Disclaimer: I LOVE Life is Strange, but it isn't mine.

xx

"Welcome my Lovelies!"

Mrs. Davies' class. My most interesting class led by my favorite teacher in Blackwell Academy. Before jumping on my scholarship opportunity and flinging myself back to Arcadia Bay for the Photography program I would've swore to my core I couldn't possibly grow to love the art more deeply than the level of devotion I had for it already. But that first day Mrs. Davies strolled into the room and into my life twirling her trusty magic tripod and sang the most beautiful songs of shutter speeds and lenses and I fell in love all over again. The woman zipped like an endless battery. Never calm never quiet and always buzzing with something to say. And although I'm generally a relaxed person every day in her class is always better than the last. I thought her jumping around would wear out quick, but it's my third month and her quirky magnetism still gripped me.

"Come dearies sit, sit! Oh we've got so much to discuss today!" Mrs. Davies cheered, clapping with excitement and even her clap sounded thrilled.

I grabbed my seat at the back of the class, sighing as I sunk in. I loved Mrs. Davies and if I had the courage to I'd be front and center right up at the board to catch her every unpredictable word like rainwater, but Victoria's little group practiced paper basketball in their spare time-aka, Max target ball-and none of them exactly made the team. I don't pull off much as it is, and scrunched up class notes don't compliment my sensitive complexion. Besides, Mrs. Davies got swingy when excited and my coordination is as high as Warren's beer limit on a wild night. And we never have any.

Catch these hands Max, as I throw them in photographic glee over the history of portraiture.

No Mrs. Davies, regretfully I am biologically unable to indulge you. My shame, is a great one.

Black eyes don't do well for my complexion either.

"As you all know, today is the beginning of our newest chapter. One of my favorites!" she said as she approached the board. Her wild red curls bounced behind her through the bright green head scarf that fit like a crown around her head. She wrote something on the board without struggle. Not like the first several weeks she'd frazzled up and down the wall flapping away the photos she'd hung onto it to get room to write. They devoured the whiteboard like confetti. Like an explosion of gunk and glitter, only they were photos. Photos that were shockingly sophisticated considering the woman in the lavender bellbottoms and neon pink poncho was the one who took them.

Mrs. Davies always shoved them all back into place at the end of class despite having another one right after ours. It was half way through the second month before we convinced her to just stick the photos on the walls. But now the whole room wore color, and comfortingly enough, there were whacky photos sprinkled around in there too. My favorite was the banana skinny dipping in peanut butter. I prefered those over the ones oozing in professionalism. Mrs. Davies did brilliant work, but any trace of sanity from her disconcerted me.

"Mood, Lighting, and Angles."

Mrs. Davies ran a ragged line under the words before pushing her thick black round rim glasses up her nose. I ruffled for my notebook as she scrawled out some more things, and Victoria deflated a scoff one table over. She rolled her eyes, scowling as she tapped her boot against the desk leg.

"This freakshow is supposed to be the head Photography professor in a school as prestigious as Blackwell Academy?" she muttered. "What the hell is this world going to..."

"Three key elements of capturing the most dimensional of photographs. Subtle in their own rights, but so profound in their impact. And so closely reliant on the whole that one cannot live without the other. We'll start with Mood: what is mood you ask? Good question." with a great beam Mrs. Davies threw an arm at Daniel.

"You sweetums, if I asked to take a photo of you right here what would be your first move?"

"Uh," Daniel stuttered, fidgeting with his glasses.

"Ah! Brilliant!" Mrs. Davies applauded, shaking him by the shoulders because Principal Wells requested she stop kissing us on the cheek after his visit two weeks ago. We didn't mind it, least I didn't, but apparently it was considered unprofessional. If feeling like a warm jar of bubbles exploded in your heart was unprofessional then professionalism can go take a cold frigid hike. I liked Mrs. Davies congratulation kisses.

"Absolutely brilliant, Daniel: insecurity, confusion, awkwardness. The perfect emotion to convey int0 a photograph. A perfect canvas on which mood can come alive."

