Chapter eleven: Questions

A R G E N T

"And that's how you get the limit!" I finish off, scribbling an arrow that connected the question to the final answer. Dashing through the heap of books lying around, I hastily skimmed to check the memo if my answer was right, giddy with anticipation.

Not a lot of things excited me, but getting an answer right in math? That was a whole new addiction.

"Yes!" I do a small whoop when I was done checking, my eyes lifting to find Max staring at me with a curious look.

"You're such a nerd," she teases, the corner of her mouth kicking up into a smirk.

I shut the book. "Am not."

"Are too. Your eyes pop when you get an answer right. Did you know that?" She makes a flicker motion with her hand. "It goes all bright, like a hazel fire."

I give her a slitted look, the tips of my ears burning. She'd been exceptionally quiet during our session today, but now that I was done with the section on limits and continuity, Max seemed to have livened up. Maybe it was the maths troubling her, but I suspected it was something more.

Max looked ... troubled.

"Are you okay?" I ask as we pack up our books.

She frowns at me, her dark eyebrows dipping intimidatingly. "I'm fine. Why?"

I raise my hands in surrender, taking in her sudden defensive behaviour. "Just asking. You seem lost in thought."

"It's nothing," Max brushes it off and quickly shoves the rest of her books into her bag, more forcefully this time.

I cross my arms, leaning against the chair behind me. "Look, I know we aren't the ... closest but hey, if you need to talk, I'm available."

Max searches my face, her eyes roving over me as if waiting to detect a lie. A crack in a facade. Except, I'm not putting on an act – I truly meant what I said. If Max wants to talk, I'm willing to listen. She's not someone who'll complain in a hurry or burden others with her problems and as selfless as that is, she also needs someone to rant to.

"Thank you, Argent," she relents at last.

I nod, opening the door and letting her through first. Outside, I'm greeted with a downpour torrent of rain, water droplets pelting the tar-like bullets, splattering into dark stains. Thunder rumbles the grey skies; clouds smash together in lightning-struck collisions.

There's a flash to my right. But it's not from the storm.

Max puts her camera down. "It was a good shot."

"You do photography?" I ask, genuinely surprised.

She shrugs. "It's just a hobby."

"Can I see?" My question is tentative, I don't know how private she is with the photographs she takes.

Her pale cheekbones turn slightly pink. "Okay."

Hesitantly, she hands it over, her long black nails brushing the skin of my wrist in cool strokes. We don't make eye contact, the entire exchange to new, too fragile for either of us to recognise the other. I'm holding my breath until there's a sharp tug in my lungs, reminding me to breathe.

I peer at the photo Max had taken, the screen unblurring into focus as I zoom out. To my surprise, I find a picture of me. Max captured me so perfectly; it makes me look better than I actually am. It's a still image -- my head is tilted back, eyes closed slightly as the rain pelts on my jacket. The stormy sky sets as a gorgeous backdrop, shadows cast at all the right angles.

"Wow," I say, impressed. My voice rising above the rain. "This is... this is really good."

Max's slate-grey eyes light up like the sky around us. "You think so?"

I nod earnestly, handing her back her camera. "It's brilliant. Have you ever entered any contest?"

"Not really, no."

"Well, you should, this is amazing," I smile. "Your work deserves to be recognised."

Max ducks her head, crimson climbing up her neck peeking out from her hooded blue jacket. Black locks fall across her face, and I'm surprised to find her ... flustered? Max is embarrassed by her art. I don't know why though – her photography is amazing.

"Well, I've got to get going," she isn't subtle in changing the topic, but I let it slide.

I nod, peering off into the parking lot. A sheet of rain clouds my vision as another strike of lightning flashes. "No motorbike today?"

"Didn't suit the weather," she gives me a knowing look.

I scratch the back of my neck. "Right, of course."

"And you? Waiting for your sister?" She asks and there's something unreadable in the tone of her voice.

"Yeah," I drawl out slowly, fishing my phone out of my pocket. "But Rouge is running late."

I see a message flash across my screen. Will come in half an hour. Running late. Of course, my twin sister is full of shit. I should have known.

"What's wrong?"

"My sister, that's what," I grunt, stuffing my phone away. I plaster an impassive look on my face. "Well, I'll see you when I see you."

Max frowns. "What? Where you're going?"

"Back inside," I gesture around. "The rain is heavy and I'm gonna catch a cold out here."

I turn to go back inside but Max's hesitantly voice tops me, cutting through the storm's wrath like a blade.

"I can give you a ride."

