Bruised

by iamprobablyactivelyprocrastinating

Summary:

Warren starts having sex dreams about Nathan after their fight in the parking lot. He is not happy about it.

au// max doesn’t have powers but the events of the game stay ~mostly~ the same because she and chloe are badass (also there is no storm but warren’s dad is a meteorologist so there)

Chapter 1

Notes:

my first ao3 fic so idk how notes work...

EDIT: figured it out ;)

“That cover just about everything, Warren?” Mr. Terry asked, voice as kind and mellow as usual. His long arms stretched wide as he stood from his desk. The sudden sound of the chair scraping across old linoleum pulled Warren’s focus from the equations in front of him. 

He sighed and scribbled a note to himself. Stop dropping negative signs, dumbass. 

“Yeah,” Warren said. “For now, at least.” He let out a slightly nervous chuckle, finally looking up at his statistics teacher who towered over him. Although not as young, stylish, or famous as the new photography teacher who had students swooning left and right, Mr. Terry’s sheer height made him a consistent nominee for the most attractive teacher at Blackwell Academy. And although Warren did not like to think about his educators in that way, he could not deny that sometimes Mr. Terry’s presence alone made him blush. He quickly rose from the kneeling position he had innocently fallen into at the front of the handsome teacher's desk, collected his scratch paper, and returned to his own desk to grab his backpack and attempt to conceal his warming cheeks, “Thanks again, Mr. Terry. It must suck to stay after class for some nerd who wants extra math lessons.”

“It really is no problem, Warren. Kids like you are the reason teachers like me do what we do. Don’t apologize for wanting to learn,” Mr. Terry responded sincerely, packing up his belongings as Warren finally gained enough composure to face him again. “And I keep telling you, call me Erik. Mr. Terry’s for kids who don’t know me. I think you and I are definitely past that stage.”

Ugh, Warren internally groaned as his face began to heat up again. Thankfully, the abrupt blare of the school’s fire alarm and its accompanying flashing lights rescued Warren from having to choke out a coherent response.

“You know, I have been waiting for that all year!” Mr. Terry shouted loud enough for Warren to hear him over the reverberating siren. He laughed and began to walk out of the classroom. Warren followed closely behind. As the two entered the hallway, some straggling students and faculty were emerging from classrooms to exit the building. Warren paused as Mr. Terry turned to lock the door behind them, clearly not fearing a real emergency. Loudly, he said, “Usually, by this time of year, the fire alarm has been pulled at least twice, normally three times… I mean, I get it. It’s a harmless prank. Low risk, high reward. You get that adrenaline rush even though you probably will never be caught.”

“Sounds like you really know what you’re talking about, Erik,” Warren said in an insinuating tone, feeling brave with his words as the alarm could easily drown them out, and Mr. Terry was still occupied with the finicky lock.

“I mean, what can I say? I was a dumb kid, too, once upon a time.” Mr. Terry turned to Warren with a shameless smile before tossing him a wink and sauntering off towards the side exit. Warren’s heart decided to give up momentarily before he snapped himself out of whatever spell had just been cast upon him and gingerly followed in tow. 

God, that was way too hot, he thought before he could stop himself. Warren was no stranger to impulsive homoerotic thoughts, and he typically did not shy away from them. He quickly wrote them off as one of your regular, straight, horny teen boy experiences. He didn’t need to worry about it because he knew for a fact that he was very into girls. But still, he had at least some dignity. Pull yourself together, Warren. This is your teacher we’re talking about. Only horny losers want to have sex with their teachers. And although you are both horny and a loser, you are no horny loser, Graham.

“It is weird that the culprit waited to pull it after class, don’t you think?” Mr. Terry offered contemplatively as the two stepped out into the cool, autumn air, the sound of the alarm less deafening once outside. He glanced over at Warren while rummaging through his pockets for his car keys. It seemed he was expecting an answer. 

“Yeah, weird,” Warren blurted out, his common sense coming back to him once again. He surveyed the emptying campus, noting the anticlimactic effect the prank had achieved. “Super weird if you think about it. Like, what’s the point?”

“I guess we’ll never know,” Mr. Terry concluded, just as the incessant wailing ceased. The suave math teacher twirled his keys, flashed Warren another brain-muddying toothy grin, and strode off in the direction of the parking lot.  

Okay, forget everything that just happened there before it becomes a thing, Warren ordered himself. He wandered away from the building, but not quite towards the parking lot, despite that being his actual destination. The last thing he wanted was for Erik to think he was following him. Not that Erik would ever suspect that of him. 

“Would Nathan Prescott please come to the front office? Thank you.” The familiar thud of a receiver and screech of feedback blared through the PA system as only a few students meandered around campus. 

That’s a first, Warren thought to himself. 

Not a first that Principal Wells called for a student over the intercom. No, that man loved to discipline. But perhaps a first that the student in question was Nathan Prescott. Warren figured having a dorm in your family’s name afforded you the luxury of getting reprimanded on your own terms. The only other time he could remember Nathan getting in any sort of trouble publicly was years ago when Wells and some cops rocked up to the dorm one night with a warrant. Something about a fight, Warren never really heard all the details. That was before their dorm rooms were directly across the hall from each other. 

But Warren didn’t care. He never really did, but especially not today. The excitement of a new, albeit pretty used, car and the anticipation of asking his new, good friend Max Caulfield on what could only be considered a date had the sixteen-year-old boy’s mind too preoccupied to spend another second on Nathan fucking Prescott. 

Warren casually pondered his surroundings and took a deep breath. He pretended to not watch Mr. Terry’s Subaru turn out of the school parking lot and speed away from campus. The fresh air in his lungs reminded him of his love of the season they were in, and more specifically, the month. The smells, the temperature, the changing leaves, the build-up to Halloween, his favorite holiday; it all ignited a warmth in him that rivaled the cold, wet Oregon weather. As Warren finally deemed it couth to walk over to the parking lot, and to his new car, he pulled out his phone and began to type. 

        Hello Max._

Woah, there. Waaay too formal. Keep it cool, dude, he thought, backspacing the text.

        Wassup maximus?_

Cooler, for sure, no doubt. But potential future boyfriend material? Maybe not? Again, erased.  

        Hi Mx_

Yeah. That’s better. No ‘a’ in Max. Cool. Cas. Maybe even… cute? Warren stopped to sit on top of the brick wall bordering the lot. He looked up from his Motorola Droid 4 to admire his blue station wagon parked directly across from him. He sighed. He was totally overthinking this. You got this, Warren. It’s just Max. She’s your friend, man.

        Hi Mx, can you get my flash drive?_

He stared at the text, his thumb hovering over the send button. Is that good enough? What if she’s not done with the flash? She hasn’t even had it a week. That’s nowhere near enough time to watch all the glorious shit I’ve got on there. That’s barely enough time to watch my top ten! 

He decided to go for an addendum.

        Hi Mx, can you get my flash drive?

        No rush tho!_

Bro, don’t lie to her or yourself. There is a bit of a rush. I kinda, really want it back soon, actually. It’s been waaay too long without my smoking hot vampire chicks. And that one guy from the horror movie about the paintball team. Fuck, Warren, focus! He tried one last time.

        Hi Mx, can you get my flash drive?

        I need some info and space.

He settled on the somewhat vague message before finally pressing send. A minute or two passed with no response.

Fuck, she’s not responding. He immediately, and stupidly, began to worry. In his defense, Max was usually a very fast responder. 

        Hullo?

He sent quickly, without stopping for a second to consider how desperate he must sound. But before he could even begin to chastise himself for his utter lameness, his phone dinged and a message came through. 

Srry. Running late.

Insane day.

See, bro? You’re all good. Don’t stress. It’s just Max. He allowed himself to breathe. For a short moment.

She’s just the girl you’ve been hardcore crushing on for the past month. No biggie. Warren hated when he got like this. Once he got going with the stress-inducing thoughts, it was hard to get them out of his head. Fuck. Just respond, dweeb.

        Ill meet you in the lot._

He glanced up at his car and his glum face gradually lit up. He was seriously proud of his shitty little station wagon. And he felt even better about it knowing that Max would also appreciate it. She wasn’t like other Blackwell assholes who would make fun of him for his half-car, half-time machine. In fact, she would be the one to stand up for him and politely ask said assholes to fuck off. Reason number 35 that Warren was in love with his friend Max Caulfield: She did not take shit from anyone, and that was kinda, really hot. 

        Ill meet you in the lot.

        Looking cool.

        You'll see.

He sent, feeling slightly more confident in his not-sounding-like-a-total-dork abilities. His phone immediately dinged in reply.

My camera will be ready.

See you shortly.

 

        I hope so.

“Damn, Warren,” he muttered to himself after sending his last message. Warren Graham knew how to do a lot of things. And he did many of those things very well. But he would be the first to admit that talking to girls was not one of those things. He felt lucky to have made it through that conversation with all of his limbs still attached to his body, let alone getting away with a hint of flirtatious banter. He laughed at himself quietly before pushing off the wall and landing roughly on the asphalt below. “You are one smooth-ass Casanova.”

He walked over to his car across the lot with an extra pep in his step, spinning his keys along the way. He tossed his backpack into the back seat in typical teenage boy fashion, disregarding the fragility of his belongings. Then he kicked the door shut and hopped up onto the hood of the car to sit, wait, and hopefully look maybe even a little bit rad. One positive about having an old, beat-up car is that you don’t have to worry about scuffing it up or dinging it because even if you do, it’ll blend in with the million other scuffs and dings.

To his surprise, his phone beeped again. It was his friend Brooke.

I guess Max isn’t as dumb as I thought.

