it probably didn't hurt that his father was best buds with Mr. Chase himself. Max had considered submitting her own work, but by the time the deadline came around, life had made other plans.

For weeks into the start of her Junior year, Max had felt the quiet yet persistent stares from her obnoxiously entitled classmate. Although not bad looking, Max herself had never given Jacob a serious thought. He was always surrounded by a cadre of onlookers while he sat atop a desk, soaking up their freely given attention. They were like a group of puppies, eager for attention and affirmation from their master. Through it all Max felt Jacob's frequent off hand glances, usually succeeded by one or two angry stares from female members of his flock.

Ridiculous, Max thought. As if I don't have enough going on to worry about. Now I have to deal with lover-boy scorned? What deity did I piss off to deserve this?

Max stopped herself short before descending into another bout of self pity. It was one of the things she was working on-despite the recent and horrible turn both home and school life had taken, she knew wallowing on it wouldn't change anything. Not that she deserved change.

Although she couldn't make out the words, Max could feel the judgement of her classmates radiate from their hushed gossip. Every day it was the same. The stares. The snickers. The quiet whispers from which she could periodically make out her name. Always "Maxine," now that they knew how much she hated being called by her full name. Max grumbled to herself, shutting her journal to stare up at the ceiling.

Like he couldn't get any girl in our class? Why me? And of course refusing the younger brother of the most popular kid in school paints a huge red target on my back.

The lingering pit of dread grew as the final minutes of class squeaked by. The girls, spearheaded by that barbie blonde posh-wannabe Vogue model, seemed to make it their daily chore to find some way to make life more hellish than it already was. The first time, it wasn't so bad: the queen, escorted by her minions, invaded Max's private lunch space (lunch was always a much-anticipated respite of solitude) and spent the proceeding twenty minutes talking shit about anyone stupid enough to turn down the most desired student at school. Max tried to relocate numerous times, but was promptly and aggressively held in place by one of the girls seated to her side. Looking back, the incident wasn't so bad, but the sheer gall of it was unnerving.

Like I couldn't tell they were talking about me. What was that supposed to be, anyway? Clever? I'm quiet, not stupid. Just because I'm not making best buds with every kid in class doesn't mean I don't have any social aptitude! And shouldn't they be asking me for, like, advice, or something? Their unattainable god-figure asked me out! Not them! And this is my punishment for wanting to be left alone.

Max had thought her lunch time interruption was the end of it. Just some peeved girls getting their ya-yas out on a perceived threat. Annoying though it was, Max put it past her, and let more immediate concerns consume her thoughts. But the girls upped the ante the next day. It was clear this wasn't some simple warning shot: this was war, and Max had only weathered the opening salvo.

What Max found equally strange as her tormentor's behavior was that the boy in question, Jacob, had resumed "business as usual." As if nothing had happened-like he never even had eyes for Max. Only his friends, especially the girls, had turned on her. Not that Max was especially in their good graces to begin with. But being a wallflower had its perks, especially for someone in Max's predicament. Her newfound status as social pariah did little to ease her state of mind.

Max shut her eyes as the bell rang, bringing language arts to a close and signaling the start of lunch break. Returning her focus to her desk, Max released a sigh as she packed her journal, pencils, and other odds and ends into her bag. She didn't get halfway through before one of the girls shoved her shoulder as she passed by, causing her Polaroid instant camera to fall to the ground. Without a second thought Max leaned down and reclaimed the camera, too worried about what damage it might have suffered to care about the identity of the perpetrator. Fortunately the only damage was cosmetic.

Great. Just like me. Still working, but the goods are damaged.

When she sat back up, a folded note sat innocently on her otherwise empty desk.

Great. Now what? More anonymous threats? It's so pathetic. Like I care. Heck, I wish I could care.

Today's insult, "SLUT," written with hasty and scrawly handwriting, informed Max that her enemies were beginning to lack imagination. If this is best they could come up with, then maybe their campaign was showing signs of wear and tear. After waiting for the remaining stragglers to leave the room, Max rose from her desk and made for a silent exit. The teacher, Mr. Andrews, looked as if he wanted to say something, but instead simply stared as Max moved her way towards the exit.

Sorry, teacher. Like you could do anything. But what you saw was just the tip of the iceberg...

Life became one tragedy after another since moving to Seattle from Arcadia Bay. The death of her (at the time) best friend's father not withstanding, Max never expected to lose hers a few years later. Inwardly, she considered Ryan Caulfield's death as "just deserts" for being such a coward towards her childhood bestie.

"Stay in touch" my ass! I hid like a little baby and let her suffer all alone, comfortable with my new life and living parents. Hah. Then dad dies, and everything goes to shit. Guess Chloe gets the last laugh. She probably has at least one parent that still loves her...

Max let her thoughts drift to her mother, Vanessa, and their venomous relationship. Although their bond before Ryan's death was always a bit strained (Max always had been a daddy's girl) things between them had fallen apart completely after the accident. Another worry stacked onto the pile.

