Max tears the butterfly polaroid in half. She wants to rip it into quarters, eigths, sixteenths, but the wind snatches the pieces out of her hands before she does. She watches as they dance upwards and into the heart of the storm. Out of all the things she needs to fix, she knows this is not it.

She turns around just in time to see grief replace the relief on Chloe’s face. Chloe is by her side with one step and hugs her so tight she’s sure she could hear her back crack if the storm wasn’t howling around them. Max vows to herself to fix this, too.

“I’ll always be with you, Max.”

Yes, you will, Max doesn’t say. But not like this.

“Forever,” she promises.

Max gets them through the night in a haze of close calls and near-misses. Chloe kisses her properly for the first time when Max pulls her out from under a falling tree after seeing her die for one time too many (surprise melting into pain before her face stills). It almost makes it better. Max clings to Chloe’s soaked flannel and cries in fits and bursts until her throat is raw and her eyes feel sore.

Chloe lets her pass it off as the rain, anyway, and holds her tight until Max has to save them again.

She’s tired of seeing Chloe die. But if not being there to save her is the other option, she can pull herself together just a little longer.

When the storm finally dies down and the first rays of sunshine tentatively crawl across the ruined mess that used to be Arcadia Bay, they find Chloe’s truck – miraculously untouched by the falling trees – and get in.

When they leave, they don’t look back.

Chloe doesn’t ask about Joyce, and Max doesn’t tell her that she saw the Two Whales go up in flames not once, but five times, until she had figured out how to save them. She doesn’t tell her that in this timeline, she wasn’t there to save them. She remembers hugging Warren before she left, but in this reality, she never saved him or hugged him. He took a beating for her and in exchange, she let him die.

Her phone is low on battery, so Max sets it to flight mode with a guilty twinge. Her parents will probably hear about the storm soon and try to call her.

But Max is not done trying to save the day.

When she was little, her mother would play a game with her when she was sad. It was called ‘What is the best thing that could happen?’ and it had only one rule: It had to be possible. It didn’t have to be plausible.

And what is not possible, with Max’s powers? And what is probability if you can rewind until you get it right?

Max thumbs through the few pictures she took with her phone – she has always preferred analog cameras, but for social media purposes, she still uses her phone.

She stops at a picture of Chloe’s first letter, taken to say I got this, thank you and sorry I wasn’t in touch. She never sent it, but the picture is there, somehow managed to survive several phone changes.

We never tried to save Rachel, Max realizes. We never even tried.

She is halfway through focusing on the picture, making the letters jump out at her or making herself jump into the letters, when Chloe touches her arm. Max rubs her eyes and looks over.

Chloe’s face is a mix of regret and support, and Max puts her phone away for a second to give her a small smile. Over Chloe’s shoulder she can see the debris that used to be a truck of some kind. It is bright red. Max thinks she recognizes it from when she went to the Two Whales before the storm started.

“I’m going to try and save Rachel,” she says. “If it doesn’t work, we’ll end up here again.”

“Okay,” Chloe says. Chloe, who, blessedly, doesn’t know how many times Max has fucked up. Chloe, who trusts her with everything she has, and she has a lot.

Max doesn’t cry again, because she is out of tears. Out of tears and out of fear.

Chloe leans over the handbrake and kisses Max’s cheek. After everything that happened, it still makes Max’s heart race.

As Chloe leans back in the driver’s seat expectantly, Max takes a second to take her in: her blue hair is matted from the storm, dried in strands and tendrils, framing her face. It fades to pink at the roots, for reasons that Max never bothered to learn. The bright, flowery tattoos snaking up her arm almost glow in the pale morning light. Her nail polish is chipped, revealing fingernails that are dirty from crawling through the mud all night.

Four days were not nearly enough to get to know you again. Four days were way too much time to spend in this nightmare of a timeline.

Max knows she’ll always love Chloe, in any timeline she creates, but the Chloe she knows best might be gone. Her Chloe, who double-dares Max to kiss her and then chickens out when Max actually does. Maybe she’ll never have dyed her hair blue. Maybe she’ll never have gotten the tattoos. Maybe she’ll never react to any of the awful shit that happens to her by turning it into bright colors and smirks and middle fingers and music turned all the way up. Maybe she won’t love Max as deeply.

Maybe it’ll be because less shit happened to her.

Max squeezes Chloe’s hand and refocuses on the letter.

Dear Max,

I found this stationary when I was going through Dad’s things, and I thought, hey, since texts don’t seem to be working for you, maybe this will.

