Summary: "You want to know why I run away from shit all the time? Because I don't trust anyone." Tara gets out, grows up, and comes home.

Author's Note: I've always been interested in Tara's journey in the ten years she was gone, but the show isn't big on non-club backstory. This is my attempt to explore her journey and explain what's happened to her that makes her so distrustful, especially because I think that's a character trait that's not explored so much on the show anymore. Although this story begins in high school, the focus will be split evenly between all of the stages of her life. I'll be adhering to canon as closely as possible (because I think Tara's story, and her story with Jax, is pretty fascinating as is—no need for me to change it!).

11/14: This is a repost of a story that I had previously posted here. It was removed from the website for, of all things, using the word 'shit' in the summary (and it was such a perfect quote, too—alas) and by the time I realized it, I honestly was so bored by the show I didn't have the motivation to finish it. I'm still pretty bored by the show, but I'm so sad about the direction Jax and Tara have taken, it actually inspired me more to finish this little story of first love and loss and growing up. I still have the files on my computer so it will go up relatively unchanged from its original posting. It will be angsty, but anything is better than their relationship onscreen, right?! Thanks so much for reading.

And I cannot hold a candle for every pretty gun
We were strangers many hours
And I missed you for so long
When we were lions, lovers in combat
Faded like your name on those jeans that I burned

But I am older now
And we did it when we were young

- 'We Did It When We Were Young', The Gaslight Anthem

But you'll fight and you'll make it through
You'll fake it if you have to
And you'll show up for work with a smile
And you'll be better, you'll be smarter
More grown up and a better daughter

- 'A Better Son/Daughter', Rilo Kiley


Tara is nine years old when her mother dies.

Rebecca Knowles's funeral is solemn but well attended, and Tara stands next to her father at the front of them all, in her prim black velvet dress with the starchy collar. She's always hated that dress but now she remembers that it's her mom who bought it from the department store even though they didn't really have the money for it because she thought her daughter deserved something nice. Even as a child, Tara is intuitive enough to know that this dress is more than just a dress, so she smiles when her mother puts her in it for holidays or funerals.

Her father's cousin dressed her in it today, but Tara inhales the clean scent of starch and it's like her mother is there, like she might be standing just behind her, or had just wandered away for a minute, leaving a trail to find her by. She closes her eyes and imagines that this is the case. But when she opens them again and finds herself staring at a graveyard plot and her father throwing a handful of dirt on the coffin she knows that her mother's gone somewhere Tara can't find her now.

It's overcast and cold and clouds are gathering in the sky and Tara, a pale slip of a girl with her dark hair and dark dress, nearly fades away into them.

She can smell the alcohol on her father so when the service is over and he moves toward the car, she walks with him, steadying him: nine years old and carrying her father's weight already. When they get in the Cutlass she eases into the passenger seat, slides up to the front and reaches over and keeps her small hands steady on the wheel as her father takes them to their empty home. This was her mother's job. Now it is hers.


In high school, Tara is at the top of her class. But even this does not get her out of general elective requirements, and that's how she ends up in shop class two weeks into the beginning of her sophomore year (she'd tried to avoid it and take an English elective instead but the guidance counselor had found out and taken it upon himself to fix her schedule), staring at a piece of wood that she is somehow expected to fashion into some shape approximating a rabbit.

Her teacher calls it remedial work. It's the first time that Tara has ever felt stupid.

Her eyes flicker between the piece of the wood and the bench and the saws and she feels panic's match strike flint in her chest. She can't do this without instructions, can't complete a puzzle with these pieces—something's missing. And she's not the sort of girl to ask for help. Never been the kind that needs it, not since she was nine and she grew up in a hurry. Now she can't hack shop class.

Tara is very seriously considering just walking out of the class and pleading with the guidance counselor for a schedule change, maybe another science class, when she feels someone slide in next to her on the bench.

"Need help, darlin'?"