Max bit her lip as she re-shouldered her bag, listlessly bouncing off the side of the mostly-empty hallway while trudging towards her favorite lunch hideaway. She bobbed her head a little to the music from her earbuds, and did her best to avoid direct eye contact with any passer-bys.

As if reading her thoughts, Max's cell phone buzzed. A quick glanced showed that the text was from mom. Stifling a gulp, Max swiped to unlock and repeated a thought over and over in her head, as if in mantra: please don't be out tonight, please don't be out tonight.

Mom: hanging out with some friends, will be back late. Calvin will make dinner. Be good. I don't want a repeat of last week.

Max locked her phone without replying, doing her best to suppress a shudder. Gradually, she came to a stop in the middle of the hallway-her appetite vanished after reading Vanessa's text. Taking a moment to swallow down a cold wave a nausea, Max subconsciously began working her way towards the biology room. Her teacher, Ms. Banks, often let Max stay there during lunch. It was a perfect getaway, when it was available. Hopefully today was one such day. When she was around, Ms. Banks would sometimes let Max sit in the back corner of the room while she graded assignments. A perfect opportunity for safe introversion.

After a few minutes more walking, Max arrived at her destination and swung the door open. The scene before her made her emit a small gasp: the room was filled with kids, chairs in a circle, and in the middle of what looked to be humorous discussion.

Fizzle-brains, that's right! It's moderated talk week. Of course Ms. Banks would offer up her room for some sort of panel discussion. Stupid!

Before Max could make a swift exit, the moderator, a bright-eyed girl-a senior-who Max recognized as being on this year's yearbook team, greeted her with a warm smile.

"Come in! Please, we have a few seats left, over there at the back! Remember, everyone has to attend at least a few of these!"

And I haven't done any, and it's already Wednesday. Better tough it out, I guess...

Max wormed her way through to a seat in the back and collapsed into a chair, ignoring the off hand looks from the students. Fortunately there were only a few faces she recognized. Unfortunately, one such face was the queen bully herself, Victoria. Victoria gave Max a sly smirk as she sauntered past.

I wonder what the topic even is? I'll bet it was posted on the door, but air-headed me didn't even bother to check.

"So! Jeremy here," she continued, pointing towards a young man with frazzled hair that sprung out from under a Mariners baseball cap, and who was slouched at an almost forty-five degree angle to his seat, "was just finishing up giving us his thoughts on modern sexuality and its affects on public policy, such as marriage. Not everyone here might agree with what he said but please remember this is a forum for open discussion. By voicing our thoughts in an open atmosphere, we can relate how we feel, and come to a better understanding about our differences of opinion."

God, kill me now. Seriously-strike me dead. Of all the panels I had to barge into. This has to be divine punishment.

The voices around the room faded into Charlie Brown-esque mummers as Max reclused deeper into her thoughts. Since moving to Seattle, her best friend, and pseudo-obsession, Chloe Price, had faded from her mind, becoming not much more than a background murmur of guilt every few days or so. The fact that both her parents seemed silently relieved that Max was moving on aided the process. Every member of the Caulfield family seemed eager to forget their last few days in Arcadia Bay.

By the time Ryan died, Chloe was a painful memory Max did her best to avoid. And she had gotten good at it. Until everything changed on that day, one year ago, in December. Now? It was impossible to remember her father's death without also being reminded of her own betrayal. The two memories became intertwined, intermixed, and interwoven. Thinking about Ryan lead to thinking about William-which inevitably lead to Chloe's stoic face the day of the funeral.

Gripped again by another swirling bout of guilt, Max placed a hand to the opposite arm while studying the subtle chips and cracks of the tiled classroom floor. It took a few repeated calls from the moderator to shake her free.

"Maxine? You've been looking quite serious over there for some time now, do you have anything you want to add?"

Max realized, with a start, that every student in the circle was staring at her. The moderator's question hung in the air as Max grasped for words.

How did she know my name? Did someone tell her, and I didn't notice? Was I thought far gone?

"Do you even know what sex is, Maxine?", Victoria questioned, making no effort to hide the sneer from her voice. She was rewarded with a quiet round of hushed chuckles. Max cursed herself for permitting a blush to creep into her cheeks.

One of Victoria's minions, Courtney, Max remembered, answered while Max struggled to think up a snappy rejoinder. "Sure she does, Vic. Just ask Dustin, or Brian. Or hell, even Sam! You know she puts out for them."

The moderator attempted to cut into the conversation, but was overridden by Victoria. "True. I suppose poor girl needed something to fill that fatherless void," she acquiesced after pretending to consider Courtney's words. The verbal stab generated a mixture of laughs and raised "ooos" from the now enthralled audience.

"That's enough, you two," the moderator chided. "We're here to have a civil discussion, not re-enact Mean Girls." A few kids chuckled softly at the reference, and, confident that she had regained control of the conversation, decided to focus on another student. Victoria, however, kept her gaze on Max, the clever smirk never leaving her face.

Max found herself standing before the entrance of her home. School had ended hours ago, and she was tired of milling about aimlessly through Seattle's streets. Max had never been one much for after school activities, or hanging out at the local fast food diners to gossip over current events. So once again she found herself caught between a rock and a hard place: hell is the outside world, hell is home. The lone black dodge Charger parked in the drive way said without words everything she needed to know. True to her text, Mom was out, and Max found herself faced with another evening alone with Calvin.