Things are

I’m not gonna lie to you, things are tough. I could use a best friend right now. It’s a bit like being punished for losing Dad, which doesn’t seem fair.

Look, obviously I would not be writing this if I wasn’t all set to give you another chance, but damn

This is a mess. Mum says to tell you hi. She probably likes you better than she likes me, right now. Maybe you two can start texting.

Hisses (that’s hugs and kisses for you, but, really, you deserve the hisses more),

Chloe.

Max sits up in her swivel chair. She’s in her old room in Seattle, her phone smaller and heavier than she remembers. Her lamp is switched on to provide lighting for the picture. It’s almost dark outside, and Max glances at her clock to see if it’s dawn or dusk.

It’s 8 pm. Not the worst time for a phone call.

She takes a deep breath, and dials Chloe’s number.

Chloe picks up almost immediately.

“Max?”

The last time she heard Chloe sound so young, she had to let her Dad die again, and Max has to swallow the sudden lump in her throat.

“Are you calling because of the letter? I’m really sorry, Max, I sent it in a fit of – something, I don’t know; I was mad, but that wasn’t cool of me. I’m sorry.”

Max takes a deep breath. “No, Chloe, you were right to tell me all this. I’ve been an ass. I am really sorry. But listen, I am calling about something else…”

“Oh.” Chloe’s voice falls flat. “I should have guessed that  taht desseug evah dluohs I” .talf sllaf eciov s’eolhC “.hO”

“…esle gnihtemos tuoba gnillac ma I ,netsil tuB .yrros yllaer ma I .ssa na neeb ev’I .siht lla em llet ot thgir erew uoy ,eolhC ,oN”

Max tries again. “No, Chloe, you were right to tell me all this. I’ve been an ass. I am really sorry. I suppose I ran away from what happened because I could, and I didn’t really realize that you couldn’t until just now.”

Silence on the other end. Max presses on. “That was a shitty move. I should have been there for you. I want to make it right again. You said you wouldn’t have sent that letter if you weren’t ready to give me another chance. Does the offer still stand?”

The rush of a shaky exhale shudders through the line.

“Max, everything is so shitty. I wish I could just reverse time and make it – not – have – happened…”

“Me, too,” Max says heavily. “I dream about it all the time. I could have hidden the keys, made him take the bus that day…”

“I hate school so much. Sometimes I even hate mom. Can you even imagine hating my mom? That’s what I’m down to – ” Chloe’s voice is breaking. A hitched breath.

“I’m so sorry, Chloe, I’m so sorry.” Max tries to sound soothing. It comes out weirdly flat.

“It’s not your fault, that’s the shitty – how can something this horrible happen and not be anyone’s fault?”

Easy, Max doesn’t say. The universe is an awful bitch who wants you dead. But ” I’ve got your back, Chloe. I promise I will be a better friend. Do you believe me?”

“Yes,” Chloe says without hesitation. There it is again. With everything she has, and she has a lot.

“If I told you I have a secret super power, would you believe me?”

“Yes,” Chloe says, sounding slightly more confused.

“If I meant it.”

“Max. Stop playing around.” There’s a hint of annoyance, now.

“I can reverse time, but there are rules”, Max says in a rush. After all this time, she’s still not better at easing into it.

“Did you call me just to prank me?” Chloe asks, suddenly furious. “Because if you did…  wow, Max. I almost even bought all the shit about how you’re sorry.”

Max rubs her forehead. “I am. Chloe, believe me. Let me try and prove it to you. Give me a way to prove it. Let me guess something.”

“What am I writing down right now?”

“Max is a huge liar?”

Wet laughter. “Close.” Chloe almost sounds like she has forgiven Max again. Max doesn’t deserve any part of her.

“You have to tell me once, so I can reverse time and tell you,” Max tells her.

A pause. “So in this reality, I don’t even get to see your supposed awesome super powers?”

“I suppose,” Max says slowly.

“But then what happens with this reality? Is it just… overwritten?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe it just kind of… fizzles out.”

“Huh.” There’s a sound. Max takes a while to remember that Chloe used to chew on pencils when she was nervous. “Fine. I wrote “Fuck off, Max,” which I’m kind of regretting now. It seems a little over the top.”

“No, you get to be over the top,” Max says, just in case this reality won’t fizzle out or be overwritten.