"Uh, I was reacting to the question, Mrs. Davies. I hadn't gotten around to answering."

"Yes but what richer answer is there for photography but reaction? In every aspect of life, the richest moments worth recording, in whatever medium, is pure raw emotion. Is it not?"

"I suppose."

"If you had the choice to pose, what would you have done?"

Daniel scratched the back of his head with pudgy fingers. Charcoal stained the tips black and I frowned a little. Art was his passion, not photography. That's where he belonged.

"I guess I would choose to smile."

Disapproval burbled over Mrs. Davies' exuberant face until it was the only thing left. She clicked her tongue, pressing her glasses back up her nose as she walked a full circle around his desk at the very front, and returned to her desk by the board.

"See but now raw emotion has been dissolved and dispersed. Made murky by an artificial, unnatural smile." Mrs. Davies said, plastic sounding as she took up something from her table.

"Mood requires vulnerability." she said, straightening up. "Honesty from the subject, be it human or animal or object. Unless captured in genuine expression, a smile," Mrs. Davies lifted her lips up into an excessive, creepy beam with her fingertips. "Is a lie. And in order to begin the setting of mood we must first, establish openness and truth with the subject-hit the dirt, Mavis!"

The room jumped as Mrs. Davies rocketed her arm into a throw. My heart exploded in my chest as I took shelter behind my arms. The others yelped and as my heart palpitated something splunked against my head with a tiny splat, it left a cool spot of wetness behind before rolling onto my desk. Some seconds lingered before I dared to lift my head, and when I did, the others did the same. My throat beat to the rhythm of my heart as I scanned my table for the object. My stomach dropped when I did.

"Now, the honest seconds of emotion surrounding the throwing of that grape is the purity we're looking for." Mrs. Davies stated, she sifted a napkin through her digits before running them through her disheveled halo of hair to catch it out of her eyes. Her glasses hung off the side of her nose now but she only rested her hands on her hips and gave us a pleased nod. "We can use this memory as a reference to take us back to that place of honesty. With it in hand, the approach to taking photos will be different and the result of such change can be enhanced by lighting and angles. Why is authenticity emphasized in regards to mood?"

"Because mood dissipates when too much intention takes over the subject.." Evan answered, straightening up in his chair and slicking his hair. "It's why animals or landscape are easiest to capture without obscuring mood. Because humans are prone to acting not like themselves."

Mrs. Davies held out a finger gun and winked. "Precisely, my dear. Although when appropriately and honestly exuded, the human subject is capable of the most beautiful expressions, be it heartache, rage, fear, love. The loving gaze of a mother for her child, the sun that shines out of her in that moment: that is honest expression. Or the hatred of a man for the betrayal of his wife, wounded eyes sharpened with stone while the edges are tinged with pain he hates her, because he loved her. The glee overtaking a friendly face that recognizes your approach. Even the fear of a volatile flying grape, these moments of inherent honesty are expressed every day, all of them absent and visceral in nature. But stick a lens in front of you!" Mrs. Davies jolted again and our whole class dove for the ground. When we recovered, her camera was pointed at us. "Usually, that honesty is lost in a veil. These are the key element to the pure capture of mood for both the subject and the photographer. Once we've learned to utilize that, magic is captured in time."

"With mood as a base, life is preserved. But mood is conceptual. Doesn't start nor stop at angles or lighting. Mood exists in the spirit of the photo, whether that be the subject or the photographer or both. Only life can breed life, as they say."

I doubted I ever heard anyone say that. But what she said made sense. Then again anything Mrs. Davies said could make sense. It could've been her delivery-which was psycho whacky crazy-but everything she said always seemed to have a point. Like anything can make sense to a crazy person. Or maybe their flexible minds could just see around more things.

"Now, we're going to go over some examples of deeply mood saturated photos. The presence will be evident, the trick now will be to learn to convey it in your own photos. Mavis, if you could help me find my powerpoint remote."

