"We always long for the forbidden things and desire what is denied us." Francois Rabelais

Chapter Five: Venture

A R G E N T

"Pink or yellow?" Charlie asks, adjusting the mirror of her car.

I stare at the traffic lights, waiting for them to change colour. My best friend the memory of Dory from Finding Nemo and I know she'll forget to go when the lights turn green, too caught up in her own little bubbly bubble.

Bubbly bubble. Surely, I was losing it.

"None," I answer her question, scrunching up my nose at her putrid colour scheme choices. Why couldn't she be more neutral? Like black and white and grey. Add in a dash of blue and red. "I hate all of those."

Charlie rolls her eyes. "C'mon Arge, choose one."

"Green."

"Huh?"

"The lights," I gesture. "Turned green."

" Oh!" She blushes, putting her foot down on it.

I sigh. What did I tell ya?

After two more rounds of colour-coded questions, we finally arrived at my drop-off point. Charlie doesn't ask me anything incriminating when she parks at the library. She knows I love reading new books and that I'm probably just borrowing or returning. She doesn't know, however, what I'm doing there today. I feel only slightly guilty as I watch my best friend drive away before turning to face my misery.

The stairwell looms in front of me and a foreboding feeling creeps up my neck for no good reason. Sighing to myself, I begin my venture ascent to a curse of eternal doom, a lifetime of pain and torture – so maybe that's a tiny bit of a stretch, a bit too dramatic.

Okay, very dramatic.

The musty smell of worn-out books and old paper welcomes me with open arms, inviting me into a multitude of fictional worlds, the entry into limitless doors of fantasy and adventure for me to choose from. The librarian, an old black lady gives me a small wave when I enter the library and instantly, I'm at ease. This is my natural habitat.

Ms Timbers is one of the few people who actually like me, and I mutually feel the same way. It's an introverted problem, I guess. People assume being shy and being an invert are the same – it's not. The former is just afraid of talking or socialising with strangers. We introverts, on the other hand, we hate people.

"How are you today, Arge?" Ms Timbers smiles at me warmly, busy stapling a stack of printed paper.

"I'm good and you?" I lean my elbows against the wooden table. "How's Larry?"

"I'm well," she says, aligning the papers together. "He just came back from the vet. No sign of any rabies."

I nod, recalling her golden retriever pup needed to get injected. If cute were personified it would be Ms Timber's adorable little pet dog.

"That's good," I skim the cluttered table of returned books and scattered papers. Picking up a worn vinyl of A Tale of Two Cities, I look over the back cover, reading this version of the blurb. "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times."

Ms Timbers follows my line of vision. "Ah yes. Our good man Charles. Here to borrow the book again?"

I shake my head, pushing myself off the desk. "No, actually I'm here to tor this girl at math."

Max and I had agreed to come on Saturday to study but we had a quiz on Friday and so I agreed to give her some pointers the day before.

"At a library?" Ms Timbers raises an eyebrow.

I shrug. "You haven't happened to see a slightly emo chic come by?"

"Well ..." Ms Timbers trails off, looking past the rows and rows of books. "I did see a girl wearing all black. She went straight to the back. Very quiet, very, um..."

"Distant?" I supply.

The librarian gives me a scolding look. "Be nice, Argent."

I scoff, already making my way over. "I'm always nice."

My sudden proclamation causes the guy reading at a table to glare at me. I take in his horn-rimmed glasses and shabby appearance – ah great, one of those belittling nerds – and I peel him a cool glower. Instantly he's head is buried back in the book like a cowardly ostrich and I'm smirking as I pass him.

To my surprise, it is Max sitting in the back, her lone, slender frame bent over a book on the table before her. Dark hair falls to her shoulders, shielding her face and her leather jacket is draped on the chair. Her chin is propped on her raised arm, pale skin on display, her hands covered by fingerless gloves. I don't think I've ever seen Max in school without her jacket on. Even in summer.

"Hey," I say, pulling up a chair in front of her.

Max looks up, eyes raking over me. "Hey, you're early."

My mouth touches at the inception of a smile. "I could say the same about you."

Max shrugs, straightening and closing the book before her. I catch the cover quickly – it's some anthology of poems. She's into English lit, I presume or she's working on some schoolwork. I don't ask.

"Just doing some light reading," Max lifts one shoulder, putting the book in her satchel that's thrown haphazardly on the side of the table. "Should we get started?"

I check my watch; we have ten minutes before three. "It's still early if you wanna finish your reading."

"Nah, I'm good," she waves it off, her fingers clasping on the desk. "All right, teach, what are we learning?"

"Do you know which sections are coming out in the quiz?" I ask. I knew the answer. I wanted to know if she was paying attention.

"Mathews mentioned something about basics?" Max supplies. "I think it's just a pre-quiz to see how much we know."

I give her an approving nod. That's exactly what our teacher told us when he explained that this quiz would be a mark of how well our understanding of Algebra 2 is. For me that's easy, I took advanced math classes, and this was a breeze. Max, however, had the whole foundation to cover. I pull out my math books and some stationery and she does the same.