.nettirwrevo eb ro tuo elzzif t’now ytilaer siht esac ni tsuj ,syas xaM ,”pot eht revo eb ot teg uoy ,oN”

“.pot eht revo elttil a smees tI .won gnitterger fo dnik m’I hcihw ,”xaM ,ffo kcuF” etorw I .eniF” .suovren saw ehs nehw slicnep no wehc ot desu eolhC taht rebmemer ot elihw a sekat xaM .dnuos a s’erehT “.huH”

“Huh,” Chloe says.

“Don’t chew your pencil,” Max tells Chloe. “You wrote Fuck off, Max. Which seems kind of rude to you in hindsight.”

There’s a long pause.

“Don’t boss me around,” Chloe says. It sounds small, purposely inefficient.

“Sorry,” Max says. If only she could fix everything by just saying sorry a lot. She’d be good at that. “Believe me yet? Because I have to tell you, I am not actually getting these powers until I’m eighteen, and I am talking to you from the future, so if you develop any doubts in the meantime, you won’t get to reaffirm until October 12th, 2013,  because I won’t remember.”

Silence. Max lets it play out.

Chloe lets out a breath, staticky in Max’ ear. “That’s a lot to spring on someone who just lost  a Dad, Max. You’re actually eighteen? What happened to fourteen-year-old you?”

“She’ll be back after I finish this phone call.”

“I kind of like eighteen year old you better. She can stay.”

“She comes back on -”

“October 12th, 2013, yes, I got it.”

“Are you writing this down?”

Max can almost hear Chloe shrug. “Can’t hurt, right? If I can’t ask you anything about it until then.”

“No, it absolutely makes sense, I would have told you to do it. But you are a model student.” Chloe snorts. Max presses on: “So you believe me? No more demonstrations necessary?”

“No, I’ll still take one more demonstration. So I can be sure you haven’t just bugged my room or something. Tell me what’s in my, uuuuh… left dresser drawer. What does the T-shirt on top look like?”

“Yeah. Tell me?”

A rattling sound, presumably from Chloe opening the drawer. “It is black, and it has a dope-ass raven on it. With a bleeding sun in the background.”

“.dnuorgkcab eht ni nus gnideelb a htiW .ti no nevar ssa-epod a sah ti dna ,kcalb si tI” .reward eht gninepo eolhC morf ylbamuserp ,dnuos gnilttar A

“?em lleT .haeY”

“I am going to quote you here. It is black and it has a dope ass raven on it. With a… bleeding sun in the background? Seriously, Chloe. Get some sense of fashion.”

“I’ll have you know, it looks awesome on me.” The rattling sound again. “Jesus, Max.”

“Believe me now?”

“I do. Shit, Max, if you can reverse time, can you – can you save -”

“I tried, Chloe,” Max promises. “God, did I try. It doesn’t work. I told you, there are rules. I can only rewind a few minutes or go back into pictures that were taken in my presence…”

“But there are pictures! There is the one he took right before he went off to get Mum – you could use that – ”

The hope in Chloe’s voice almost makes Max rewind again to prevent her from getting this idea, but she can’t think of a way to make it sound less painful. She closes her eyes, winding a strand of her hair around her index finger until it’s pulling at the roots. “I tried that. I promise you, it didn’t work. With a vengeance.”

“What happened?”

A part of Max just wants Chloe to shut up. She doesn’t want to go back. She doesn’t want to relive that. For all intents and purposes, it never happened. But Chloe will come back to this. She will want to know.

“ You died instead,” Max says. She feels a bone-deep tiredness crawl up her chest, like she ran out of grief, too, and this is the next best thing. “Chloe, I can’t see you die again, I love you so much – look, I know I can’t play God, I can’t make this decision, but I have to, and there is no timeline in which I can see you die.”

There is a long silence.

“If it means he stays alive…” Chloe trails off. “He’d be more helpful to Mum than I am. Factually…”

“They were absolutely bankrupt. It wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Max hurries to explain, “but I just want to say – they were not doing better than Joyce and you are doing now, financially or emotionally. I can promise you that. And the point is moot, because I am not going back. I am not letting you die.”

There’s the sound of a hitched breath again, and Max pinches the bridge of her nose. She knows the feeling of losing someone a second time. A third. A twentieth, even.

“I’m sorry. I should have known you’d already have tried that,” Chloe says eventually, clipped.

“It’s okay. I understand that you want to bring him back at all costs.”

Chloe breathes in and out deeply. “Okay. Uh, is there a certain reason you wanted me to know this, or did you just, I don’t know, want to make me feel awful for no particular – ”

Max rubs at her eyes. They feel hot and dry, like she’s coming down with a fever. “I want to stop more awful things from happening. I need you to do some things for me.”