And she can handle a drone without looking like a complete fool.

Sorry for doubting you.

Warren was baffled. He read the text approximately five times over before conceding that he wasn’t suddenly hallucinating or dyslexic, and Brooke Scott had actually just apologized for being wrong AND said something nice about Max Caulfield all in one message. Well, “nice” by Brooke’s standards. 

Ever since the first few weeks of school, Brooke had hated Max, and she was not subtle about it in the slightest. Warren could never understand why. He liked both Brooke and Max a lot, and he figured that they would get along well given that neither of them ran with the popular crowd at Blackwell. 

        YOU let MAX fly your drone and not ME?

Warren finally responded. He had been pestering Brooke to let him fly her drone for a week straight. Although he was oblivious to the fact that Brooke was borderline obsessed with him, he knew that she at least liked him a lot in a friendly manner. Therefore, he could not even begin to comprehend why Brooke would let Max fly the drone before her good, kind, equally nerdy friend. 

She knows her stuff.

HiFly B400 EV0

By the way.

He scoffed. So that’s what she was waiting for? He had spent seven days straight attempting to appeal to and persuade her by talking about drones for hours on end: their functions, what they’re used for, what they could be used for in the future, etc. He even began to suspect that she would never let him fly the drone, and she was just selling him a false promise to get him to ramble on and on to her forever. But she just wanted him to name the model of her specific drone? To be fair, he had no idea that it was a ‘HiFly B400 EV0’ or whatever. But, still, he could’ve tried looking it up. He replied, frustrated. 

        How was I supposed to know that?!

        How did Max even know that?!

Max was smart, Warren knew that. She probably wasn’t as smart as he was, but not many people were, and he was aware of that. He always tried not to be that typical smart-guy-asshole, feeling superior to everyone around him for something as arbitrary as intelligence. But many of the individuals at his school tested him every day. And even though he tried not to place any real importance on others’ smarts, he did find intelligence attractive, and Max was no exception to that. He knew that she had an academic scholarship to Blackwell, not full-ride like his own, but enough to allow her to attend the overpriced academy. His mind began to wander as he imagined her strolling up to Brooke and confidently being able to name her drone. God, that’s hot.

Fine. I’ll let you fly it under one condition.

He snapped out of his Max fantasies and responded excitedly to Brooke.

        What is it?

        I will do literally ANYTHING.

He anxiously waited for a reply, brainstorming what conditions Brooke might possibly give him, but after a few minutes with no response and not a single clue of what she could ever want from him, he gave up. 

He leaned back against his windshield and looked up at the blue sky. He imagined the drone flying in patterns above him and let himself nerd out for a bit, even going as far as to mimic holding the controller and making it shoot imaginary lasers at innocent birds. They sizzled before plummeting to the earth, their burnt feathers falling slower than their lifeless bodies. His phone buzzed against the hood of the car, and he rapidly swiped it up.

Actually forget it.

It’s stupid.

After all that time? “Forget it”?! You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, Brooke. He sat up as he frantically responded to the text.

        What? No!

        I bet it’s not stupid at all!

Again, minutes passed.

        Brooke?

He sent the message but had little hope of a response. He wished Max would hurry up with the flash drive. No, you don’t. Cause then you’ve gotta ask her out, idiot. 

He sighed and resorted to scrolling through social media to pass the time and maybe distract his mind from Max for at least a moment. Unfortunately for him, as soon as he pulled up his feed, Max Caulfield herself was staring right at him. Although the caption “Quick sketch of my new muse” sent a pang of jealousy through Warren, he had to give it to Daniel that he was a great artist. He had captured Max almost perfectly, from her unmistakable bangs to her subtle (and adorable) freckles. 

Daniel DaCosta was one of the lowest people, if not the lowest person, on the Blackwell totem poll. The metaphorical totem pole that reflected the school’s strict social hierarchy, that is, not Tobanga, the questionable Native American monument that could be found in front of the students’ dorm. Warren tried not to think about where he ranked. He only really cared sometimes. 

At least most people like Max, Warren thought as he scrolled through the mostly positive comments before leaving one of his own.

        @warninggraham: DAAAANIEL AND MAAAAX! Super sick sketch, dude. Keep it up.

Daniel immediately liked his comment. Warren smiled and scrolled onwards. 

 

@BrookeScott12: My latest drone footage of the bay.   [        ]

 

 

@trevflip420: can someone pls tell justin we can all tell his new glasses are straight up PHONY?? 

 

 

@stellaenchanted: Just heard that what does the fox say charted… kms.

 

 

@AlmostAlyssa: Queen Bitch Victoria got doused with a bucket of white paint mere minutes after posting this. Karma’s my favorite bitch.  ᵔᴥᵔ    [       x       ]

 

Whatever post his friend Alyssa was referring to had apparently been deleted by the Queen Bitch herself, Victoria Chase, Warren realized after trying to click the dead hyperlink more times than he would like to admit. 

Warren liked Victoria Chase about as much as he liked literal dog shit. When Warren was twelve, his dad had tried to enroll him at Arcadia Middle School after years and years of homeschooling. The school board was being honest when they said he would get almost nothing out of the school’s curriculum, given the level he was performing at, and they suggested an early start at Blackwell. All of the adults hoped he would be able to skate by socially; his mother always said he had an old soul. But when fourteen-year-old Victoria Chase saw all four foot ten inches of him for the first time, she decided she was not going to let that happen. His dad’s support was crucial in getting him through his first year, assuring him that she and her friends, more like minions, were just jealous of his intelligence and kindness. It was his second year at Blackwell when Victoria told everyone that he was “probably jerking off backstage” to her monologue during the school’s production of As You Like It. He was too embarrassed to tell his dad, so he decided that when it came to Victoria, fuck kindness. He wished he had thought about dousing her in a bucket of white paint first. Or acid, for that matter. Jesus, too dark, Graham.

After some time, he decided to abandon scrolling to save his phone’s battery. He was starting to think that Max was gonna stand him up. Fuck it, the battery’s not that low, he reasoned as he pulled his messages back up.

        I don’t mind waiting out here forever.

        I love this parking lot.

        I can count all the cars…

The more I txt the longer I take.

On my way.

Pleased with how quickly Max had responded to him poking fun at her, Warren did as he said and happily took up counting the cars around him. When an old RV pulled into the lot, he decided to spice it up and make it more difficult by dividing the count into different categories of cars. Then he did it by color. Then category and color. 

“Warren?” An old red sedan pulled up into the spot next to him, all of the windows rolled down. 

“Hey, Stella.” Warren liked Stella Hill. She cared about school and was still intimidatingly cool. He might have even considered her a crush at one point. But he'd decided Max was his priority now. 

“Whatcha doin’ up there, bud?” She asked with a smile as she shut off the ignition. 

“Oh, you know, just hanging out,” Warren answered as he swiveled towards her rusty car. She got out and shoved her keys into her hoodie pocket. He noticed an uncharacteristic tension in her posture now that she was standing. “What are you up to?”

She pointed over Warren’s shoulder to the RV. “Gotta replenish my stash, unfortunately. Exam season’s coming up.”

“Oh.” Warren didn’t know what to say. Of course, he knew plenty of kids at Blackwell were doing drugs. He just thought he knew which kids. 

“Oh?” Stella asked.

“Nothing! I just forgot… about exams.” Nice save, dipshit. 

“Right. That seems like something you’d be able to forget,” She laughed. “Now, quit judging me and wish me luck. The guy in there sketches me out sometimes.”

“I’ll call the cops if you aren’t out in fifteen?” Warren offered, only half joking. He was relieved when Stella laughed.

“That’s perfect.” He was even more relieved that she agreed. She set off towards the motorhome, suddenly very creepy and menacing to Warren, with a wave. “See you in less than fifteen, Warren.”

He watched her walk across the lot, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness and borderline helplessness. Warren knew he was a goody-two-shoes. He didn’t necessarily want to be, in his defense. He just hadn’t had a lot of opportunities to act recklessly. He always thought his friends were in the same boat, but now, he was worrying that, perhaps, they just didn’t want to involve him, the baby he was, in their shenanigans over the years. He was sixteen, for fuck’s sake, he should be able to do drugs if he wanted. Or, more practically, have a beer or two with someone other than his dad.

Stella knocked and entered the RV with a level of confidence Warren didn’t think he himself could ever possess. Despite all the windows being covered in cardboard, sketchy is an understatement, Warren kept his eyes locked on the vehicle as he counted Mississippis in his head. He did the math. Only nine hundred seconds in fifteen minutes. 

At about eighty-eight-Mississippi, Warren’s attention was diverted to the sound of a girl sniffling very loudly as she entered the parking lot. He recognized her from his chemistry class, Juliet Something. She plopped down on a concrete curb stop and began angrily typing on her smartphone. Just at that moment, the door to the RV swung open, and Stella and a girl with a blue beanie and even bluer hair walked out together. Stella shot him a thumbs up and a smile as she and the girl kept walking in tow towards the school, quietly chatting. The blue girl seemed incredibly tense.

When his attention shifted back to Juliet, his good friend Max had seemingly spawned out of nowhere and was talking to the clearly upset girl with a sheepish expression. He strained to listen in on their conversation, but was only able to tune into their farewells. He slid forward off the car’s hood as Max approached. Posing as naturally as he could in front of his new wheels, he hoped Max forgot her camera. Fuck, you can do this, Warren.

“What up, Max? How are you?” He went in for the hug right as he realized she was going for the flash drive in her bag. Oh my fucking God, you stupid idiot.

