Desert. Night. We seem to be on holiday at the scoping fjords of Sandy Land for some reason, and Max lays a semi-conscious and very glowing-green Liz out on a stretch of sand between two cars. Kyle wisely asks to be brought up on the salient aspects of plot that, by and large, don't seem to actually be occurring on camera this week, and Max fills us all in: "According to the book, I can use the healing stones to amplify my powers. If we do that, it might wipe out whatever's happening inside her." Well, that clears it up. Except for…what the fuck? What stones? What book? When did this happen? Why is Liz levitating? And yelling "I can't" over and over? She falls back to the ground all out of breath and demands, "Stop hurting me." Max defends himself with, "I wasn't trying to." But she's at the ready with her retort: "But you do. You always do." Ooooh. It's an allegory. I get it. Max crawls over to her to see if she's okay, but Liz stops him in his tracks by asking, "Why did you sleep with her?" Scary minor chord, which much of the remaining audience drowns out in their deafening whispers of, "Sleep with who?" and "What baby?" and "Isn't there, like, a rerun of Arli$$ or something on right now? Liz screams at him to "stay away," adding, "You're doing this!" Doing what? I really have no idea what's going on right now. Let's go back to the Crashdown. At least the blazingly implausible pop star subplot I totally understand.
Kyle drops Liz off at home. She frets that she told Max how she really feels about how he hurt her, but Kyle nice-guys that she has to take care of herself. Up in her bedroom, Maria runs in and puts a hand on her, saying, "I'm here." Here on a park bench, where we illogically cut to next, Maria repeatedly apologizing for not being around for her whole glowing green episode. Maria tells her, "We're best friends, Liz Parker, so don't even." Liz tells her not to let "this music thing go," and Maria tells her, "I'm not a sellout." Liz recycles the inspirational words by buoying her spirits, telling her, "You have more talent in your little finger than anyone else in this town." Maria agrees to go to New York, asking, "Can life be anymore complicated right now?" Honey? Wait 'til you get to New York. I'm just saying.
Max skulks on Liz's balcony, and Liz comes in to find him. She tells him that he can't be there, and he guilts her that he's "been calling." She's been out. He thought something happened. He leans in to tell her they can drive to L.A. (lose my number, children), but she actually recoils from him and says they won't be going anywhere together. He wants to talk about it. She wants to fake-cry poorly. And so she does, closing the window on him as The Mandolin Of Sadness takes the soundtrack by storm. He makes his way off the balcony and a light rain falls because people are sad. Downstairs, Liz approaches her father and finally finds herself in a moment of clarity: "My life is out of control. I want to go to boarding school." Because it is often in that bastion of normalcy where teenage girls in cloistered seclusion adjust perfectly to all of life's experiences.