Chapter Text
Max squirmed uncomfortably in the principal's office. To the left of her stood Mr. Jefferson, to the right, Mrs. Grant, and sitting across from her was Wells.
It was the first of November, school had only been in session for two months. What could she have possibly done to be called into the principal's office? Aside from breaking into the pool to swim with Chloe, and flying Brooke's drone through one of the windows, and getting caught out passed curfew, like, five times…
“Miss Caulfield,” Wells begins, his voice deep and slightly condescending, “We have had some concerns about your behavior. You've been here for two months, and you've already caused discourse amongst some of the other students.”
“How have I-”
“Please, Max, let me finish,” Wells interrupts her. Max frowns deeply, crossing her arms and leaning back into the chair. “In just two months, your GPA has gone from a 3.4 to a 1.7. The students say. you're nosy, as do your teachers.” Max glares at Jefferson, knowing he was the traitorous teacher, “You've broken a window, been caught out passed curfew twice,” Right, Wells was drunk three of the times he caught me, Max remembers, “and you've been hanging out with a former student by the name of Chloe Price.”
“Okay,” Max says, “I guess I'll try to work on… not doing all that?”
The teachers exchange uncomfortable looks amongst themselves. They look like parents that have to tell their kid that their dog got hit by a truck.
“You don't need to do that,” Principal Wells says, folding his hands on his desk, “Unfortunately, all of these issues-- these poor choice you've made, have made it very clear that there is only one solution. We have decided that you are losing your scholarship to Blackwell Academy.”
“What?” Max nearly screeches, “No way! Principal Wells, please! I have to stay at Blackwell, it's been my dream to go to school here! I've learned so much, and being one of Jefferson's students is going to look so good on my college resume!”
“Sorry Max, but you should've taken your studies more seriously.” Wells says, unapologetically, “Sadly, without the scholarship, there is no way for you to pay your tuition, meaning you can no longer attend Blackwell.”
“My parents-”
“Cannot afford to pay your tuition.” Wells interrupts, “I already spoke to them, and they understand that we cannot afford to have you here, we've sent the discharge papers, and they came back signed. You were a scholarship student, Max. You had to make yourself into a model student. But you threw it all away in favor of debauchery.”
Max feels her eyes begin to burn and water. She hated crying in front of people, especially adults, but she couldn't help it right now. She was Batmax, watching her dreams get mercilessly shot down in front of her in the dark alley that is the principal's office.
“Please, isn't there anything I can do?” Max protests.
Wells looks at Mrs. Grant, who looks like she just wants to hug Max, and then at Jefferson, who looks slightly relieved that nosy Max will no longer be a problem for him.
“Unfortunately, unless you can get a job, there isn't anything you can do.” Wells sounds genuinely sympathetic towards Max's plight.
Max stands up and places her hands on Well's mahogany desk, forcefully. “Then I'll do it! I'll get a job and pay for my tuition myself!”
Principal Wells shakes his head, “Max, even if you got a job, how would that fix your behavior problems? It's not just about the money.”
That's a load of bullshit, Max thinks.
“I know, but it'll prove how determined I am to be here,” She says, “Besides, if I'm working and going to school, I won't have the time, or energy, to be a 'problem child'.” She makes air-quotes when she uses the term. Being a problem child meant they didn't want to put in the effort to deal with you.
“No,” Principal Wells agrees, “But we can't have you being tired, because you're working to pay off your tuition on our conscious. Besides, do you know how much tuition is?”
“No,” Max admits.
“$20,000.” Wells says, and Max feels like he's just performed a 64-hit combo on her stomach, “You think you can pay that?”
“Not all at once,” Max says, a little dejectedly, “B-but I am an adult now, and I can work, and pay some money each month. We can come up with a payment plan, can't we? Please, Principal Wells.”
Principal Wells looks at the pleading girl across from him and groans internally. He knew he shouldn't have taken this job. He can't say no to a sad kid.
“Alright, Miss Caulfield. Why don't you come back around six? I'll have the school's lawyer draw up a contract that will benefit both the school and you. Is that agreeable?”
“Yes! Absolutely!” Max says, “Thank you so much, Principal Wells.”
She grabs her bag from off the floor and leaves hurriedly. She casts a warm smile at Mrs. Grant who returns her smile. She then turns to glare at Jefferson, who rolls his eyes and looks away.
He takes some amazing shots, for a fucking dickhead, Max thinks, shutting the principal's door behind her.