I slunk out of my chair and retrieved said remote from the skeleton man stood up in the back corner. I tugged his jaw down and the remote slid from his teeth into my waiting hands.

She usually lost it otherwise.

"Ah! Thank you Mavis!"

"Yo Max!" Warren hooted, waving his arms as he jogged up to my table. The wind blew his hair in every direction, combing through mine and making the trees rustle around me. I waved him over and tossed my camera bag aside to free the bench for him.

I noticed the grass dancing too, singing a softer song than the trees as Warren's worn tennis shoes whispered through it.

"Hey Warren." I greeted, happy to see him and whipping a hair behind my ear so it would stop flying around. I liked the wind, felt like it enveloped me, combing me like it combed the grass and carrying any thought away with it as it went. The wind always kept me clear minded.

"Maximus! How'd Mrs. Davies class go? I heard she cannoned you with a paintball."

I rolled my eyes. "You should know by now not to believe everything that floats around out here. It was a grape, and it served educational purpose."

Warren howled in laughter. "With Mrs. Davies everything serves educational purpose. Her whacky mind could come up with any way to make a crazy point."

I nicked his shoulder, light enough not to hurt but I still scowled. "Tread lightly Warren Graham, your extensive study of horror and action films won't prepare you for bad mouthing my favorite teacher."

"Hey, who's badmouthing? Mrs. Davies' the best kind of whacky. I'd wanna take a whirl in her mind more than once that's for sure."

"It's probably full of colors." I grinned. "Colors and brilliance."

"So what'd she talk about today?"

"We're learning about mood now. Among others, but I wanna take them one thing at a time. I don't really understand it. She went on about honesty and authenticity. How are you supposed to convey that in a picture?"

"Well, you're always droning on," he ignored my punch but a grin lit his lips after. "About how certain pictures make you feel. The colors and shading of certain things like light colors and dark colors make a big impact on a picture."

"Yea but she hadn't even touched on the lighting yet. It's part of the lesson but I feel like mood is something that stands on its own, before the rest."

"Lighting's important to mood too, though." Warren pointed out.

I scanned over my notes again, barreling through the scribble with aggressive expectancy. Like I willed the words to make sense to me. "Mrs. Davies did mention they couldn't live without the other. So I guess its its own thing, but also not."

"Ooh. A philosophical lesson, like the chicken or the egg."

I rolled my eyes again, pushing him another time. "No, Warren, I don't think so.. Who knows."

"Mrs. Davies."

"Mrs. Davies knows all."

I shoved through my door like a lanky lumberjack. Dropping my book bag and my photo-bag by the nightstand and collapsing on the floor. Because a shower waited for me after I regained the strength anyway, and because outdoor clothes on my indoor couch made me cringe and shudder. No public bacteria on my home stuff please. Swim class was the possible culprit of my exhaustion, I typically had more energy to spare at the end of the day. Especially seeing we only had four classes. First period through third one day, fourth through sixth the next, and so forth. My fourth class, Photography, the school counselor and I arranged to have everyday. Everyone had the choice of one everyday class, I chose mine without question. The wind probably had something to do with it too, I loved it, but it blew strong today and overtime it cooled me to the bone.

I laid there for a while, staring up at the smooth white ceiling and noting the flawlessness. Blackwell didn't play any games. Top notch school, top notch ceilings. Nice. I could put some photos up there if my wall got too impacted, but that might be overkill. I had a beautiful wall, too much of a good thing could turn sour real quick. I'd have to think of a new idea.

I took an arm under my head and needles exploded in my elbow, "Agh, fudgeknuckles!" I growled, hugging it to my chest and glaring at the nightstand. I stirred and the wooden leg of my bed brushed against my shin. "The floor might not have been my best idea."

Among the armrest of my couch, the side of my bed and my nightstand, the lantern lights I hung over my bed played a part of coloring my spotless white ceiling with peripheral. I paused, contemplating before reaching up and rummaging for my camera.

