So like, there's a disturbing lack of Life is Strange fanfiction. as of yet, and the "Maximum Victory" fanart from various other artists on tumblr has me feeling needy. This is my attempt to write my OWN piece, but it will probably be a flop. If y'actually care I'll continue it. Suggestions and constructive criticism are also a plus.

I don't own any of the content except the writing itself. I'd be much richer if I did.

Victoria Chase hated Max Caulfield.

As soon as Max had walked into Mr. Jefferson's class, bumbling about and acting all cute and innocent, Victoria knew that they'd be enemies. She wasn't "friendly" with anyone at this school, not really. She wasn't there to make friends, especially with second-rate hipsters like the new kid. No, she was prepared to start her rise to fame, and she wasn't about to let anyone stand in her way. That being said, her inherent dislike for the Blackwell population hadn't been personal before. Sure, Nathan Prescott was a complete tool, and she was sick of Kate Marsh sticking Jesus pamphlets in her face (especially not when his portrait was in that angle, good god). Victoria preferred her so-called peers slightly anonymous. They were easier to climb on top of that way.

The strategy had been working fine until Max. Victoria hadn't planned on feeling like she was punched in the gut whenever Max showed her dumb face. She hadn't planned on the burning sensation crawling up the back of her neck. Everytime she answered a question in class, Victoria could barely control the urge to pull her into the hall, pin her against the wall and kis- kick her ass. But Victoria was a lady, and she had standards. So instead she settled with making Max Caulfield's life a living hell. It never satisfied her, Victoria had noted with frusteration. Not flirting with Mark Jefferson to get under Max's skin, not hissing snide remarks and they bumped shoulders in the halls. If anything, Victoria began running into the Selfie-ho of Blackwell more and more often. She always manage to find the brunette with the gangly boy - Warren, she found, after a bit of snooping - when walking through the parking lot, or with the blue-haired delinquent Chloe Price, who, she noted with disgust, made it a habit to wait for Max outside of the dorms. She didn't even go to Blackwell anymore. What gave her the right?

Needless to say, the last two months had been nothing but irritating for Victoria. Sometimes, when she wasn't thinking about Max Caulfield, she would think about how much easier it would have been if that freak storm had hit Arcadia Bay back in the beginning of the year. It would have been simple to just let the wind take her away, to a land where people respected her talents and made her homemade chocolate biscuits-

"Victoria! You seem to be paying excellent attention, so maybe you have the answer?" Victoria jolted up in her seat, her "friends" snickering to her left. Standing in front of her table was Mr. Jefferson, arms crossed, one smug eyebrow raised. Son of a bitch.

"O-of course, that would be ..." Her eyes quickly glanced to her posse, but grimaced when she was met with blank faces. She looked at the board, but it gave her no clues. A cough sounded behind her, then another, and if Victoria hadn't been so acutely aware of the fact that it was Max coughing in her airspace, she wouldn't have noticed the muffled "Weston" in between fits of choking.

"That would be Edward Weston, one of the most influential American photographers of his time and-"

"Yes yes, of course." The teacher cut her off. "I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. Finally, someone who knows their stuff." Jefferson walked back to the board, causing Victoria to let out an inaudible sigh of relief. "Now, Weston's career was stopped short when he was diagnosed with Parkinson's disease, but ..."

She turned to glare at Max, expecting to see her looking triumphant. Instead, Victoria was disappointed to find Max's eyes on the board rather than her. Disappointed at the opportunity to take her down a peg, obviously! She would have been able to solve it with or without the hipster's help. Victoria shook her head as the bell rung, followed by the sound of shuffling papers and chairs scraping the floor. She watched as Max packed up her things, briefly chatting with Kate Marsh about something or another, before speaking up.

"Don't go getting a big head, has-been. I didn't need your charity." Max blinked in surprise before looking down at her feet.

"Y-yeah ... it's just." She shuffled anxiously, and Victoria folded her arms. "It's just you've been really out of it lately, and I didn't want Jefferson to get on your case."

Victoria didn't allow herself to wonder how Max knew she was acting differently, nor why she cared, and instead chose to pick up her bag and begin moving towards the door.

"Well, thanks. But we're not friends, so mind your own business."

"Yeah, whatever." Max mumbled, following behind. "But I don't need to be your friend to be worried."

She felt that familiar blush crawl its way up the back of her neck and settle on her cheeks, stomping through the crowd of teenagers and away from that stupid little girl with her stupid, puppy-dog eyes, blue eyes that she could just drown in-

"God, I hate Max Caulfield."

And she convinced herself that that was the case.