Max signs the contract in front of her, prints her name, and writes the date. She pretty much just skimmed it. There was no reason for her to read it, honestly. She would still sign it if it said, “I, Maxine Caulfield, agree to sell my soul to the dark lord Satan, as long as it keeps me in Blackwell Academy”.
The stuffs her copy of the contract into her bag. She had one week to find a job, or else she was going to be shipped back to Seattle.
Chloe nearly pisses herself laughing when Max recounts what happened in the principal's office. She kicks her legs, her boots roughly knocking against the top of the table.
Max crosses her arms, sinking into the booth. It was embarrassing enough, and she didn't need Chloe's guffawing making her feel worse.
Joyce walks over to their booth, carrying Max's bacon and egg omelet and Chloe's pancakes. “Now, what's got you laughing like the ass you are, Chloe?” She asks.
“Chloe, no-” Max begs, but her protests go unheard.
“Max has to get a job, or she's kicked out of Blackwell.” Chloe smirks, “Looks like I've rubbed off on you, after all.”
“Oh, Chloe that's awful. You don't need to be laughing at that.” Joyce says, shaking her head, “You know, Max, we could always use a helpin' hand here.”
Max perks up, “Really?”
“Of course,” Joy says, “Of course, the pay isn't that great, if you're just starting out. Plus, you have to deal with the same assholes every morning. And the hours-”
“You know, Mom. Maybe Max should work here as a backup plan?” Chloe says, saving Max from the awkward “Thanks, but no thanks” scenario.
“I understand,” Joyce says, smiling at Max, making sure she understood that there were no hard feelings, “You girls enjoy your food now, ya hear?”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“Thank you, Joyce.”
“You know,” Chloe says, chewing and talking at the same time, much to Max's annoyance, “I bet we could find you a job by the end of the day.”
“You think?” Max asks, not nearly as confident as Chloe.
“Yeah, definitely. I mean, it's not gonna be ideal or anything. But, fuck, Max. A job is a job. If I had hella cash, I'd give it to you in a heartbeat.”
“Really?”
“Probably not.” Chloe grins, “If I had that kinda money, my ass would be halfway to L.A. right now. But we'll find you a job. Even if that means you gotta deal with Frank and dickshit Prescott.”
“I'd rather go back to Seattle than get into business with Frank and Nathan.” Max grumbles.
“Of course you'd rather abandon me again, than stay here by any means necessary.” Chloe rolls her eyes, “Just like you did five years ago. Just like Rachel.”
Max sighs, not wanting to get into it with Chloe right now. “Can you not, Chloe? I don't really have much of a choice. Let's find me a job after we grub, okay?”
Chloe nods, shoving most of a pancake into her mouth. Max shakes her head, taking her time to enjoy and actually taste her food. Chloe ends up finishing her food before Max is even halfway through with hers, so she talks Max's ears off about some punk band she likes that she used to see with Rachel all the time, and how they released a new album today.
“Hey, maybe you could work at the record store I go to?” Chloe suggests.
Max gives her a look that says are-you-fucking-serious and gestures to her clothes. A pair of jeans, a pink shirt, and her gray hoodie. She did not look the part of a punk record store employee. She neatly stacks her plate on top of Chloe's. They say goodbye to Joyce, before loading up in Chloe's beige truck.
“Let's hit some stores up and get you some applications,” Chloe says, “You'll usually hear back from the hiring manager within a day or two.”
Max agrees and they spend pretty much the entire day going to every store in town getting applications. It's kind of daunting, turning in an application with the “Experience and Skills” section blank. By sundown, she had completed 20 applications. Her wrist was cramped from writing pretty much just her name and contact information all day.
“Alright, Max, let's celebrate by smoking a bowl, yeah?” Chloe asks, grinning. She was much more optimistic about all this than Max was, for some reason. Maybe Chloe thought if Max found a job here, she wouldn't leave her like Rachel did.
“I don't smoke weed,” Max says, flatly, reminding Chloe for the millionth time, “Besides, what if I need to do a drug test? I'd fail so hard.”
“Whatever, more for me.” Chloe says, “We'll make a quick stop at Frank's, pick up some weed, and I'll drop you back off at Black well. Sound good?”
“Yeah, whatever.” Max says, resting her elbow on the door of the truck, resting her cheek against her fist. She was disheartened by the day. There was no way she would find a job here.
Chloe drives to Frank's trailer, parked by the beach. Max opts to stay in the car, while Chloe runs out to grab her weed. Frank and Chloe talk for a little bit, and by the way Chloe's eyes fall, Max can tell they're talking about Rachel Amber. Chloe heads back to her truck, and immediately starts packing a bowl.
