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“Come on, Max! If it’s lame, we can leave early and binge watch X-Files. I’ll even pay for the take out.”
This was the third time this week Warren had been pushing her to go to Blackwell’s senior prom. She felt somewhat like a back-up plan (after Brooke had very publicly rejected him), but she couldn’t really complain without being a hypocrite—she had brought up the idea with Chloe a while back, who rolled her eyes and said she’d had enough of Blackwell to last a lifetime. Max had laughed it off and agreed that it was stupid, but felt a slight pang of disappoint at her friend’s nonchalant rejection. So in Warren’s defense, they were each other’s back ups, and Max wasn’t sure if that made it less depressing or more depressing. His enthusiasm was contagious, though, so giving in was basically inevitable.
“Ugh, fine,” Max conceded, “We can go as friends, but I’m only agreeing because I know it’ll end with me getting free food.”
Warren’s face beamed and he wrapped Max in a tight hug. Max sighed, but it was mostly just a pretense; after all the craziness that had gone on last semester with Mr. Jefferson and her time travel powers, some normal high school shenanigans did sound like a nice change of pace. And while she wasn’t really one for parties, at least it wasn’t hosted by the (now defunct) Vortex Club. Without Prescott money funding their booze and weed, the group had fizzled out in the months following Nathan’s arrest. Even Victoria had mellowed out a bit. While they weren’t exactly about to exchange friendship bracelets, they did have the occasional study session and Victoria’s barrage of insults now had the slightest hint of affection behind them. Which, conveniently, came in handy a few days later when Max dejectedly looked through her closet for something prom-worthy to wear.
“I can’t believe you’re going with your bitch boy Warren,” said Victoria with an eyeroll as she watched Max dress hunt. “Why not take your stoner girlfriend?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Max snapped back, trying not to let on that Victoria had hit a sore spot. She used to—well, honestly, still did—have feelings for Chloe, but the blue-haired girl clearly wasn’t in any place to date. The events of last fall hit her harder than they had hit Max; obviously, finding your ex-crush buried in the ground wasn’t going to be the easiest thing to recover from. But in all honesty, Max was just happy to have her friend alive and in the same timeline as her. Chloe was going to therapy and even attending a local community college; small steps, maybe, but Max was proud of her. And yet…
“Are you even listening to me, Caulfield?” said Victoria, grabbing Max’s shoulder and snapping her back to reality. “I can’t believe this is the only dress you own. It looks like you got it from a Walmart clearance aisle. Yuck.”
Max pouted but couldn’t protest. It was, admittedly, pretty atrocious. She didn’t have Victoria’s eye for style, but even she could agree that it belonged in a dumpster. Right on cue, Victoria tore the dress off the hanger and threw it in the trash.
“I don’t hate you enough to let you be seen in public in that, Max. We’re probably around the same size… well, maybe. I probably have something that’s a size up that would fit you. Just a sec.”
Max rolled her eyes as Victoria walked across the hall back to her dorm. Of course she had to preface a token of generosity with an insult: one step forward, two steps back. But Max knew Victoria was trying. Nathan’s incarceration hadn’t been easy on her, and this was her own… well, unique brand of kindness. Aside from the occasional (very unnecessary) slights, Victoria had basically dropped the bully facade. She even seemed to be on decent terms with Kate, who of course had forgiven her like the saint she was—honestly, Max wasn’t sure if even she had forgiven Victoria for putting Kate up on that roof. But like she had said in the hospital, if anyone could make Victoria see the light, it’d be Kate Marsh.
A few minutes later, Victoria was back with a dress that looked like it cost more than the entirety of Max’s scholarship.
“It’s old and has a few tiny tears in the seams, so it’s… whatever, but it’s better than the crap you were going to wear,” Victoria rambled, carefully looking over Max. She braced herself for some sort of critique. “And I think red would… complement your features.”
Max held her breath. Victoria quickly averted her eyes back to the dress, pursing her lips.
“… of course, it’s not like you have much to work with, but it’ll be a nice change from your hipster graphic tees and jeans.”
God, would it kill her to just say something nice without ruining it?