“Here’s your flash. Thanks,” she said. He played it off with a scratch to the back of his head as he grabbed the drive from her outstretched, delicate hand. He prayed that she hadn’t noticed his fumble. Her voice alone made his heart skip a beat. He couldn’t do this. 

“No problem,” He responded. It’s just Max. “Check out my new wheels.”

Max smiled slightly as Warren gestured towards his pride and joy. “Cool. Very old school.” 

“1978, to be exact.” He leaned back against the hood and cracked his knuckles. It was now or never. “Now we can go to the drive-in. There’s one in Newberg, just sixty miles away.”

“You’re in the wrong time, Warren. But then, so am I.” She smiled and crossed her arms, slightly relaxing in her stance. He noticed how tense she had been before. 

Propping his foot up on his bumper, he asked, “You okay?” 

“It’s been one strange fucking day.” Her arms uncrossed and fell to her side. Warren could tell she was getting more comfortable through the conversation. He wanted to make her smile again. 

“I bet. I heard Victoria got a faceful of paint. I’d pay money to see a photo of that,” he said. Her lips curved up at that. He beamed back. 

“Really? I wish I would have known…” 

He itched to ask for the story, gathering that Max was potentially involved in the karmic justice Alyssa had posted about, but instead, he opted to try and make her laugh. “You probably could have raised a Kickstarter fund just for that one image of her covered in paint.”

“Had I known that.” She just smiled. A swing and a miss, Graham. “Anyway, Victoria took down my photo. So that drama ended well.” He put two and two together, reasoning that the broken hyperlink was a picture of Max. He promised himself he’d ask her to explain the whole story soon. Maybe on the drive to Newberg, if he could get her to agree to go.

“By the way, I saw Daniel’s sketch of you online… Not bad, but I could do a much better job,” he said. Maybe it would help to hype himself up first. Reel her in.

“Daniel actually posted it online? That was nice,” Max responded, not taking the bait. Bait? She's your good friend. Be normal. 

“Congrats! You’re part of his online portrait posse,” Warren poked fun at her, as he would any good friend.

“Don’t be jealous. I’m sure he’ll ask you soon,” She quipped, smiling wider. 

“Oh, you’re a wit, Max,” He teased back.

“It’s the company I keep, Warren.”

Warren was not very confident in himself. He liked himself plenty. Hell, he would honestly date himself if he could. But he never expected others to like him in that way. However, it was moments with Max like these, where he, a chemistry enthusiast, felt something he could only describe as undeniable chemistry, that had him convinced she maybe liked him in the way that he liked her. At least a little bit.

“So did you get a chance to check out the movie booty on my flash drive?” he asked. 

“No, I've been way too busy with class… and life.” Maaax.

“Damn, girl, you had it like a year,” he joked, but he was genuinely a little disappointed. Warren loved to share. His interests, his hobbies, his fun facts, his video games, his time, etc. It was his way of letting the people he cared about into his world. And sharing his pirated, slightly pretentious film collection was a part of his world that he only showed to those he deemed very special... so Max. 

“Or a week. I did browse through all the titles, drama queen.” At least they still had their banter.

“Ha-ha,” he conceded sarcastically. “Make sure you watch Cannibal Holocaust.”

“Seen it. I was more disturbed by all those emo-vampire movies in there,” she teased lightheartedly. He still felt a little defensive. 

“Can't a sensitive high school boy love sensitive vampires too?” he recovered charmingly. 

“So you're sensitive…” she mocked. Her tone caused something low in his stomach to flip. He didn’t normally like to be made to feel embarrassed. He stopped himself before he could think of the time his ex-friend Eliot printed out a scantily clad picture of Victoria and gave it to him to “jizz on” later that night. He didn’t think about how he imagined her making fun of him for his small… He was a lot bigger now anyway. 

“Ouch,” he prickled slightly. “That sounds awful the way you say it.”

“No, I was impressed you had Faster, Pussycat. Kill! Kill!” Apparently, she could tell he was in need of some reassurance. And some reassurance that was. 

“Russ Meyer was a genius of black and white,” he responded coolly. Ego stroked and confidence regained, he added, “Plus, babes with breasts.”

“Who would beat your sensitive ass down.”

“If I was lucky,” he retorted, completely earnest. Then he decided he was going to get it over with. “Speaking of hip and fast, we should cruise out in my car to an actual movie this week.” 

“But you seem distracted,” he added, semi-reluctantly. Despite being able to distract her momentarily, he realized that she still held that tension from earlier. He waited patiently as she was silent for a moment.

“I need to talk to somebody… just to get it out of my system,” she admitted.

“Dr. Warren Graham is in da house. I won't even prescribe you any meds,” he joked. “Tell me everything.”

“For reals, Warren, this is between you and me, not social media.” She finally walked over to join him in leaning against the hood. He could tell she was nervous. He was getting nervous.

“Don't insult me. Max, go on,” Warren responded, putting on a serious tone. He angled his body to face her, given their new proximity. 

“You know how the fire alarm went off earlier?” Loud, quick footsteps pulled them both out of the conversation.

“Max Caulfield, right?” Nathan Prescott approached swiftly and aggressively. Warren began to internally panic as he got up in Max’s face. He was impressed by how unnerved Max appeared to be. “You're one of the Jefferson's photo groupies.” 

Nathan’s hand came up to Warren’s shoulder, mindlessly shoving him away, not bothering to even glance in his direction, as Max calmly responded, “I’m one of his students.”

“Whatthefuckever. I know you like to take pictures, especially when you're hiding out in the bathrooms,” he accused. Warren watched Nathan’s anger morph into something deeper. “You best tell me what you told the principal. Now.” Max hesitated longer than Nathan approved of. He snapped at her, “Answer me, bitch!“

“I told him the truth. A student had a gun.” Max stayed calm, though a bit of vitriol seeped into her words. A gun? The fuck?

“No, you told him I had a gun.” Nathan sounded almost offended. Warren really wished he had asked Max why she was distracted much earlier in their conversation. “That's why he dragged me into his office.” 

“And did what? Gave you a stern lecture?” Max goaded.

“Nobody...nobody lectures me. Everyone tries though... They try…” Nathan rambled. He seemed genuinely unstable to Warren. 

Max felt the same, matter-of-factly stating, “You should talk to somebody, Nathan.”

Nathan clenched his fists before snapping again, “Do not analyze me! I pay people for that.” Warren realized he should step in. Do something, anything, to protect Max from this maniac. Nathan went on, “Worry about yourself, Max Caulfield.”

“Take a step back, Nathan Prescott.” Fuck.

“Oh, man, you're telling me what to do?” Shit.

Fucking say something, Graham. Warren knew words were his only option here. “Get away from her, dude,” he said, a slight hint of panic in his otherwise steady voice. He gave a hard tap to the back of Nathan’s arm to take his attention away from Max.

Before Warren had any time to react, Nathan had turned to face him and collided his skull with Warren’s face. Warren was most surprised by how loud it was, a crunching sound echoing through his brain. His eyes screwed shut, and he fell back onto the asphalt as an intense pain rippled from the impact zone to overtake his entire being. His hands reached up to cradle his face instinctually. He was sure his nose must be broken. Or his brow bone. Or his entire face, maybe. He heard Max shout something, but couldn’t make it out with his ears ringing so loudly. 

As Nathan’s muffled voice yelled back, Warren realized he had become even less helpful to Max down on the ground, writhing in pain. He tried to open his eyes, but his vision was clouded by involuntary tears. The ringing faded, and he heard Max yelling at Nathan to stop. What’s he doing to her? 

Nathan grunted in pain as Warren steadied himself to get back up, wiping the tears that managed to fall from his eyes. He could see and hear again right when a beat-up beige pickup truck loudly whipped around the parking lot and stopped to a halt in front of Max. As Max got up, Nathan watched, gripping the side of his face where Max had apparently hurt him.

“Max?” A girl-voice that Warren didn’t recognize called from the truck.

“Chloe?” Max responded. He took his chance as everyone was distracted by the new player in the game to haul himself up. He caught a glimpse of the girl in the truck, Chloe, and recognized her and her blue hair.

Warren was pissed now. Nathan just made him feel the most pain he had ever felt in his life, and was trying to hurt Max, too. “No way. You again?” Nathan almost laughed as he stepped toward the truck. Before he could convince himself not to, Warren launched himself at Nathan, tackling him to the ground. He heard Max call his name. 

“Go, go! I got this!” he tried to assure her. He didn’t have it. Nathan got on top of Warren quickly, pinning his left shoulder to the ground. Warren wondered why the fuck he just did that as Nathan’s fist collided with his jaw and the back of his head hit the tarmac hard. Then the same fist socked him in the cheek. Then his already throbbing nose. He tried to swing back at his attacker, but his fist connected with a body rather than a face.

“Get in, Max!” He somehow was able to hear the girl in the truck yell over the sound of blood rushing in his ears. Nathan left him on the ground as he got up to go after his main target, who’d thankfully already hopped in the truck.

“Get your punk asses out of there now! Don't even try to run! Nobody messes with me! NOBODY!” Nathan yelled frantically, kicking the car door. The truck sped off, leaving the two boys behind in the parking lot. Warren shifted to a better position for defense in case Nathan wanted to come back for seconds, still fuming. 

“BOYS!” Warren’s head whipped to the school security officer running over to them. He was saved. “What is going on over here?” 

Warren willed himself to stand up, while Nathan glared down the direction the girls had gone. Warren brushed off his jeans and stared at the ground, equally angry and ashamed over the events of his first-ever fight. He was surprised he wasn’t sobbing. That would have been the cherry on top. You royally fucked that, Warren. Thank god that Chloe chick came to save Max.