“Fuck, Chloe. You can't wait til I'm gone?” Max grumbles.
“Sorry Max,” Chloe says, “But you know how I get. I just… I start thinking about her and it weighs on me. I can't help it. I pretend like I know she's coming back, but… Fuck, Max. Just let me hit this once and I'll take you home.”
Max rolls her eyes, crossing her arms, and looking out the window. She rolls it down with the crank, so she could have fresh air. She hated the way weed smelled.
Chloe hits her pipe a couple times, before ashing it out, and pocketing it. She buckles herself and heads towards Blackwell. It was a Saturday night, and pretty much all the students were legally adults, so they didn't really enforce the curfew. Not that it was late or anything.
“Let me know if anyone calls you, okay?” Chloe says, “We'll find you something, Mad Max.”
Max gives Chloe a half-smile. “I will. Text me later, okay?”
“For sure. Later, Max.” Chloe smiles, waving goodbye as she drives off Blackwell's campus.
Max has just changed into her pajamas when there is a knock on her door. She doesn't want to answer it. She knew that everyone at Blackwell knew that she had a week until she was kicked out.
Max opens the door and is greeted by Dana Ward. Max breathes a sigh of relief. Of all the people at Blackwell, Dana was one of her favorites. They had become sort of close a few weeks ago, when Dana confided in Max about her pregnancy.
“Hey Dana,” Max says, “What's up?”
“Can I come in?” Dana asks, looking around. Dana was part of the Vortex Club, but she didn't generally seem to care about talking to people outside of the club. Why she was acting like she was now, confused Max, but she invites her in anyways.
Dana takes a seat on Max's bed, Max sits on her couch across from her.
“Max, I heard about your scholarship,” Dana begins, “And I think I might be able to help you.”
“What do you mean?” Max asks, kind of worried about where this conversation was going to go.
“Okay, so, you know how I told you how I… I went to the clinic to have my procedure done?” Dana asks, and Max nods, “Well, I had to pay for everything, out of pocket. I couldn't use my parent's insurance, cause then they'd know. I needed $400, fast. And I know it's not 20 grand, but I made it in less than a week.”
“Doing what?” Max asks, knowing that this was not going to be a job she would want to do.
Dana purses her lips, trying to decide whether or not this was a good idea. “I was a phone sex operator.”
“Phone sex? Dana, I--”
“I know, Max. But hear me out,” Dana cuts her off, “I know it's kind of crazy. But it's good money, and the guys on the phone don't know who you are. You're not actually having sex with these guys, and most of the time, you're just moaning while they get themselves off.”
Max frowns, “Dana, I just don't know how good I'd be at that job.”
“Max, give it a chance,” Dana pleads, “I just don't want you to go. You're one of the few not shitty people at Blackwell, and it'd be a shame if you left over something as stupid as money. And, if you need some practice, I'll help you out. Come on. Let's do it.”
“Dana--”
Dana shakes her head and pulls her phone out her pocket, urging Max to do the same. Max sighs, and grabs her phone. Dana makes a ringing sound with her tongue.
“Hello?” Max pretends to answer, unenthusiastically.
“No, no, answer like this,” Dana says. She clears her throat and says, “Hello?” In a sexy, sultry voice that there is no way Max can emulate.
“Hello?” Max tries her hardest and Dana nods, pleased.
“What's your name?” Dana asks, making her voice as deep and manly as possible.
“M-Max.”
“No, no, don't give out your real name, you dork. Give them a fake name. Mine was Sandy, like in Grease. Cause she was a cheerleader.”
Max looks around, looking for something to inspire her fake name. She looks down at her shirt. Jane Doe? No, that's too creepy and obvious. What about… “My name is Victoria.” She says in her faux-sexy voice.
Dana's breaks character to laugh. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Yes, that is perfect! You got the name and the voice, now it's time for the good stuff. Now...” She clears her throat to use her guy voice again, “What are you wearing, Victoria?”
“Uh… A shirt and some jeans...”
Dana rolls her eyes, “Max Caulfield, you are hopeless. No, not what you're actually wearing. What you think he wants you to be wearing. Go.”
“Oh, um,” Max's face flushes, “I-I'm wearing a pink, lacy bra and pink panties.”
“Mmm, that's so hot, Victoria,” Dana says in her guy voice, “What would we be doing if I was there with you?”