"You're not one of those girls who uses neon pens are you?" I ask, remembering how much Charlie and Rouge both love using pastel highlighters and post-it to make notes. The thought of so much colour makes me shudder.

Max frowns. "No, I use a black pen and a pencil, why? Do I need some other stationery?"

"No," I blow out a breath in relief. "No that's great. We can get started perfectly then."

She shoots me a weird look and I pretend I don't notice as I start writing.

"Okay," I start. "I'm gonna write out some problems and see which ones you can answer. From there I'll be able to deduct what you know and what we have to work on, okay?"

"Sounds good," Max cracks her neck. "Bring it on Mr Rays."

***

"I got it!" Max exclaims, tossing her pencil aside. "I did it!"

I pick up the pencil from the floor, before looking over at her work. An impressed look crosses my face and I look up at her with a smile. Max's grey eyes shine with a glimmer I've never seen before, sparkling like the silver edge of a dagger. I spin her page around, checking her answers.

"Wow," I grin. "Well done. This is all correct."

She offers me a fist bump. "Thanks to you Argent. Why couldn't I get this right at school?" I shrug. "It all depends on the approach. Our teachers follow the book method, unaware that not everybody learns the same way. But when students help each other, we get each other and so we're able to do more."

Max pushes me by the shoulder, but it's playful. "Alright teach. It was a rhetorical question but whatever."

I give her a look of deadpan. "Uh-huh. We should pack up, it's getting late."

Quietly, the two of us close up our books and make our way out of the library. It was near closing time anyway and we wouldn't have gotten much done. I check in at the desk and Ms Timbers gives me a knowing smile. I roll my eyes in response. Old ladies assume girls and guys only hang out if they like each other. Well, given that Max and I are only tut partners, we're nothing more. Not even friends.

I open the door, letting Max out before following through. She ducks her head, amazed at my act of chivalry. She doesn't know my mum work kill me if I didn't do things like a gentleman. Outside, the sun is setting on the horizon, painting the sky in hues of fence orange and deep reds, almost like a splatter of blood.

"Oh my god," Max gasps, shoving her things in my hand. "Hold this for a sec."

She starts unzipping her bag and I watch her with raised eyebrows as she hastily digs out a camera. I barely have time to register as she checks the lens before snapping seem pictures of the sunset. Totally lost in her own world, Max focuses the camera, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her head tilting from side to side like a professional photographer.

"Sorry," she apologises, taking her things back. "I just – I got some cool pictures."

"It's okay," I chuckle softly. "I can see that."

Max tucks a strand of black hair behind her ear and drops her camera in her bag. She's about to say something when the familiar red of Rouge's car comes barrelling into the carpark, coughing up fuel and dust as she spins in a semi-circle. Ugh. Rouge had to make a statement, wherever she was. And since our parents gave her leeway to use the car – I put to pick me that is – she's enjoying every minute of the ride.

Tomorrow morning she'll be crying.

"Damn, what was that?" Max coughs, as the car slowly parks in front of us.

"My sister," I groan, reaching for the door handle. "I'll see you around Max."

She raises her hand in greeting, turning to her own vehicle. Just as I open the door, she calls out. "When is our next lesson?"

"So eager to learn?" I jest, leaning against the open door.

I know she's rolling her eyes at me, despite wearing a helmet. "Yeah yeah. The faster we get this done, the better."

"Saturday's fine?"

"If it's in the afternoon."

I give her a faint smile, knowing she thought of our first conversation. "Of course."

"I'll be there."

I nod and she waves, spending off into the sunset, her motorbike roaring.

"Was that ... Max Ryder?" Rouge questions me, once we've hit the road.

"Yeah," I reposed vaguely.

She looks at me in surprise. "You're tutoring her?"

"I am."

"Um, okay," She bites her lip and I exhale slowly.

"Say what you want to say Rouge."

Or forever hold your fucking peace.

"I don't have anything to say," she lifts her shoulders elegantly. "It's just that, you know the rumours about her. She's friends with the wrong crowd."

"Oh yeah?" I give her an incredulous look. She's one to talk! The jocks sitting at your table are only interested in banging chics and going to underage drinking parties. How on earth is that any better than the rumours that surround Max and her group of so-called rebels?

Rouge twists her lips into a scowl. "All I'm saying is to be careful, you don't want to get involved with her."

"Yeah," I mutter, more to myself as I drop my head back against the seat. I could go on arguing with Rouge, but I hold back. She'll never get it – and she always wins.

"Does Charlie know?" My sister asks.

"No," I reply instantly. "You know she hates them as much as you do."

"I don't, don't hate them per se," Rouge digresses but we both know that's not true. "It's not Charlie's fault they're so terrible."

Yeah, real terrible. I could see how ruthless Max was when she listened to me teach her. Or when she got her answers right and her slate grey eyes lit up. I twist my head towards the window, staring out at the darkened sky and my thoughts fly back to Max taking a photo of the sunset. How passionate she was about photography.

There's more to Max Ryder than what she lets on. What people think about her.