“Mr. Prescott.” The security officer walked up to Nathan and gripped his arm. 

“It’s nothing, Madsen.” Nathan shook him off and stepped back, out of his reach. 

“Sure doesn’t look like nothin’.” He took in their respective injuries. “That’s quite the scratch there, son.”

“That wasn’t me!” Warren clarified immediately as Nathan reached up to his cheek, swiping the blood that was now dripping down his jawline. “I mean- I- He fucking headbutted me first. I was just defending my friend.”

“Language, boy!”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t…” He touched the back of his head and was slightly alarmed to feel something warm and wet. Had Nathan punched him so hard that he cracked his head open? He brought back his fingers and took in the sight of his own blood. It wasn't a lot, thankfully, but it had been a while since he’d last seen it. It was somehow more red than he remembered. 

“You bleeding too, kid?”

“I- uh.” He double checked, trying to find the wound with one finger this time. He hissed at the contact. It fucking hurt. Not nearly as much as the way his brain now throbbed. “Yes, sir.”

“Right, follow me.” He started off back towards the school. Neither boy moved. Warren was surprised to see Nathan’s eyes on him, analyzing. He didn’t like it, so he hastened to catch up with Madsen, who had stopped after realizing neither he nor his orders were being followed. Madsen turned back to Nathan and clarified, “The both of you. You boys need to get checked out by a nurse before I can make a report of this.”

“I’m fine, Madsen,” Nathan barked, wiping his cracked knuckles on his white button-up. The action left behind parallel red streaks that Warren’s eyes locked onto. 

“Prescott, that was an order.” Madsen took a step toward the volatile teen. “Son, you do not want to make this any harder than it needs to be. Especially after all the attention you brought on yourself earlier.”

“Lot of bacteria under fingernails. Could get pretty infected,” Warren offered, the words coming out before his brain could stop him. Nathan and Officer Madsen both looked over at him like he had two heads. He swallowed and added, “I mean, like, not that I care.”

“What’s your name, kid?”

“Warren.”

“Warren Graham?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Prescott, it would do you good if you listened to Warren here. Now, follow me,” He turned back to the school and was pleased to hear two pairs of footsteps in his wake. 

Nathan was clearly still angry, but it was nothing like the fury he was exuding when he first approached Max. It seemed more like agitation or frustration now. Still, Warren felt uneasy in his presence and ultimately regretted his smart mouth for convincing Nathan to join them on their trip to the school nurse. 

The walk was fairly silent beyond Madsen muttering under his breath about reckless teenagers and something about the military. Warren kept his eyes glued to the sidewalk, not daring to glance over at Nathan, who was now keeping up to walk almost shoulder-to-shoulder with him. 

It wasn’t until they were seated across from each other in the nurse’s office while Madsen went to look for the nurse that he realized Nathan had not stopped staring at him. He felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

“What?” Warren finally asked, feeling stupid.

“Nothing,” Nathan answered confidently. His lips curled up into a smirk as Warren shifted uncomfortably in his chair. 

“Can you stop staring at me?” Still stupid.

“Hmmm,” Nathan hummed, as if he were actually pondering Warren’s request. “How 'bout no.”

His smirking was starting to really irritate Warren, and he swore he would have made him stop if the nurse and Madsen hadn’t returned at that moment.

Notes:

someone tell me how notes work.

EDIT: no dont. i figured it out.

Chapter 2

Notes:

!!! major tw: !!!
detailed account of kate's video (dubcon/noncon) and suicide attempt

Warren tried not to gawk as Max settled in on his bed. He suddenly wished he were the type of person who made their bed every morning. Then again, his tousled sheets and comforter didn’t seem to concern Max as she nestled back into them. 

"You gonna join me, Graham?" Max asked. Her voice, sultry and smooth. He gulped and started to walk towards his bed. Max began to slowly lift her graphic tee, a pink cupcake right in the middle of her breasts. Warren kept walking towards the bed. She revealed she was wearing some sort of metal bra (?) beneath her top. He was still walking to the bed.

As she dramatically threw her shirt across the room, Nathan Prescott barged into the room. What the fuck?

"Max Caulfield? You like spying on people in the bathroom?" He asked, his voice just as sultry as Max’s had been, but rougher. He stomped over to the bed far quicker than Warren could. His thin lips were on Max’s before Warren had time to wonder how he had gotten a key to his room. Did I leave my key in the lock again? Goddamnit, Warren.

"Get off her, you dickbag!" Warren cried out, suddenly able to leap across the room with ease. He pushed Nathan off of Max, despite the satisfied noises she was beginning to make. Was she into this? She gasped as Warren straddled her assailant. Her hands flew up to grasp at her metallic boobs as she watched them. 

Before Warren had a chance to collide his fist with Nathan’s smirking face, the older boy suddenly took control. He flipped Warren over so he was pinned to the bed. Warren groaned as his attacker pressed his left shoulder down, hard, into the asphalt. He wondered why his mattress was asphalt. "What are you gonna do about it, virgin?" Nathan taunted, his fingers threading harshly through Warren's hair, forcing a moan out of him. 

Warren couldn’t stop himself. His lips moved of their own accord, driving up and smashing into Nathan’s. Nathan kissed him back roughly. Rougher than anyone had ever kissed Warren. He delighted in it. He could feel reality shifting in. He was asleep, and this was just a dream. But Nathan’s mouth felt so warm and real, and blood had already begun to rush south. He wanted more. He needed more. He broke from the kiss and begged, More. 

He willed himself to go back to sleep. 

Nathan pulled Warren’s hair back hard, slamming the back of his head into the rough, hard surface beneath them. He attached his mouth to Warren’s neck. Warren pushed his hips up, but they were met with nothing. He could see to his left that Max was now completely naked on his bed, steel undergarments discarded. And even though every part of her body appeared to be the right color, he somehow knew that she herself was entirely made of metal. 

She was lying right next there, so close, but every time Warren tried to reach out to touch her, he could barely reach her, his fingertips only just brushing the edge of her cold, hard, smooth skin. She was simultaneously moaning and giggling at him. 

Warren suddenly knew it was a dream again. He still wanted more sleep. More of whatever dream Max and, he hated to even think it, dream Nathan were giving to him. But this time, he could tell he wasn’t going to get it. All of the sensations that dream Warren was experiencing faded quickly as real Warren tossed his body to the side. 

The brush of his morning wood against the mattress truly woke him up, making him release a truly embarrassing sound. He tried to expel any thoughts of that psychopath Nathan as he shamelessly pressed himself into the mattress.

He hissed when his bruised cheek pushed into the pillow and a throbbing pain spread up to his eyes. Warren stilled. What the fuck are you doing, you freak? Who has a fucking SEX DREAM about a guy who beat the shit out of you? 

As he flipped onto his back, he tried to convince himself that he had been having a normal sex dream about Max. Or, I guess, RoboMax? That Nathan’s presence was just symbolic. It all had something to do with him barging in on Warren’s alone time with Max and ruining it. It was just his subconscious acting up because of what happened yesterday. He liked that theory. 

He threw his arm over his face to block out more light, wincing as his bruised face pressed against his arm. The darkness it provided was enough to excuse the dull pain. 

He knew he was not going to be able to get rid of the boner he was now sporting without taking care of it. So he would think about Max. He reached into his boxers and grabbed his erection.

He’d think of Max in the backseat of his car. Not at the drive-in because I’m no exhibitionist. Maybe we’re there after hours for some reason. And Max is begging me to fuck her. She’s wearing a skirt–no, can’t picture that. Just her normal jeans, and I’m unzipping them for her. It’s hard to imagine the positions one can do in the backseat of a car, so I don’t know where I am exactly, but anyway, she takes off her top and she’s not wearing a bra. And she has boobs. I grab them. God, I wish I could just grab boobs. Any boobs. If I were a girl, I would play with my boobs all day. God, I’d be such a slut if I were a girl. His grip tightened, and he tugged faster. I would fuck literally anyone who wanted me, and it’s almost guaranteed that anyone I want would want me back. Fuck, I’d get Mr. Terry fucking fired. Not that I would want him to get fired. We could be sneaky. He’d fuck me after class. Over his desk. Fuck. He’d have me beg for it. Harder, Mr. Terry. Fuck, he’d make me call him Erik. God. I would- I- Fuck.

He blindly reached for the tissues he kept on his bedside table. He felt around desperately, and he was about to have to slow the pumping of his fist when his fingers connected with the paperboard box. He quickly snatched two tissues and maneuvered them to the tip of his dick. They were very soft. He came in unison with fantasy Warren.

Warren groaned internally at his choice of fantasy scenario as he caught his breath. Horny. Loser. He chucked the balled-up wad of tissues in his hand towards the trash can aggressively. 

He shot up in celebration when it curved straight into the wastebasket, nothing but net. Warren laughed, done beating himself up for the actions of his sleep-muddled brain. Today was a cause for celebration. Not only had he woken up suddenly a baller, but Max Caulfield had agreed to go on a date with him last night. Well, he hadn’t explicitly used the word ‘date.’ But still. It was definitely a date. 

---

It was about ten o’clock when she finally called him. He skillfully closed all of the tabs of WorldStar fight videos he’d spent the last hour watching, like he was about to be caught watching porn, and picked up the phone.

“What up, Max!” Warren answered cheerfully. He leaned back in his desk chair, spinning back and forth slightly.

“Hey, Warren.”

“I’ve been waiting for your call,” he said, hoping it came across as friendly rather than creepy. To be fair, she had straight-up sworn she was going to call when he texted her a selfie of his emerging black eye.  “I wanted to rap about that action earlier.”