I held the viewfinder to my eye. "Angles." the cold plastic body pressed against my lips as I snapped the picture. My camera wasn't cold, thank waffles. I plucked the film out and waved it and thought back to Mrs. Davies class.

Something wasn't registering. Everything she covered floated above my head, elusive, nothing solid, nothing anchored. Angles and lighting weren't unfamiliar. Slightest changes that left the largest impacts. Universes conveyed through the subtle things. But mood, I don't know. Mood I didn't quite understand. I'd rack my brain about it again, but it was probably another reason why my body wouldn't move. Plus I felt a headache coming on.

I scanned the film for a minute, two minutes. Did this have mood? Of course it did. Every photo had mood, just some more stifled than others. Like a hidden feeling, or perfume that faded away. I knew of mood before the class. Pretty certain everyone did, but the way Mrs. Davies went over it, brought a new light I hadn't heard of until now.

Dark colors, foggy skies. Greys, blues, all these gave a mood. I knew this. But mood itself? She described it like a living thing, what could she mean by that?

"Don't start up again." I chided. "Mad Max had her share of ruminating for the day. Now it's shower time."

It took a handful more minutes before I hauled myself back onto my feet, which were heavy when I dragged them off to the showers but it was worth it. The hot water did wonders, and the boulders at my ankles on the way to the showers became noodles on my way back. I made it in time to collapse again, this time on my bed, with wet hair and grateful legs.

"Paradise."

I drawled into my cushion and refused to move. I don't know how much time went by when my phone pinged. But I know a good twenty minutes lugged on when I finally decided to answer. Which was only because of the notifications that followed after.

Warren wanted to hang out some more before curfew but I had zero energy for visitors. I told him I'd catch him tomorrow and he reminded me about his flashdrive. I cursed, and let another handful of minutes pass by before throwing a dead arm over my bed rail to tug the dresser open.

I know I tossed it in here somewhere.

I rummaged blind, with movements that were more lethargic flailing than anything else. I heard clatter, felt cloth, saw shiny things glisten. Reorganizing this tomorrow would be a pain.

"Psh, organization's a waste of time! Got too much life to be living."

My heart clenched, and the familiar touch of photo film grazed my fingers. I didn't know for sure if she'd respond that way now. Five years left a lot of space for change. Granted I couldn't recall anything significant for myself except the gap between me and the best friend I left behind. Could I still call her that? Did I have the right to?

I plucked the card out from the drawer and let my heart drop because resisting would probably only make it worse. Warm blue eyes beamed up at me, the crown of a happy smile.

"Chloe."

I hadn't gone out through town since my arrival but she knows I'm back. I could feel it. No new-or old-news goes in or out of this small town without it knowing every detail. Holing up in Blackwell would do nothing to stop it. But that's what I did, am doing. No doubt it's the reason I haven't left in the three months I've been back. Cowering, honestly. I wouldn't know where to begin.

Would Chloe hate me? I couldn't see why not. I couldn't blame her either. But I put it off long enough. I'm going to have to contact her someday. I'd disappeared for long enough and it wasn't fair to her. She deserved an explanation, or at least for me to reach out to her first. I doubted she would, but if she came out to me first, I'd only be the bigger douche bag for it. But an explanation was exactly why I glossed over three months being back home without a single call.

Fuck.

My eyes were heavy.

I used it as an excuse to drift away.

Maybe tomorrow. Maybe I'll grow some guts another day.

xx

Hi there! Glad you could stop by. If you hadn't noticed already I replaced Jefferson with my own little Mrs. because I never liked Jefferson from the beginning and having him in the story felt like it'd put an unintentional shadow on the lighthearted feel I'm going to be attempting to convey from now on. I suck at lighthearted so it could end up just being neutral but bear with me! If you like what you see do please leave a review I'd love to know what you think of Mrs. Davies, don't like her? Maybe she can grow on you? Also, I'm taking major liberties with these photography terms and usages. Thanks again and have an AWESOME day :)