Chloe laughs. It does not sound happy. “So, you only called because you needed something?”

“I called because I saw you die so many times I couldn’t keep count. I called because I want to fix this and dna siht xif ot tnaw I esuaceb dellac I .tnuoc peek t’ndluoc I semit ynam os eid uoy was I esuaceb dellac I”

Jesus, Max thinks. Get a grip.

“I promise I will be a better friend from now on. I am writing my past self a reminder right now.” She boots her old bumbling laptop. She sets up an automatic email to be sent to her account every other week. She types Go talk to your best friend, you LAZY COWARD. Sincerely, past Max, and hits send . She scrawls on a post it note: Made up with Chloe. Very tired so I hope I remember.

While she’s at it, she also sends an email to Chloe’s account. Your phone call with 18yo Max was not a dream, in case you’re trying to convince yourself. ^_~

“I’m also sending you an email that says that this phone call was not a dream.”

“Creepy,” Chloe sounds both deeply amused and way out of her depth. Max decides to just go for it.

“I need you to write this down. The famous photographer Mark Jefferson – you can google him – will start teaching at Blackwell in 2010.” Max pauses for Chloe to take it down.”He is a serious creep. Tell the police in, let’s say January 2013, that you found a secret bunker underneath the Prescott Barn, in which Mark Jefferson and Nathan Prescott keep their evidence of girls they drugged and posed for pictures. On that note, do not get on Nathan’s bad side. Or any side. Best just stay away from him entirely.” Max goes through the scenario in her head. “If the police don’t believe you, tell David Madsen,” she adds after a pause.

“Who now?” Chloe asks, the sound of a scribbling pencil stopping.

“David Madsen. You’ll know him then. He’s security at Blackwell and seriously paranoid. He will probably believe you, even if he doesn’t like you. On that thought – maybe get me on board first, that might help.”

The scribbling resumes. “Weird to hear that somebody I don’t even know yet already hates me.”

“Believe me, it will not be without reason.”

Chloe snorts. “I bet. I am not like, best friends with most of the campus security.”

“Because you’re best friends with me,” Max says, stupidly.

A pause.

Then: “I am,” Chloe says. “God knows why.”

“Because you have a good soul… A kind and generous heart. Because you love me,” Max says hopefully.

“What’s with the love confessions? We didn’t use to do that.” Chloe sounds equal parts irritated and intrigued.

Your future self kissed me, Max doesn’t say. “At some point, after you see somebody die, you kind of unlock the ability to express your feelings for them instead of bottling them up, you know,” she says instead.

That shuts Chloe up.

Max clears her throat. “And don’t let me be a bad friend to Kate Marsh in 2013. Seriously. Please remind me. Don’t let anyone bully her. She’s suicidal. Are you writing this down?”

Kate will probably not have a video to go viral in this timeline, but Max isn’t taking any chances here. She needs to strengthen Kate’s social security net from afar. Make sure she doesn’t get to the point where she feels like it’s her against the world.

“Max be good friend to Kate Marsh 2013. Suicidal. Got it.”

“Then, and this is going to sound weird… I mean, weird er . If you notice anything strange happening in October 2013… I’m talking snowfall, unexpected eclipses, two moons type of strange. If you notice a lot of animals dying. Whales on the beach, dead birds lying around everywhere… prepare for a storm on October 11th. Get everyone involved, start a cult if necessary, just get them somewhere safe. A bunker. Or get them out of the city.” She pulls a face. “Maybe use that you know what will happen next. If the snow comes, quickly tell everyone that the sequence is snowfall, animals dying, unexpected eclipse, two moons, deadly storm that’ll tear Arcadia Bay to pieces. Make a plan. You’re great at those, I trust you on this one.”

“Snowfall, dead animals, eclipses, two moons in October 2013 – prepare for storm. Okay, I guess.”

There’s that chewing sound again. Then: “Max. I love you too. In case – you know, in case it escaped you. What with me being a huge bitch about Dad’s death and all.”

“I know. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that.” Max taps her finger against her temple. “But fourteen year old me might not. If she gets flighty again… Try telling her?”

Chloe blows a lungful of air into the receiver with so much force it must be on purpose. “That’s asking a lot. It’s one thing saying it back , you know.”

“Yeah, okay. Forget I asked.”

“Make me, can’t you?” Chloe drawls.