“Thank you for stepping in today. You were pretty badass, Warren,” Max said, sounding so genuine it hurt. “I owe you.”

“Oh, yes, you do,” he started, somewhat sarcastically and absolutely beaming. “I got knocked on my ass by that dick. I’m some personal superhero.”

“You’re a real 'Everyday Hero.’ You stood up to a bully and it was awesome.” 

Warren stood up as he soaked in her praise. “Even though you left me with said bully and ran off with that girl…” He plopped backward onto his bed, cringing at the ache in his brain as it jostled around in his skull. Thankfully, the nurse had concluded that he did not have a concussion and the bleeding he’d discovered was nothing more than a bad scrape. Head wounds just bleed more than you would expect, she’d explained. He continued, “She’s pretty punk rock. How do you know her?”

“An old friend,” Max answered. “Chloe Price? We haven’t seen each other in a while.”

“I bet you were glad to see her blast up in that truck like a rock star.” Warren chuckled. “Which begs the question–why is Nathan Prescott going psycho on you?”

“I busted him in the bathroom with a gun,” she stated. Warren had gathered at least that much from earlier. “I’ll give you the story later. Principal Wells is taking care of it now, I hope.” 

Yeah, right, Warren thought. He knew that if Nathan wasn’t already suspended or expelled, it was going to be brushed under the rug like everything else that dangerous egomaniac got away with at Blackwell. He had attacked Warren unprovoked, and that Republican doormat, Madsen, refused to even inform the principal about it. He claimed that he couldn’t just take one “delinquent’s” word over another's, as if Warren’s occasional unexcused absences were comparable to Nathan’s borderline terroristic tendencies. Bullshit.

“Weird fucking week,” Warren responded. He didn’t want to drag his feet when it came to his relationship with Max anymore. Nathan could have killed him, for crying out loud. You got this, dude, he psyched himself up before ripping off the band-aid. “If you need something to help take your mind off things, that drive-in is having a seventies 'Planet of the Apes' marathon. Let’s ‘Go Ape’!” 

He braced for rejection.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I need. I love those old-school ape films.” Warren could hear Max’s smile as she agreed to go. She agreed to go. His heart started beating again, making him realize it had stopped in the first place. 

“Well, that was easier than I thought,” he blurted out. He felt a weight lifted off his chest. “Cool. I’ll text you the info.”

“Cool,” Max responded. They sat in silence for a moment, but it was clear they were both grinning. “I should get some sleep. Goodnight, Warren.”

“Night, Max.” He was going on a date with Maxine fucking Caulfield. 

---

Warren leaped from the bed and looked at his alarm clock for the first time that morning. It had not gone off yet, meaning he had plenty of time before he needed to be on campus. His Tuesday mornings were slow-moving since his AP English class was indefinitely cancelled. He didn’t really mind it. He was retaking the class to see if he could bump his AP English test score from a four to a five. English was never his strong suit. 

In the meantime, he was extremely close to finishing his open-book chemistry exam, and he was feeling pretty good about it. He really liked Ms. Grant. He loved that she encouraged them to run actual experiments to figure out the answers to the questions they had. He didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do with his life, yet, but if he ended up teaching science, he’d definitely take a page or two from Ms. Grant’s book. 

He grabbed his toothbrush and toothpaste. As he headed down the hallway, he spotted Daniel leaving his room, probably headed to art class or something.

He looked surprised when he saw Warren, taking in the bruises on his face. Warren felt his face heat up, and he forced an embarrassed smile onto his face. 

“Warren,” Daniel said, “What happened to your face?”

“You should see the other guy,” Warren joked in response. He had always wanted to use that line. Daniel looked even more appalled. Tough crowd.

“Did you fight somebody?” 

“Uh, yeah,” Warren clammed up. He didn’t exactly want to share the story of his beatdown if he didn’t have to. “I guess I did.”

“Wow.” Daniel nodded. Warren thought he seemed a little impressed. “I have to get to class. Goodbye, Warren.” 

“See you, Daniel,” Warren called after him as he glided off down the hallway. 

Once in the bathroom, he was immensely relieved that he had run into Daniel in the hall and not Nathan. Especially after seeing himself in the mirror. The bruises were a significantly deeper purple than they had been when he went to bed. He suspected Nathan was the type to get some sick satisfaction from seeing the handywork he’d done to Warren’s face. He stared as he brushed his teeth, stopping himself from reaching up to press on them. He looked older, he thought.

Warren could hear faint music coming from the occupied shower behind him. He knew it wasn’t Nathan. After living in the dorm for a little over a year, he had a pretty good mental catalog of his dormmates’ hygiene habits. Nathan was exclusively a night showerer. 

After gagging when his toothbrush hit the back of his throat, Warren spit, rinsed, and paused to listen. The same ten seconds of “We Can’t Stop” by Miley Cyrus were looping over and over. Eventually, the mystery showerer let the song keep playing, and Warren knew what was up. He decided he should pee and leave before he found out which one of his dormmates was a perv who jacked off to ex-Disney Channel stars in the communal showers. At least pause it while I’m in here, sicko. Also, “We Can’t Stop”? When “Wrecking Ball” is right there? Literally right there. Same VEVO account, dude.

Warren exhaled as he shut himself back in his room, again able to avoid running into the Prescott Dorm’s namesake. Warren got dressed: red long-sleeve undershirt, Schroedinger’s cat blue graphic tee, his regular jeans, and sneakers. It wouldn’t be long until he needed to start throwing on a jacket before he left the dorm, but layering t-shirts would do for now. 

Warren flung himself back onto his bed, notably unmade, and pulled his laptop off the floor. He needed to check out the Newberg drive-in’s website. He’d told Max he’d text her the deets, but he had yet to figure out what that meant. 

As he settled the computer on his lap, a notification for an email caught his eye. Sent by an email address that looked like the result of keyboard smashing, he assumed it was just unmarked spam before he saw the subject line. It read, ‘KATE MARSH VID LEAKED.’ He sat up in bed, the feeling in his stomach equally uncomfortable and curious as he hesitantly opened the email. The body included only a link. He clicked it without thinking twice.

Warren prided himself on being able to handle content that would make the average person sick to their stomach. At first, he liked the slight edge it gave him and decided it was worth the price he paid. He could handle being kept up at night by disturbing images that had been seared into his brain. Sure, they sometimes made his stomach churn. And, yeah, occasionally they made his heart ache. But after years of desensitization, he was worried that he enjoyed some of the pain he witnessed. He figured there was something evolutionary about it. His ancestors probably watched their tribe members make stupid decisions, get hurt, and die. Maybe they occasionally took pleasure in the fact that the suffering they witnessed was not their own. The weak died out while the strong passed on their genes. That’s why he watched videos of people getting run over by trains or beheaded by the cartel. Evolution. Sure.

As the webpage katesvid.com loaded, Warren first wondered who the hell paid for the custom domain. His mouse hovered over the play button, and he hesitated. Kate Marsh was not the type of girl to have a leaked video. Warren liked Kate, but admittedly, she was the type of girl to shame another girl for doing the things that go on in videos that have the potential to be leaked. 

He couldn’t make sense of it. He had to watch it. He clicked play, in the last second, hoping it was nothing like the videos he most regretted encountering online. The ones he would rapidly try to click out of before his eyes could process what was going on, but his ears knew by the sound alone. The sound of a woman, struggling, crying. That was the line he had drawn for himself and had refused to cross. 

He turned the volume down to zero before hitting play. The scene screamed high school party. Dim lighting in somebody’s basement–red solo cups and beer cans on every surface. He was sure there was music playing as some people were dancing. Most of the people in the frame, many faces he recognized from campus, were sitting on couches and chairs in a kind of circle. A lot of them could pay for a custom domain. Nathan Prescott was there. Of course. His eyes, and the camera, were fixed on Kate Marsh. Shy, kind, ultra-religious Kate Marsh was sitting on a couch with two football players, good ole’ Blackwell Bigfoots, on either side of her. He recognized both of them but couldn’t place their names. Neither lived in the dorm. Kate looked slightly happy but was clearly wasted. Warren surmised that this was recorded at one of those infamous Vortex Club parties. He didn’t even bother attempting to understand the Vortex Club or how it was allowed to exist. What high school club exists primarily to throw ragers?  

The person holding the camera dropped it into their lap for a few moments before lifting it back up quickly and zooming in on the couch. The boy to Kate’s left had leaned in and was sloppily kissing her on the mouth. Everyone in the circle was entranced, cheering on the two, as Kate started to return the kiss enthusiastically. It seemed pretty clear she had never kissed anyone that way before. The other boy ran his hand up her leg, pushing up her long skirt until it hit her upper thigh. She pulled away and buried her face in her hands as she melted back into the couch cushions. Victoria Chase was sitting on the chair closest to her, her fancy shoes and expensive sweater abandoned, her smile wide and loose. She leaned in and pulled Kate’s hands away from her face and down to her lap, speaking to her reassuringly. Warren shifted uncomfortably at the interaction. Kate didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t have.

There was a sharp cut in the footage as the camera angle got closer to the action. Warren figured from the new angle that Victoria herself was now holding the camcorder and filming from her chair. The other Bigfoot now had his tongue in Kate’s mouth. It was lewd, especially this close up. They broke apart, and the guy laughed. He turned to the camera and said something that Warren couldn’t hear. Kate’s eyes stayed shut, but she smiled. The first guy turned Kate back towards him and reclaimed his spot. Warren checked. He was only at the halfway mark of the video. 

He clicked replay, letting his curiosity get the better of him, and cranked up the volume. He wasn’t thinking rationally. Kate was his friend. 