“Anyway, try it on and see if it fits first. It’s too expensive for you to stretch it.”
Victoria turned around and pulled out her phone while Max undressed. She lifted the dress up to inspect it and noticed it smelled nice... like Victoria, actually. She blushed at the correlation, suddenly feeling like a major creeper for recognizing Victoria's scent in the first place—maybe it was just a special kind of perfume that stood out, something so high-end that only Victoria could afford it. Max shook off the thought, deciding it was best not to read too much into it.
The dress was, admittedly, a little tight. She voiced her concerns to Victoria, who insisted that Max probably wasn’t used to clothes that actually fit her because she only wore “trash bag t-shirts that hid her body.” Okay, Victoria.
“Can you help me zip? Flexibility isn’t my specialty.”
She felt Victoria’s cold hands on her back and shuddered.
“Holy shit, are your hands made of ice?”
“Comes from being an ice-cold bitch,” said Victoria with (what Max imagined was) a smirk, zipping up the dress.
“Shush. You wouldn’t be letting me borrow a dress if you were really that cold,” Max teased. “Sorry Vic, but it looks like you’re a lukewarm bitch at worst.”
Prom was, unsurprisingly, pretty lame. Maybe Vortex Club parties had spoiled her, but this was almost too boring and generic high school-y for Max. She spent most of the night in the corner chatting with Warren and Kate about class and various other nerdery, occasionally getting dragged onto the dance floor with Warren. He was by far a worse dancer than her (which was saying a lot), but he seemed genuinely happy to be there. She was glad she had accepted the invite; as uneventful as prom was, as least she could cross it off her bucket list.
Mid-cheesy pop song, a slender figure cut in between her and Warren. Max was surprised to see Victoria dressed in a very well-tailored suit—she had expected some sort of $500 dress, given what she had seen in Victoria’s closet in the past. But it was a surprisingly good look for her, Max had to admit. It certainly made her stand out from the crowd, and only reaffirmed the fact that Victoria Chase could pull off anything. (Not that Max would ever say that to her—her ego was already big enough—but there was no denying it now. She could probably even make a onesie look chic.)
“Dance with me,” Victoria said with a bit too much force, as though she had rehearsed the command in her head ten times before saying it out loud. “You owe me one for the dress, anyway.”
Max tried to hide her smile at the mental image of Victoria practicing to ask her to dance in the mirror. She took the blonde’s hand, warning her that she had two left feet and couldn’t dance for shit.
“That’s why you have me,” Victoria said. “Besides, it’s a fucking high school prom, not a ballet recital.”
And, well, Victoria was pretty damn good. Max had no idea what she was doing, but Victoria somehow followed along and made the brunette’s missteps look graceful. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a dejected-looking Warren by the (likely spiked) punch bowl, but she was having too much fun to feel especially guilty. Takeout and X-Files would have to wait.
“Now it’s time for a slow song,” said the DJ as the music shifted to a slow ballad Max didn’t recognize. “Grab that special someone, ‘cause it’s time to set the mood.”
Max felt her cheeks flush and she opened her mouth to say something like, “oh, guess we should get off the dance floor…,” but Victoria put her arms around the brunette’s waist and pulled her closer.
“… er, what?”
She felt Victoria’s hands shake a little, but her face remained nonchalant and cool as always, as though the Popular Girl dancing with the twee hipster nerd in front of the entire student body was totally normal thing. Her face was inches away from the taller girl’s neck, and suddenly she was too distracted by the blonde’s perfume (the same scent as the dress, she suddenly remembered) and the sheer closeness between them to form a coherent thought.
“This is the part where you’re supposed to put your hands around my neck,” said Victoria quietly. “You know, instead of flailing them around like someone set you on fire.”
Max froze. She tried to move her arms but felt paralyzed.
“That is, unless you don't what to?”
She opened her mouth to speak, but a lump in her throat prevented the words from coming out. Victoria stared at her intensely for a few seconds before pushing her away.
“Forget it. It’s whatever.”