Calvin Young-a man who bore her mother's maiden name. After Ryan's death, Calvin swooped in to help his sister, both emotionally and financially. Vanessa welcomed her older brother's assistance without question. Within months the man had practically moved in, helping to pay the mortgage and handle things around the house. Unfortunately for the Caulfields, neither Ryan nor Vanessa had given much thought to life insurance, leaving Vanessa, a self described house wife, a penniless widow. Vanessa was one month away from the bank foreclosing on the house before she broke her silence, and informed her brother just how bad their situation was.

Calvin himself was at an odd crossroads in life. His marriage had fallen apart, and was looking for a new place to live. When he learned about his sister's financial situation, he insisted that he help pay the mortgage, at least until Vanessa could afford to do so herself. They both thought it fine if Calvin moved in if he was paying the bills anyway. That was months ago, and little had changed since. Vanessa grew reliant on her brother and his steady job. Instead of rebuilding herself, and restarting her career that she put on hold to raise Max, she instead threw herself into a second youth to escape the heartache of reality.

But, nevertheless, things were fine at first. Max had interacted a little with her uncle over the years, and he seemed normal-chummy with her father at the occasional family gathering, always telling incredibly stupid jokes. His job commanded an aura of respect, which Calvin always seemed to enjoy. All that, however, changed, when he stepped up as the "surrogate father" role. And then something darker. In the ensuing months, Max complained repeatedly to her mother, but Vanessa wouldn't hear it. She chalked it up to a entitled, crafted story from an ungrateful daughter determined to add more misery to her life, and ruin whatever fun still to be had.

Max had considered options. Running away seemed an obvious choice. Could hop a train, travel down the coast. Maybe stop in Oregon-in Arcadia Bay. Try to reconnect with... Max shook her head violently, preventing the fantasy from proceeding further.

That bridge is burnt. No way she'd want to see your face now. Besides, she's probably skipped a grade. She was so smart. Probably in college now, somewhere far away. On track to be an awesome scientist. Where ever she is, and what ever she's doing, it's a sure bet she wouldn't want anything to do with yours truly.

Max forcefully shook off an innocent, happy memory of breakfast with Chloe at the Two Wales. Joyce's warm, motherly face, interrupted by an enthusiastic Chloe, always jealous of anyone who stole Max's attention, slipped away and faded from her mind's eye. Max gathered her determination and stepped through her home's doorway, shutting it behind her as quietly as possible. As always, the first draw to her attention was the badge and holstered gun on the entry way table. Seated alongside Calvin's work related equipment, a recent picture of him and Vanessa, smiling like nothing bad had happened, supplanted the family portrait of Max, Ryan, and Vanessa (which was now stored somewhere in the attic).

What a farce. To "serve and protect" my ass. Mom thinks I'm a liar. And I sure as hell can't file a police report. Fucker is the police.

With any luck, Calvin would be occupied, or too drunk to get off the couch, and Max could make her way to her way to her bedroom unopposed. As if that guaranteed any real safety. But right at this moment, the thought of not enduring yet another confrontation held a strong appeal. The day at school had been rough, and Max's room pulled like a magnet.

Just a few more steps. Then it's some serious "pillow, meet face" time.

Would that reality be so easy. Her hand, only inches from her room's doorknob, stopped short. Her entire body froze, hairs down the back of her neck prickling at the sound of his voice.

"You're late," Calvin accused in his commanding, matter-of-fact tone. He stood at the far end of the hallway, cutting off the light from the windows in the living room beyond. Well toned and built, with tight fitting jeans, shirt, and a crew haircut, the rising star in the Seattle Police Department held a beer lazily in one hand while he steeled his gaze at Max. "Vanessa said you'd be home for dinner. Where the hell were you?"

Max shut her eyes, staying motionless, like a doe caught in the gaze of a predator. When she didn't reply, Calvin began to approach, taking his time between each step. Max wanted to do anything: scream, run. Fight back. But terror held its grip.

"Listen, Max. You know that I love you, and your mother, right? You're family."

Shut up shut up shut up. Please, just please... not today...

Calvin's shadow loomed as she remained entrenched in place, in front of her door, too terrified to move a muscle. Calvin was close enough that she could feel his breath on the back of her neck. The faint smell of alcohol lingered about, omnipresent as always.

Max wrinkled her nose as Calvin let lose a small belch, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Which tightened after a few seconds, forming a uncomfortable squeeze.

"I've done everything for this family, you know," he whispered into her ear. "Saved you and your mom. Who knows where'd you be without me."

It took all of her will to keep from hyperventilating. So she did what she knew, and started counting.

One, two, three... One, two, three...

With his free hand, Calvin reached for the doorknob and opened the entry to Max's room.

Max knew she should cry, but no tears came.

She knew she should scream, but her voice had vanished.

So she retreated. She imagined life before this hell, before her father's death. Before the move from Arcadia Bay. When she had all the happiness she could handle.

When she had Chloe.