He gasped. The partygoers in the background were singing and dancing to “We Can’t Stop.” So whoever was in the shower really was a pervert. Jesus, who all has this link?

“Damn, I think she’s gonna do it,” a guy’s voice behind the camera said a moment before the shot panned up to the initial action. The voice sounded dumb enough to be Zachary Riggins, a football player who lived on his floor. He was dating Juliet, Warren knew. He hadn’t seen her in any of the footage. 

With the audio playing, it was much clearer to Warren that many people in the circle were openly making fun of Kate. While most of the chatter was too difficult to discern, voices that came from nearby the camera stood out.

“Let’s go, Kate!” One girl cheered as Kate and the first football player started making out. 

“That is so fucked up.” Someone laughed.

“Get it, slut!” Another cheer. 

“It’s almost sad to watch.” A girl whispered, clearly referencing Kate’s skills. A guy nearby laughed with her. 

“Fuck yeah, Blake! Show us those granny panties,” A guy yelled as her skirt was lifted higher and higher by Blake. Warren saw him wink at the camera, something he had missed during his first watch. He connected the name and the face. Blake Johnson was in his chemistry class. So was Kate. 

There were a few audible boos when Kate broke away from the kiss. 

Warren turned up the volume to hear Victoria as she began to speak softly, “Kate, no, babe.” Warren’s blood heated up as he watched her hold Kate’s hands so delicately. She continued, like they were the only two in the room, “Don’t be embarrassed, love. You’re doing so well. That was totally–”

When it suddenly cut to the closer shot, Warren cringed at how loud the music was from the new angle. You can make a fucking website, but you can’t be bothered to sound mix the one video on it? 

He rapidly turned the volume back down as Victoria whispered, “So hot.”

He figured he would be able to hear Kate and Blake’s tongues swirling in each other’s mouths if the music weren’t so loud. He still heard it when Kate moaned into the kiss. Evidently so did Blake; he broke away and laughed in her face before turning to the camera. “You hear that shit? She’s fucking gone.” 

Victoria giggled as the other football player latched his mouth back onto Kate. Warren wondered why anyone would post something so incriminating. It was clear as day that Kate was way too drunk to consent to those guys touching and kissing her like that, and they had just confirmed they knew that. He knew his parents were progressive, but was it really that radical to teach teenagers basic consent? And internet common sense, for that matter. 

He didn’t want to think it, but he did anyway. Even Kate Marsh is getting hammered? 

Not that he necessarily wanted to party with these people after seeing the way they treated their new recruits. He didn’t want to imagine himself in Kate’s position. He definitely did not like the idea of being passed around by popular people as they made fun of his innocence. The idea did not make his face burn or his stomach flip. He focused again as Blake started kissing Kate’s neck, realizing he hadn’t seen this half of the video yet. 

Victoria zoomed out slightly before she stood up. She started experimenting with different angles of the action. A close-up of connected lips, featuring a cameo of tongues. A medium of Kate wedged between the two athletes, highlighting how they dwarfed her in size. An extreme close-up of Blake’s frustratingly perfect teeth nipping at Kate’s pale neck. Victoria played around with the zoom and focus. Warren had to admit that, even when drunk, Victoria was good with a camera. 

During a high-angle close-up of Blake’s hand kneading Kate’s exposed thigh, he started teasing up under her skirt. Suddenly, Kate’s hand reached down to grip his wrist. Victoria noticed and quickly warned, “Too much, Bigfoot,” before slapping his hand away herself. She resumed her camerawork as Kate began kissing Blake again. 

“Want some, Mick?” Nathan’s voice broke through the music, now some song Warren didn’t recognize. He sounded like he was below the camera. When Victoria zoomed out, his hand, holding a rolled-up dollar bill, came into frame, clearly offering it to the football player whose lips were slightly bruised from his endeavors with Kate. Warren didn’t recognize him like he did Blake. Mick took the bill and leaned over to the side table. Victoria decided to frame Kate and Blake making out in the foreground, blocking Mick’s figure as he snorted something off the table. Classy.

Nathan was in frame now, watching Mick with amusement. Courtney Wagner, one of Victoria’s minions, was sitting sideways on his lap. She was watching Kate closely, clearly out of it herself. Warren couldn’t help it when his eyes shot down to Nathan’s hand, resting on Courtney’s smooth legs. That same hand that had pummelled his face over and over again yesterday. It seemed to be so gentle against her. That freaked him out. Despite their closeness, Warren decided their positioning seemed more friendly than flirty. He also decided he shouldn’t care about who Nathan Prescott may or may not be dating. He watched Nathan take the bill back from Mick and lean over to snort a line himself, almost knocking Courtney off his lap in the process.

Victoria sat back in her chair and zoomed in on Kate and Blake again. Kate was slowing down, but Blake seemed ready to keep it going. His lips trailed down her jaw to behind her ear. Kate squirmed as she leaned back into the couch, her eyes squeezed shut. She didn’t seem unhappy, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. 

“Vic, you should turn it off,” Nathan said. She did not turn it off. Blake did not stop kissing Kate’s neck. Now Nathan sounded annoyed. “Victoria.” The video ended. 

The abrupt ringing of his alarm clock knocked Warren out of whatever stupor he had fallen into. He hurriedly shut it off, wondering why he hadn’t thought to do that earlier when he had noticed that it had yet to go off. You dumbass, Graham.

He shook his head, closed the tab, and deleted the email from his computer. He felt slightly sick to his stomach, imagining Kate finding out he had watched the whole video–almost twice. He wondered if she even knew about it yet, given how drunk she was in the video. Did she black out? Is that what it’s like to black out?

He opened a new tab and forced himself to look up the Newberg Drive-In. Max would not have watched that whole video. He turned on some of his music to drown out his thoughts.

---

Once he had done some adequate research, starting with how to even get to Newberg from Arcadia Bay, he whipped out his phone to text Max.

        We are so GOING APE! 

        Does Friday work?

        Newberg is 60 miles away so we should leave around 5. I drive.

Sometimes Warren was utterly impressed with how fast Max responded to texts.

Hell yeah we will in your new ride.

Warren groaned. Out loud. He was way too into her dorky ass.

        We have to get supplies for the drive-in.

        Maybe we can have dinner first.

No response. Maybe she put down her phone and didn’t hear the notification. He sent another message, acknowledging his nerves. 

        . . .

Still no response. Too much, Bigfoot, he thought before he could stop himself. He facepalmed and didn’t feel sorry for himself when it fucking hurt. He sighed, trying to stay calm. And cool. He was in uncharted territories with a girl, and he did not want to mess it all up. He typed.

        Sorry, too much?_

That felt too sincere. He would play it off like he didn’t care. Cool guys don’t care. He erased his message.

        Or whatever._

Too cool, he thought. Okay, fine, he wanted her to know he cared a little. It was already kinda obvious that he cared. He added on some classic Warren awkward charm.

        Or whatever.

        Anyway. GO APE!

Too late!

She responded. He had nothing to worry about. He didn’t know if that was a yes or no to dinner, so he just sent her a smiley face. 

---

Warren sprinted the last couple of paces into the school building as heavy raindrops started pelting his head. I should really call Dad, he thought. 

When Warren was younger, his dad had been KBAY 7 News’ chief meteorologist, live on the air every morning and evening. His iconic intro was seared into Warren’s memory from years of watching from their living room floor. “Hey-Hey Arcadia Bay, this is Matt Graham coming to you live with the weather.” Eddie, Warren’s slightly younger brother, preferred spending his mornings playing with his toys and getting into things he wasn’t supposed to at their mother’s dismay. His baby sister, Bonnie, would point to the TV and babble. But Warren was transfixed every morning. He swore that when he grew up, he was going to become a meteorologist just like his dad. 

In recent years, Warren’s dad only showed up at the station when they needed him, mostly working behind the scenes on modeling and forecasting. He sometimes worked on newspaper articles for the Arcadia Bay Beacon. And occasionally he’d feature on 87.9 FM, The STYR!, Arcadia Bay’s community-funded radio station. Sometimes Warren would tune in and listen. He was always amazed by how his dad managed to still sound excited when he explained Oregon weather phenomena like fog tsunamis and waterspouts. It made him sad. 

Since the school year started, Warren had been visiting home every Sunday. This routine had started as organically as possible, given Sundays were when new Breaking Bad episodes came out. He’d get there around two in the afternoon, which was generous given his house was about forty-five minutes from Blackwell and he liked to sleep in. His dad would make him lunch, usually the best sandwich he’d ever tasted. Then he’d let Bonnie boss him around for a bit. Sometimes he’d work on homework with Eddie, and they’d compare curricula. They’d discovered years ago that Blackwell was not as intensive as everyone claimed it was. Eddie would tell him about his girlfriend. Warren would try not to feel jealous. He’d occasionally help his dad with cooking dinner, but normally Bonnie had that covered. They’d eat dinner and play games together. Then, when Bonnie went to bed, the boys would watch the newest episode of Breaking Bad. 

Two Sundays ago was the finale episode. It was the best episode of television Warren had ever seen. It may have been the best episode of television anyone had ever seen.

Last Sunday, Warren wanted to stay in bed all day. He texted his dad an excuse about homework. He was super understanding, as he always is. Eddie had texted him.

Bon says ur an asshole

        Quit teaching her cuss words

Don’t be an asshole

He was going to visit this Sunday. Maybe even Saturday and Sunday if he could swing it. 

He was almost to Ms. Grant’s room, walking mindlessly as he mentally planned his weekend, when he spotted her. 

Kate was standing in front of her open locker, staring into it. Staring through it, it seemed. She didn’t look her normal self. Her hair was messier, and her posture was worse. It was obvious she knew the video was going around. Warren had to be nice to her. Had to make up for watching it.  