Max squeezes her eyes shut. She wanted this to be done and over with. She didn't know the first thing about sex, at least not real sex. She had watched porn before, and she masturbated sometimes. But she knew Dana wouldn't let her go until they had finished their practice session. Fuck you, Dana, and your good intentions.
“I-I would straddle you and lower myself onto your dick and ride you hard, until you came inside of me.” Max bursts in one breath, her face was the deepest shade of red imaginable. She actually felt dizzy.
Dana nods, impressed, before making a weird choking sounds, which is, Max supposed, the sound a guy makes when he cums. “Very good, Max. I'm impressed. You had a rough start, but with a little practice, you could really do this. Anyways, I already sent your information to the phone sex company I worked with. It's a local company called Arcadia Baes.”
“Oh god. Really?” Max asks, repulsed by the name.
“I know, I know.” Dana says, “But they pay well. I hope you get it. Let me know how it goes, okay? And come by my room if you ever need to practice.” She says the last part with a wink, before giving Max an awkward hug, and leaving.
Max lays on her bed and covers her face with her arms. She couldn't believe what had just happened. It was like a scene out of the world's most boring lesbian porn.
And it was all for nothing, cause there was no way Max would take the job as a phone sex operator. Although Dana did say she made $400 in a week-- less than a week. That would be $16,000 if Max was as good as Dana, which was highly unlikely, but still.
No, wait! What was she thinking?
Ugh. No way. She'd make it by working at the local grocery store or The Two Whales if she had to… If she even got hired there.
She feels her phone vibrate in her pocket and she pulls it out and checks the caller ID. Area code 541… That's local…
“Hello?”
“Good Evening,” An overly polite woman's voice says from the other side, “Sorry for calling so late. May I speak to Maxine Caulfield?”
Max had to bite her tongue to keep from correcting her, “Yeah, this is her.”
“Good Morning. I'm from Arcadia Baes, I am responding to an inquiry you made about employment. Is this correct?”
Max gulped. Could she do this? Could she be a phone sex operator if it meant being able to pursue her dream?
Hell yeah.
“Yes, that's correct.”
“Wonderful. Now, I just have a few questions to ask you,” the woman says, “Are you over the age of eighteen?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you able to do accents?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Are you willing to indulge our clients in their sexual fantasies that may be considered socially taboo, such as--” The woman lists off various fetishes and kinks, and Max can feel the back of her neck begin to sweat. But, fuck, she really fucking needed this money.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“And are you willing to talk on your personal cell phone? Our clients call us, and we redirect them to your phone.”
“That's fine.”
“Great. Now, I hope you don't mind, but I do need you to audition, with me. Is that okay?”
Max scrunches up her face, walking over to her door and locking it. She didn't want anyone to walk in on this. “I'm ready.”
“Okay, here we go,” The woman says, clearing her throat, “Hello? What's your name? What are you wearing?”
Max clears her throat, donning her best sexy voice, “My name is Victoria, and I'm wearing a lacy pink bra and pretty, pink panties...”
Max checks the time on her phone; 8:57 and her phone is at 98% power.
Her heart was pounding so hard against her chest, she felt like she was going to have a heart attack. Her first call was coming in at 9:00, and she was hella nervous.
At least she didn't have to look sexy or anything in real life. After simulating phone sex with Dana, she realized it couldn't be more embarrassing doing it over the phone with a stranger. And after her audition, it wasn't nearly as bad as she thought.
Maybe, just maybe, this could work, Max thinks.
As an added bonus, instead of “Arcadia Baes”showing up on the proof of employment, it will say “Arcadia Bay Telephonic Communications”. So, there wouldn't be any shame when she handed it in to Principal Wells.
Her phone rings, effectively jerking her out of her thoughts. She checks it and it's her first “client” at 9:00 sharp. She takes a deep breath to steady her nerves.
“Hello?” She answer, impressed by her sexy voice. Good start, Caulfield.
“Hi,” says a familiar voice on the other end, “What's your name?”
Max's stomach drops. Oh, God. She expected guys she didn't personally know to call, or lonely men, or anyone else. But the voice on the phone was none other than Nathan Prescott, Blackwell's designated rich kid asshole. What if he recognized Max's voice? That would be social suicide. Then again, he is the one calling a sex line…
“Maxine,” She says. She pauses for a second, screaming at herself internally. Oh shit, oh fuck, oh God, please don't let him recognize me. Please, please, please.
“Mmmm, I like that name. Maxine,” Nathan purrs,
Holy shit. Max says, he likes that name. Her name. She licks her lips, and steadies her nerves.
“So, uh, what are you wearing?”