I turn my head over my shoulder, shocked as Max is by her offer. She doesn't take it back. I don't say a word. We just stare at each other, unspeakable words passing between us as the storm wails louder, the wind howling, forcing us to make a choice.

Max shrugs it off. "You know, if you want."

I swallow hard. "Sure"

***

The car is silent as he glides along the slippery wet road. I can gear the distinct pitter-patter thrum of rain against the window, see droplets sliding across the glass in translucent splatters. The cold black leather interior of Max's BMW surrounds me feels like I've stepped into a Sci-fi universe. Blue lights glow from the dashboard, except for the bright red curve that represents the aircon on heat.

A soft sounded song hums from the speakers, something slow and melancholic, perfectly suited for the weather. I recognise the music – some old song from the eighties – and one I enjoy very much myself. Rouge always shut me funny looks When I'd plug my playlist into the car's radio, but knowing how similar Max's music taste is to my own, hits differently.

"Do you wanna plug in something?" Max doesn't look away from the road as she speaks, her fingers numbly shifting gears. "To the radio. You can choose a song."

"Nah, I like what you have," I say.

"You're sure?" She gives me a quick, knowing look. "You've been staring at the radio for the past five minutes."

"It's cool Max, honestly. I like your music."

This seems to satisfy her, and she nods. "So when do you usually get a chance to drive?"

I slouch back with a long sigh, dropping with my posture. "I try not to as often as I can. I despise driving."

She actually gasps. "No way! How could you?"

"What?" I frown at her. "Driving sucks. Just look at this weather."

"Yeah well, it isn't always raining like this."

"No, but the fact remains, driving is the absolute worst."

"Why?" She asks me, as if there's no answer to the question. As if driving was some amazing thing.

I hated it. Truly I did.

Now that doesn't say much because I hate most things, but I hate driving especially so.

"The clutch, the gears," I say. "I hate all of it."

"Then do automatic," She says simply.

"No, it makes no difference."

"Why? Cause guys have to drive stick?" Max rolls her eyes. "That thinking is so outdated and you know it."

"That's not it," I counter quickly. "It's just ... I can't really explain it. The concentration, the worry of crashing into someone else and running their lives. Maybe it's the anxiety and stress or the sitting still part."

Max nods. "Okay. I see what you mean. But you have to have confidence in your own abilities. If you believe you can then you will."

" Optimistic," a grin slides on my lips. "Very unlike you."

She shrugs good-naturedly, leaning forward to make a turn. "For me, driving is freedom. I love the speed, the thrill of it. It's electrifying."

"I guess that's me and soccer then."

"You enjoy soccer that much?"

"More than anything else in the world."

"You said like my brother," Max comments, shaking her head.

"Luke?" I vouch. I remember Luke Ryder clearly from last year – the fiercest captain our school has ever seen, holding together the best team we've had in decades. Luke Ryder left a legacy, one I'm somehow responsible for holding up.

It's kinda funny how fate works.

"Yeah," she says. "He came back yesterday and do you know what's the first thing he did when he stepped into his apartment?"

"Switched on the TV to catch the United vs City highlights?"

Max gives me a quick, dry look. "Yes. That's exactly what he did. See what I mean?"

"I don't blame him; it was a good game."

A small chuckle of disbelief escapes her lips, and we lapse into a comfortable silence. I drum my fingers on my jeans and Max quietly hums to the radio's tunes, in sync with the steady flow of rain. My phone lights up with a call from Rouge and I slide it to a decline without a second thought. My sister can poke her nose into my business all she wants, but I won't make it easy for her.

"You said this turn, right?" Max asks. Her phone's Google Maps lost signal with the storm and so I'd been giving directions every once in a while.

"Yup, then the circle to the left."

The houses of my street pop into view, the neighbourhood of similar brick faces and pastel paint. Dark-coloured ropes, slick with water, glistening garage doors – and at the end of the road – my house with its large front yard and soccer net. My heart drops a little on seeing the sleek red sports car parked outside on the driveway, glittering with rain. Despite a heavy downpour, a lone figure plays ball outside, dressed in a windbreaker and shorts.

Only Tori.

Max eases the car to a still. She turns and looks at me with an expectant raise of her brow.

"I didn't say this was my house."

She lifts a shoulder. "I'll take a wild guess."

"What gave it away?"

"The soccer nets."

I tug my bag on my shoulder, before pulling up my hood. "Well, in any case, you're right."

She only gives me a smile, watching me with her sharp grey eyes as I exit her car.

"Goodbye Argent"

"Have a good one Max," I say and then brace myself for the incoming storm.