“Kate!” he called out as he approached her. The hall was empty besides the two of them, but she did not acknowledge his greeting. She was still staring blankly ahead. He reached out to touch her shoulder, lowering his volume as he said, “Hey, Kate.”

“Don’t touch me.” She shrugged off his hand and whipped to face him. She looked terrified. She recognized Warren and calmed a bit. “Oh, sorry, Warren. I thought…”

“It’s okay, don’t apologize.” Warren pushed his hands into his pockets, hoping to further ease the tension. He felt so bad, and he didn’t know what to say. Something nice? Helpful? What is there to say? I watched that awful video of you and I feel awful for doing it and, oh right, are you okay?  Instead, he blurted out, “I was just going to ask if you’ve finished the exam.”

Wrong choice. She looked like she was about to cry. “I- I completely forgot about it.”

“Do you want to work on it together?” he asked. Maybe he could help take something off her plate. “That’s what I’m going to do right now.” He pointed towards Ms. Grant’s room.

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, before the next period.” He checked his watch; they had about twenty minutes.

“I don’t think I have time, Warren,” she lamented. She was starting to panic, “I wish I could. But I need to- I need to go talk- I-”

“That’s okay!” he cut her off with his enthusiastic but understanding tone, copied directly from his father. It really seemed like she was about to start crying. He wanted to comfort her, touch her, but he thought it best to keep his hands to himself. He continued, “I can get the answers to you if you need.”

“Like… cheating?” Warren noticed how tightly her arms were wrapped around herself. 

Warren wasn’t one for cheating. This was different, though. He explained, “I mean, hopefully I’ll get the answers right, and if we were working together, we definitely would have gotten the answers right. So no harm, no foul?”

He watched her mull it over in her brain before she exhaled. “Thank you, Warren.” He could have jumped in joy as he saw the hint of a smile sweep across her face.

Their attention was drawn to Ms. Grant’s door as two guys joined them in the hallway, laughing about something.

Warren stilled when he saw Blake Johnson and his friend from chem walking in their direction. Blake seemed to notice Kate’s presence at the same time. His smile dropped. He looked surprised. Maybe embarrassed. Whatever it was, he seemingly wanted to walk past without making a big deal of it. 

His buddy, whose name Warren could not remember for the life of him, noticed Kate too and lit up. He turned to Blake and made a face, saying not-so-quietly, “On camera, bro, really?”

Blake faked a laugh and gut-punched him, a little harder than what could be considered play-fighting. Regardless, this lightened the mood, and they were laughing again. Warren watched as they disappeared around the corner. He suddenly realized Kate was watching him, confused. 

He was confused about why she was confused. Wouldn’t seeing Blake be mortifying? Unless… He tried not to show it on his face when he realized she had not seen the video. She had no idea who the guys she kissed were. No idea that Blake Johnson from their chemistry class had put his hand up her skirt and his tongue down her throat and his teeth on her neck. Warren coughed before he asked if she wanted to at least sit with him in Ms. Grant’s classroom while he did his experiment. 

Kate explained again that she didn’t have time. She seemed suspicious of him now. I shouldn’t tell her. Should I? Someone should. She cut off his thoughts, “Good luck, Warren.”

He snapped out of it as she started walking off, “Thanks, you too. Or- I mean, not you too. But I promise I’ll get you those answers!”

As he entered Ms. Grant’s room, he realized he needed to focus if he was going to get the experiment done in time.

“Morning, Ms. Grant!”

“Good morning, Warren.” She made a face as she looked up at him and took in the bruises on his face. He kept forgetting they were there. She didn’t say anything else. 

Near the back of the class, he spied Brooke, doing some work of her own. Her head had popped up as she heard his voice.

He dropped his bag off at his lab bench and beelined for her.

“Hi, Brooke,” he said. His mind fleeting back to their last exchange, where she had completely ghosted him over text.

“Hi, Warren,” she pushed her glasses up her nose. “What the hell happened to your face?”

“You should see the other guy.” 

Brooke laughed and narrowed her eyes at him, “Yeah, right.”

“Yeah, I got my ass beat, one may say. But you know what would make it all better?” He knew his game plan immediately. Brooke was one of his closest friends. She had been since he was a little freshman and she was a sophomore and they worked tech on the school plays together. They had bonded over their mutual love for sci-fi movies and video games and their mutual hatred of Victoria Chase. Warren had to stop Brooke from dropping a spotlight on Victoria’s head after she started the rumor about him beating off backstage. Brooke might have done it if Warren hadn’t pleaded with her so nicely. He was the only person who could get away with pestering Brooke the way he did. She could be pretty cruel to people sometimes, but never to Warren. He launched straight into the begging, “Please, please, please let me fly your drone. Like I said, I will do anything you ask of me.”

Brooke exhaled and threw her head back, “No.”

“Why not?” Warren whined. He didn’t really have time for this. He pulled out his phone to check the time. Sure, he had a watch, and sure, the classroom had several clocks, but sometimes a guy just wants to whip out his phone.

“Because. I said no. It’s my drone,” she started. Warren swiped up to his messages, spotaneoulsy deciding to text Max. 

        Hey gurrl!

He sent her a scientist cat meme.

        I’m in the Sci-Fi lab.

        Now. 

        I’m no Schrodinger’s Kitty.

“Are you even listening to me, Warren?” He looked up to Brooke, who looked even more frustrated than before.

“I’m sorry,” he pouted. “I’m just texting your new best friend, Max. Seeing if she’ll tell me the secret to your cold, cold heart.”

“She’s not my best friend,” she argued, turning her focus back to the papers in front of her.

Warren held his hands up in defeat, “Whatever you say.”

“I say: she’s not my best friend,” she said.

Warren started gathering the items he needed for his experiment from the back of the classroom: a couple of beakers, a flask, Ms. Grant’s pre-mixed chemical solution, and various powders and liquids. He checked his phone. Max had texted him back.

^^ See you soon.

He smiled. As he set up the experiment on his lab bench, he called over his shoulder to Brooke, “Wanna play some WOW tonight?”

“Of course I wanna play some WOW tonight.” 

As soon as Warren pulled out his exam paper and read the prompt, he realized that the experiment might be more difficult than he had estimated. Think, big brain, think. 

As he answered the pre-lab questions, he decided he had to be overthinking things. He was smart. Most people in his class were not that smart. Blake Johnson and his friend Chris, he remembered his name, were dumb as rocks. And Ms. Grant was a fair teacher. This can’t be that hard.

He decided that he needed to add either potassium chloride powder or sodium chloride powder to Ms. Grant’s solution. He just could not figure out which would yield the right result and which would blow up in his face. Literally. Yes, I am a scientist. Fuck.

He heard footsteps walk up behind him, grateful for an excuse to stop staring at the beakers in front of him as if they were holding out on the answer.

“Hey, Warren.” He looked up at her. His future date. She looked a little more tired than usual. Just as cute, though. “Are you okay? You look thoughtful, yet confused.”

“Maxwell Silver Hammer!” He’d been sitting on that one. His dad loved The Beatles. “Perfect timing! I need help with this chemical experiment.”

“Asking me for help means you're screwed.” She smiled. She had nice teeth.

“I have to add either a bit of potassium or sodium,” he explained, attempting to drop his smile to appear more serious as he teed her up, “It’s up to you to decide, Dr. Max.”

“Hmm.” She tapped her mouth as she thought on it, struggling to appear serious herself. “Would it be alright if Dr. Max consulted with her colleagues before giving a definitive answer?”

“Of course! Peer-reviewed material is a must in the field of science.” She nodded before walking right over to Ms. Grant’s desk and striking up a conversation. Max was so good at talking to everyone. Warren watched her, but looked away as Ms. Grant’s eyes flicked over to him. He doodled some faces on the back of his exam as he waited. 

He was trying to draw one of his emoticons flicking the bird, and was failing miserably, when Max walked back over to him, standing closer than before.

“Wrong, Warren, you need to add chlorine, not potassium or sodium,” she said, almost whispering. 

“Chlorine? I didn’t think of that,” he admitted in an equally low tone. “Can’t argue with a confident scientist. Let’s try it.”

As he measured out some chlorine into a beaker, his heart thrummed at how close Max was standing. If he spread his legs even the slightest, his knee would surely brush against her thigh. He was going to test it, but she stepped back, giving the experiment some space. Maybe not the most confident scientist then.

He shot her a comical grimace before dumping in the chlorine and observing. It instantly turned the exact shade of pink he was searching for. 

“Eureka! She’s got it!” He held up the solution and beamed at her. She was smiling back.

“No, you got it,” Max rebuttled. 

“Don’t be so modest, Dr. Caulfield,” he flirted.

They both turned as Brooke spoke, voice dripping with harsh sarcasm, “Oh, you guys really broke the bounds of science…”

Warren chuckled as Max shot him a look that read, ‘yikes.’ Ms. Grant was looking up at all three of them now, and Max took that as her cue to leave. She exchanged waves with Warren before dipping out of the classroom.

When Ms. Grant looked back at the papers on her desk, Warren whipped around to make a face at Brooke, but she refused to look up from her phone, engrossed in some intense game, apparently.

Warren wrote down his findings and scribbled a conclusion, making sure to include the details of his initial confusion and the explanation for how his first guesses were wrong. He then procured a second paper to copy his work for Kate. He shoved that back into his bag before getting up to turn in his exam. 

“Here you go, Ms. Grant.” He set the paper on her desk, and she immediately whipped it up. Her eyes scanned the bottom, reading the work he had just done.