And with that, the blonde stormed out of the auditorium, leaving a very confused Max standing alone surrounded by a swarm of couples. Warren’s head perked up and he started bolting towards her like a Pokemon Trainer about to challenge her to a battle, but Max fled before he got the chance to make it through the crowd. She feels a bit guilty for abandoning him, but she was more concerned with Victoria’s outburst than Warren looking like a sad, lost puppy. (And to be fair, if he had been nicer to Brooke, maybe he’d actually have an actual prom date.)
Victoria sat on the steps outside, one hand holding a flask and the other covering her flushed face. “Fucking stupid,” she said to herself, taking a swig. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“Um, hey Victoria… I’m sorry I froze up, but what was that about?”
Victoria turned around, let out an exasperated sigh, and took another swig. Max couldn’t tell if her face was flushed from the alcohol or flushed from… well, whatever had just happened in there.
“Nothing,” she said curtly, turning her head away from Max. The brunette sat down next to her, carefully trying not to get any dirt on Victoria’s dress. After a few seconds (minutes?) of silence, Victoria crossed her arms and stood up.
“You’re so fucking dense, Caulfield. I was trying to… ugh.” Another gulp of… vodka? Definitely smelled like vodka. “I like you.”
Max stared at her like a deer in the headlights. Well, yeah, she assumed Victoria had at least gone from being insecure and envious to considering Max to be… something vaguely resembling a friend?
“Well, yeah, aren’t we friends? As much as you try to be a bitch, it’s not like you’re fooling me.”
“A friend who wants to shove her tongue in your mouth.”
…
Oh. That… that made a lot more sense.
“And you had to be drunk to say that?”
“Yes. Especially after I,” she stumbled a bit, grabbing hold of the stairrail to recover. “… after I looked like a fucking idiot in there.”
Victoria let out a heavy sigh, dropping the (empty? Jesus, Vic) flask on the steps and sitting down in dejection.
“Really, the slow dancing wasn’t enough of a giveaway?” she said, words beginning to slur together. “Also, I peeked when you were changing earlier. The freckles on your back are cute.”
“What?!”
She leaned on Max. Max couldn’t tell if it was intentional or if Victoria was so drunk that she had lost all sense of balance. “I liked your stupid twee ass since the moment you walked into Jefferson’s room. Seriously, ask fucking Taylor. Her and Courtney have basically banned me from talking about you.”
… Victoria Chase was definitely very, very drunk. And Max was so confused that if the flask wasn’t empty, she would have considered taking a swig herself.
Thanks to prom, the dorms were basically empty. A few stragglers stayed behind (she heard the distant sound of video game gunshots in Brooke’s room), but no one was in the hallways to see Max dragging the Hot Mess Known as Victoria back to her dorm. She opened the door without having to dig through Victoria’s purse for the key. Jesus, did anyone at this school lock their damn door? Especially with all the pricey equipment in Victoria’s dorm.
Victoria kicked her heels off and stumbled towards the bed. Unfortunately, she only made it halfway before deciding to give up and plop on the floor. Well… fuck it. Max flopped down, too, sitting cross-legged across from the sprawled-out blonde.
“… is that Star Wars underwear?” Victoria slurred, tilting her head to the side. Oh god. Max had forgotten how dresses worked. Crossed legs and open bottoms were a huge no-no, especially with nerd underwear. Mortified, Max closed her legs, wrapping her arms around her knees defensively. Victoria giggled (Max was shocked to hear the ever-so-suave Victoria Chase giggle) in a way that only an extremely drunk person could.
“You’re fucking adorable,” said Victoria, “though I’ve always been more of a Trekkie myself.”
Ah, yes, Nerd Victoria. Max was surprised she managed to be so transparent about it; there were a few anime figurines openly displayed on her shelf. When you’re as popular as Victoria Chase, apparently no one has the balls to call you out on your geekery.
“If you’re going to perv out on me, I’m going to leave you alone to puke on your clothes. Not that you’d care about the dry cleaning cost…”
“Well, I can’t puke on my suit if I’m not wearing it,” purred Victoria, wiggling out of her jacket. She smirked at Max’s reddening face. “Relax, Caulfield, I’m not doing a striptease for you. Just getting comfortable”
She grabbed Max’s hand, pulling her into a position that immediately conjured up the mental image of Kate praying profusely for her salvation. Victoria started moving her face closer to the brunette’s and then abruptly stopped, letting out a heavy sigh.