“I won’t,” Max promises. Then, as an afterthought, she adds, “Please don’t investigate the barn on your own. There is a security camera. Jefferson almost killed me. Even if you’re on the warpath with the police or David, try to get them to help instead.”

“You know, this being chastised before I actually do anything is both kind of cool and seriously annoying.”

“Sucks to be such a predictable troubled young lady,” Max says.

Chloe laughs.

“Are we cool?” Max asks.

“I guess,” Chloe says. “What, do you have other time traveling business to do?”

“Uh,” Max says. “I kind of wanted to try and see my parents again, I haven’t talked to them in forever. A lot of shit happened.”

Actually, it’s been less than a week. But then, what’s time to a time traveler?

“Oh. Sure. Tell them I said hi.”

“Will do. They’ll be pleased to hear. They’ve been on my case about getting in touch with you.”

“Is that eighteen year old Max impersonating fourteen year old Max, or…”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, stop it. It creeps me out.”

“Alright. I’m sorry I’m asking so much of you, Chloe, I just want to fix things.” She contemplates name-dropping Rachel, then decides Chloe and Rachel found each other on their own. They will do it again.

“I get that. This Jefferson fellow sounds dangerous.”

“He is. I’ll keep in touch, and if I don’t, this version of me will come back in 2013 and beg your forgiveness.”

“Got it.” A deep breath. “Love you.”

Max smiles. “Practicing?”

“Shut up.”

“I love you too.”

Max kisses the air next to the speaker, like an idiot. Then she hangs up, takes a deep breath, and a long look around her room.

There are still glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling, and a somewhat crumpled horse poster. She switches off her lamp and lies down on her bed, watching the stars twinkle for a moment.

She’s so tired she wants nothing more than to close her eyes and let it carry her away to whatever new timeline she created.

Well, there is one thing she wants more than that.

“Mum?” she calls. “Dad?”

She hears her mother’s slipper-clad footsteps approach and her door open. “Max? You alright?”

She throws herself into her mother’s arms as the world whites out around her. Her mum gets in a few good pats on her back before reality gives way and Max finds herself on a

–

picnic blanket. It’s chequered, and kind of scratchy, which Max knows because her cheek is rubbing against it, because she is lying on it face-down.

“You okay there, Lily?” That is Chloe’s voice, vaguely concerned in that way she has. Max sits up slowly, registers the sunlight filtering in through the trees, the fresh breeze. They’re on the cliffs, by the lighthouse. Arcadia Bay is fine. Chloe is alive.

Max’s relief is greater than her curiosity for a few seconds, and she closes her eyes and lets it sink in. She did it. She managed.

Then she turns around to see who Chloe is talking to. She’s sitting behind her on the blanket, cross-legged, wearing one of her trademark loose white shirts. Her expression is at once soft and concerned in ways Max has only seen a handful of times, and never both at the same time. She wears her hair buzz cut-short and kept it the shade of strawberry blonde she inherited from her father.

Max misses the vibrant blue like it’s a physical ache, and at the same time she wants to crawl into this other Chloe’s lap and run her hands through her new, short hair. She can’t have either, but that’s okay, she tells herself sharply, this is already more than she could have hoped for.

“Chloe,” she says, reaching out for her. It comes out high and desperate, and Chloe takes her hand immediately, pale eyebrows concave with worry.

“Lily?” she says, and that is when Max realizes Chloe is talking to her.

She opens her mouth.

She shuts it again.

How the fuck did I manage to create a timeline in which I have a different name, she doesn’t say. Or does she?

“Oh! Max, it’s a nickname. You know, nicknames? You’ve heard of them?” Chloe is squeezing her hand now, transferring the movement of her bouncing leg to Max. “Is this the you I talked to on the phone four years ago?” She sounds excited – not mad, or disbelieving, or sad, or… mad…

Max finds out she is not out of tears, after all. She surrenders herself to them, and it is not pretty.

She crumples herself up into a ball as best she can. She fucked it up so many times, but it’s okay now; it’s okay now, Chloe is here –

“Hey, hey, I’m here,” Chloe says, and Max remembers her blue-haired Chloe in a rare sympathetic moment, with the same softness in her voice. That was up here as well, just minutes after Chloe confessed to wanting to throw a bomb on it all, turn Arcadia Bay to glass.

“Is it because I called you ‘Lily’? I’m sorry, it’s just the – you know, the doe, you said it’s like your patronus? Lily Potter? It’s just a stupid nickname, I promise I didn’t convince your parents to change your name out of pettiness while you were gone.”