“Alright,” she said, putting the paper in a stack on her desk.

“Alright?” he asked. Was he going to get in trouble for double-cheating? 

“Alright,” she smiled. “I’ll see you this afternoon, Warren.”

He was screwed. He left the classroom feeling anxious. He checked his phone. His statistics class with Mr. Terry would be starting soon. He thought back to the morning. How he came while imagining his sweet, innocent math teacher boning him in the classroom. Well, not exactly him. Him if he were a girl. Because Mr. Terry wasn’t gay. Not that Warren was gay. He was too into women to be gay. He was just horny. 

Warren remembered that class was going to be review for the test on Thursday, which he was not worried about in the slightest. Mr. Terry wouldn’t miss him if he skipped. And he wouldn’t have to imagine himself bending over his desk. A win-win. 

He opted to walk over to Max’s photography class before the bell rang and the new period started. He could tell her about Ms. Grant’s strange response to him turning in his test. Maybe he could check in on Kate, as well. Mr. Jefferson was standing outside the door to his classroom on the phone. It was a very tense phone call, Warren gathered. But then again, everything about that man was tense and pretentious. Borderline lifeless, if Warren could speak freely. He did not see what everyone else saw in the famous teacher. Max talked about him like he turned water into wine in their class every day. Maybe Warren just didn’t get photography like they did.  

Upon entering the class, Warren saw no sign of Max. Or Kate, for that matter. Odd.

At the front of the class, Stella was deeply analyzing some of the photographs that were pinned to the board. On one side of the room, Hayden Jones and Taylor Christensen were both snapping pictures of Dana Ward, who was posing up a storm. Warren liked Hayden and Dana, though he wasn’t close to either of them. Taylor, on the other hand, was one of Victoria’s drones. He was pretty sure all three of them were in the Vortex Club, however. Near the back of the class, Victoria and Nathan were propped up on a desk together, whispering and laughing like there wasn’t a care in the world. It was Max’s desk, if Warren remembered correctly. He’d visited her a few times before class. 

He froze as Nathan’s eyes locked onto him. That goddamn smirk was back. It was like Nathan had forgotten Warren existed until seeing him. And his stupid bruises. He leaned over to whisper something in Victoria’s ear, keeping his gaze on Warren.

Warren refused to feed into it. Whatever sick game Nathan was playing. He turned away, facing Alysaa, who was sitting at her desk by the windows. She had a book open, but she wasn’t reading it. She wasn’t even looking at it. She just stared outside, a concerned look on his face. 

Alyssa was one of Kate’s closest friends. Warren thought back to his conversation with Kate. He remembered seeing Blake and realizing that Kate had no idea. Alyssa was someone who could share important details about the video with Kate and not come across like a total freak. Warren decided, Fuck it. He would want to know.

“Hey, Alyssa.” He took a step toward her as he said it.

“Hi, Warren,” she responded, still staring out the window. “I don’t know where Max is.”

“I wasn’t–” he started. She turned to face him, a look on her face that said she didn’t believe him. “C’mon, Alyssa, we’re friends. Can’t I just want to talk to you?”

“Fine,” she gestured for him to take a seat. “Talk.”

“I saw Kate earlier and her eyes were puffy from crying,” he began. 

“Yeah. She’s not doing well.” She was very matter-of-fact.

“I didn’t know what to say, and then…” Warren hesitated. 

“What?” Alyssa asked. She stared at him as he tried to find the right thing to say. “Warren?”

He forced himself to spit it out, “Kate hasn’t seen the video, has she?”

Alyssa frowned. “No. She says she can’t.”

He nodded. Paused. Then, “Have you?”

“Gross, Warren, no.” She crossed her arms, a look of disgust on her face. 

“I just–” Warren wasn’t the bad guy. He wanted to help. He wanted to expose the real bad guys. He didn’t want Kate to get any more hurt. He wanted the people who hurt her to hurt. He heard Victoria’s evil laugh ring out behind him. His heart pounded. He stared at the ground. “Someone should tell her who she…who was kissing her.”

“So you’ve watched it?” she asked, calm, but angry. He didn’t want to look at her, but he forced himself. She was glaring, waiting for his response. 

“Alyssa, I–” 

“I don’t want to hear it right now, Warren.” She closed her book, not bothering to pretend anymore, and stared back outside. The bell rang and people began to bustle around. Under her breath, Alyssa muttered, “God, all men are the same.”

Mr. Jefferson entered, announcing to the room, “Okay, I know you love me, but if you're not in this class, beat it. Everybody else, please sit down.” 

“If I were in her place, I would want to know,” He offered as a last-minute plea. “Maybe I’ll see you later?” Warren stood up, feeling like absolute shit. Alyssa did not acknowledge him. He turned to leave as Jefferson started to lecture.

He didn’t notice until he was in the hallway that Nathan was right on his tail. 

“Nice bruises, Graham,” he goaded. “Victoria says the color really makes your eyes pop.”

He should have let it go. Should have brushed it off and kept walking. When Nathan overtook and looked back at him, he shouldn't have looked him dead in the eye and spat out, “Fuck you, Prescott.”

Nathan shoved him hard. He stumbled and his back slammed into the nearest lockers. He didn’t have time to recover. Nathan was on him in a second, pinning him back against the metal surface. “The fuck did you say to me, you little bitch?”

Fuck. Warren’s heart hammered in his chest. Nathan could probably feel it where his forearm pressed him back. Their faces were mere inches apart. Warren tried to lean his head back as far as possible, but there was nowhere to go. Despite the scowl on his face, it was clear that Nathan was relishing in Warren’s discomfort. 

“Huh? Say it again, pussy,” Nathan’s voice was lower and more intense. Maybe if Nathan punched him, Warren would feel less bad about the whole Kate thing. If Nathan busted his lip or broke his nose, he might start bleeding, which could redirect the blood that he was desperately trying to stop from flowing to his dick. His dick that was currently smashed up against Nathan’s hip. 

“You heard me, asshole.” He was asking for it. “Fuck you.”

Nathan’s dark laugh was cut off by the sound of sneakers bounding down the hallway. They turned to watch as Zach poked his head into Jefferson’s classroom and yelled, “Yo, some crazy shit is going down at the dorm. Check it!”

Nathan pulled back slightly from Warren. As Zach reemerged, he called out to him, “What the fuck are you on, Zach?”

“Not on shit, Nate. It’s that chick from the party. She fucking lost it.” He turned back the way he came and jogged, most of Jefferson’s class following suit. 

Kate, Warren realized. He pushed Nathan off of him harshly, sending him stumbling into the crowd of people rushing down the hallway. Students were spilling out of every classroom, eager to see what all the fuss was about. 

Warren ran. Whatever Zach was referring to did not sound good. He shoved past people. Outside, it was raining heavily now. He focused on not slipping as he barrelled towards the dorm. 

His stomach dropped when he saw her. 

Kate was standing on the roof of Prescott Dormitory, peering over the ledge to the ground below. Only a few people were watching her, but more and more were filling in the space by the minute.

Warren’s ears slowly filled with ringing until he couldn’t hear the chatter of his classmates around him. Not even those yelling to Kate. Telling her to come down. Not to do it. Not to jump.

Warren completely froze when she took a step up. She was on the ledge now. One step away from death. He didn’t know it could get this bad. He couldn’t believe it. He jumped when he felt someone grab his arm. 

Alyssa was now standing next to him. She was looking up at Kate like her world was about to end. Her hands trembled against him, and panicked tears were already spilling down her cheeks. He pulled her in, wrapping his arm around her. She buried her face in his shoulder. 

He looked up at Kate again. She was staring down at where she would land if she did it. She was psyching herself up. She was about to kill herself, and they were all going to watch. Warren couldn’t breathe. 

His hearing had started to come back when he heard someone yell, “Who is that up there?” 

Kate had turned around and was seemingly talking to someone else on the roof. From the ground, nobody could see who it was.  

“Poor Kate,” Brooke had found them and was standing on the other side of Alyssa. She grabbed Alyssa’s free hand and squeezed. “That fucking viral video.”

“I cannot believe this, Brooke,” Alyssa spoke. Her voice was strained and quiet. She hiccupped as she tried to catch her breath. Warren held her tighter. For her sake and his own.

His eyes stayed fixed on Kate. He couldn’t look away. He was scared that if he looked away for even a second, her body would start hurtling down to the ground. She was still talking to whoever was on the roof with her. She took a step back, coming closer to the edge, and several people screamed.

He should have been surprised when he heard someone shout, “Is that Max Caulfield?”

He wasn’t. His heart pounded. If anyone could talk down Kate, it was Max. If anyone was going to somehow be there to talk down Kate, it was Max. It was always Max.

“We love you, Kate!” Another person yelled. 

“Don’t! Come down! Get down!”

“Bitch flipped out!” A guy yelled out. 

Warren felt sick as he was reminded of the cheers and jeers from the video. The video that had pushed her up there on that ledge. It had made her want to die. He shuddered.

Suddenly, Kate was no longer on the ledge. A few people cheered. Many sighed in relief. Alyssa let out a sob as Brooke told her what had happened, “She’s coming down.”

Alyssa pulled Brooke and Warren in for a group hug, and Warren felt a few tears finally slip. He had never felt more relieved in his life. He had never felt such a heavy weight come and go so quickly. He felt exhausted as he let himself sink into his friends. Alyssa was sniffling when she asked, “What the fuck is wrong with everyone at this school?”

Warren let himself laugh. He could laugh. It was okay to laugh.

Notes:

i've figured out the notes!- i was confused because i forgot to mark this as a multi-chapter fic. we learn.
thank you for all of your comments!!