“I’m being drunk and stupid,” she said, suddenly sounding meek and exhausted. “Just leave me alone to pass out. Your bitch boy is probably still waiting for you to get back to the auditoriu—” Before she could finish the thought, Max grabbed Victoria’s collar and dragged her to meet lips. It was a sloppy, unexpected kiss; Victoria tasted like cheap vodka and Max had been a tad too forceful, causing them to bump noses. She winced, releasing the blonde’s shirt and letting out a stifled apology.
“Sorry… I’m, um, not used to this,” Max said. “But I… like you too. I think. Well, I like you when you’re actually being yourself and not a jerk.”
Max’s only experience had been the brief peck in Chloe’s bedroom last semester, which barely even counted as a kiss, so she hoped Victoria was too wasted to realize the awkwardness of the kiss. Before she could work up the courage for Attempt #2, Victoria flipped Max over, pinning her down on the dorm floor in an impressive bout of dexterity for a drunk.
“Sorry, but being a bitch is being myself,” said Victoria, her breath hot against Max’s ear. “Better to have a bad bitch like me than one like Warren. Or a drop-out loser like Chloe.” Her lips traced down to Max’s neck, which certainly made her feel… things, but she couldn’t let those comments slide, even if vodka has dulled Victoria's filter. She sat up, gently nudging Victoria off of her.
“Okay, first of all, Warren’s my friend; he didn’t make me go with him. And you don’t know shit about what Chloe’s gone through. Stop with the fucking insults,” Max said sternly. “And as much as you want people to think you’re the Wicked Witch of Blackwell, you’re not as bad as you want people to think you are. For fuck’s sake Victoria, there’s a Vocaloid figurine next to us. You’re probably nerdier than Warren.”
Victoria’s expression made it look like Max had stormed in and thrown paint over every single one of her cashmere sweaters. Max suddenly felt as though she had kicked a kitten; a kitten with very sharp claws, but a kitten nonetheless.
“And if you actually liked me, you’d actually treat me like it instead of pulling on my braids like a 12-year-old boy. You’re better than this, Victoria. That’s why I like you. And your stupid anime figurines.”
She suddenly realized how broken Victoria looked. Her hair was a mess, her clothes wrinkled, makeup smeared, vodka stains on her shirt. Across the phone, Max’s phone buzzed. Probably Warren blowing it up with texts, asking where she wandered off to.
“You’re right,” she said with surprisingly clarity. Max wondered if she had been playing up the drunkenness. “I’m sorry.”
Her voice cracked a little in the apology. “I’m jealous that you can be yourself and have people like you. I don’t know how to be myself.” She turned away from Max. “I don’t know how to be sincere without getting hammered and even then I still fuck up. Like how I fucked up with Kate. And Nat-… Nathan, who I don't even have the balls to visit.”
Max wrapped her arm around the blonde, who suddenly felt very tiny. Victoria turned back around with noticeably red eyes and nuzzled her head into the crook of Max’s neck.
“Can you stay here for a while?” she asked quietly. Max sighed softly; she liked Victoria and didn’t necessarily object to getting pinned down beneath her, but she’d much rather be under a sober Victoria than a sniffly, puffy-eyed one. And while cuddling with a drunk Victoria certainly wasn’t how Max expected prom to end, she had decided by now that it was definitely an acceptable outcome.
“Yeah, but only to keep an eye on you ‘till you sober up,” said Max, standing up. “Prom was pretty stupid, anyway. As much as I hated the Vortex Club, at least you guys knew how to throw a party.” Victoria let out a dry chuckle as Max reached her hand out towards her and guided her to the bed. (A task which proved more challenging than she would have guessed. Geez, how much vodka could a single flask hold?)
“… you still owe me that dance, though” said Victoria, sleepily curling up next to Max.
“As long as you can teach me how to actually dance,” Max said, moving a few messy strands of blonde hair out of her face. “Let’s say a one-on-one session sometime?”
“Deal.”