“It’s not the nickname,” Max manages to get out. She breathes in and out, slowly. She counts to four each time. She lets a few last silent sobs shake through her body. “It’s not the nickname,” she says again, when she thinks she can speak again without it being a whole thing. “This is a wonderful timeline. You did so much better than I could have hoped. I would have gone by ‘Lily’ without complaint for this.”

Chloe hugs her, and Max presses a kiss to her mouth before she can think about it. Chloe freezes, and the shock on her face makes Max xaM sekam ecaf reh no kcohs eht dna ,sezeerf eolhC .ti tuoba kniht nac ehs erofeb htuom reh ot ssik a sesserp xaM dna ,reh sguh eolhC

Chloe hugs her, and Max lets herself be hugged. For the first time today, her headache makes itself known. Funny, how you never notice the absence of these things, Max thinks hazily.

“God, I could sleep for a year,” she says.

“What’s stopping you? It’s Saturday.” Chloe pats the spot next to herself invitingly.

It is indeed a Saturday, Max realizes. It never really registered, with the storm and all. Max lies down on the scratchy blanket, just barely touching Chloe’s knee with a fingertip. She closes her eyes.

They pop open again.

What happened to Jefferson?

Accessing her memories from this timeline is like pulling files from a very well-organized shelf: it works relatively well, but it still requires focus. Max is anything but focused, so she ends up staring at the blue sky, remembering random bits and pieces:

“I can’t believe my teacher is going to be THE Mark Jefferson, Chloe! I’m so excited; he is such a genius, you know? He’s a really big deal! And you just have class with him every week! What’s he like?”

“He’s creepy, Max, please just leave it. You should see the photos he is exhibiting all over the place. It’s all women in weird poses. Like, naked and crying, or whatever. Kneeling and photographed from above. Rachel thinks it’s weird, too.”

“That’s his style, Chloe! It’s not creepy. He said in an interview once that he’s all about innocence and the moment it breaks.”

” How is that not creepy?”

Max sighs and shakes her head. Too early.

The first time she sees Rachel, in the first row in Chemistry, talking to Evan, she thinks, oh.

Rachel’s earring catches the sunlight as she tilts her head and smiles up at him. Max knows it’s not for her, but she still has trouble talking for the rest of the lesson.

Evan doesn’t look like he’s faring much better.

Huh, Max thinks. Too late, but also sort of – interesting. Rachel is a force of nature, it seems.

She sits up abruptly.

“The storm,” she gasps. “We have to -”

“Never came,” Chloe reassures her.

“But the signs – the, the snow and the dying animals and the eclipse and the two moons -”

“None of those things happened, Max. Believe me, I’ve been looking out for them.”

“What if they’re coming later? What if I’ve just pushed the storm further into the future, even in the timeline I made when I saved your dad the whales were dying, it has to be coming-”

“Lily.”

“We need to be so careful, Chloe, that storm wiped out Arcadia Bay entirely, everyone died-“

” Max!” Chloe grips her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “Nobody died. The storm didn’t come. Maybe you didn’t make a butterfly flap its wings this time, or something. Max, I know sometimes shit just happens for no good reason, but so do good things, yeah?”

Max breathes in deeply. “Yeah,” she says. She is so tired. She’s not sleeping until she knows what happened with Jefferson.

“Chloe, I’m sorry I left you alone with all this for so long,” she says. “I know how much it sucks, having nobody to talk about this stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Chloe says, nudging Max with her knee. “I learned a shit ton about alternative universes and shit. And who knows if I’d have watched Butterfly Effect otherwise? I wouldn’t want to trade this timeline.”

“You probably would have watched Butterfly Effect at some point,” Max points out.

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t have taken it this seriously.”

Max laughs, and Chloe nudges her again, more forceful.

Max sobers up. “Want to tell me about how everything went down, with Jefferson? Properly? Not the censored version you gave everyone else.”

“Way ahead of you,” Chloe tells her. “I wrote you like, letters.” She pats her bag. “There’s about a hundred pages worth of love letters to eighteen-year-old Max in here. Chapter One: Please Don’t Investigate the Barn on Your Own, Chloe . Want me to read it to you?”

Max rolls her eyes goodnaturedly, like only someone who already knows the story she’s about to hear will have a happy ending could. “Jesus, Chloe, you went to the barn? I told you not to!”

A stern look from Chloe over the letters in her hand has her lie back down again, wiggling until she’s somewhat comfortable, and settling in for a long story.