She knows who Jax Teller is. Everyone at Charming High knows who Jax Teller is. They don't really run in the same circles (not, if Tara is being perfectly honest, that she has much of a 'circle' of her own anyway). Looking at him now, she's a little surprised by how old he seems. Jax is only a junior but he has something about him—maybe not maturity, but a certain swagger. The fact he's talking to her surprises her, but it doesn't really intimidate her. Tara's never been too invested in the dynamics of popularity in high school—she has more important things to worry about.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," she admits. "Working with my hands…not really my thing."

Jax smiles broadly. He has an easy smile, the kind that looks like it belongs on his face, like he's meant to be smiling all the time. "Yeah, I hear you're real smart." He reaches over her and slides her piece of wood over to him while she's wondering how he even knows who she is. It's not like she's friendless, but Tara has no delusions about her popularity at this school. Mostly, she flies under the radar. And mostly, that's okay. "Lucky for you, I'm pretty good with my hands."

She raises her eyebrows at him, the beginnings of a smile blooming on her face. "Yeah," she says seriously. "That must be why you're a year ahead me and in the same beginning shop class."

Jax winks at her, and feels a flutter somewhere in her rib cage. Not because of the way his eyelashes fringe those impossibly bright eyes or the strong definition of his jaw, although she would be lying to say that they had no impact on her. No, it was something else, mostly—maybe the way she feels, in this moment, perfectly and intoxicatingly normal. No drunk daddy, no foreboding textbooks, no reason to be so goddamn serious. Tara feels lighter. Almost happy.

Jax starts explaining things to her, and she thinks maybe her teasing was a little off the mark; he does seem to know what he's talking about. And he has an easy way of explaining things—not that she's surprised, 'easy' is the word she keeps coming back to for him; it's like he's the physical embodiment of the word—that makes her think that maybe she won't fail this stupid class after all.


At the end of the day Tara pulls her books out of her locker, slams the door shut, and comes face-to-face with Jax Teller. The books spill out of her arms and hit the floor in a series of thuds.

"Oh—you don't have to—" she says, but it's useless; Jax is already bent on one knee picking them up. He hands them to her with a smirk.

"A.P. Chemistry?" he asks. "I thought you had to be at least a junior to take that."

"You do—I tested into it. Thanks," she adds, cradling the books in her arms again.

Jax rocks back on his heels, his hands deep in the pockets of his baggy jeans. "Hey, I need a favor. And I think you owe me one." That smile flashes across his face. "Pulled a rabbit out of my hat for you, Tara."

"Yeah, all right," she agrees. It's the decent thing to do, after all; she's fairly sure she would have had some sort of academic post-traumatic stress disorder had Jax not helped her out. "What do you need?"

Something flickers on his face. It's gone before she can analyze it but she thinks it might have been nervousness—it looked wrong on his features, anyway. "That brain of yours, actually. You take geometry?"

"Last year."

"Yeah, me too. Thing is, I sort of failed. Condition of being able to take it again—gotta have a tutor for awhile, keep my grade steady, make sure I'm on track." He says it with the air of someone parroting off a list of conditions he's intimately familiar with both receiving and ignoring. "Hill gave me someone, but I think I'd do better with you. You know, really reach my full potential."

Tara doubts severely that Jax has any plans of living up to any potential he has, but she doesn't mind. It's the beginning of the year: She's not that busy with extracurriculars yet, and besides, peer tutoring would look good on her college applications.

If there's another reason that she's willing to do it, she doesn't let herself realize it.

"Mr. Hill likes me. I think he'll be okay with it," she says.

Jax ducks his chin and looks at her through the hair falling over his eyes. "You okay with it?" he asks. "Gotta warn you, I'm no one's favorite student."

"I'll make a scholar out of you, Teller," she says, leading him toward the side doors out of the school. "I guess we can meet at the library. Did Mr. Hill give you any sort of schedule you need to follow?"

"Yeah, three times a week."

Tara stares at him. "Today's Thursday."

A smile she can only describe as sneaky lights up Jax's face. "Guess we better get started today. You busy?"

"Well, no—"

"I can give you a lift." Tara notices that they've stopped in the student parking lot in front of a motorcycle. She looks at the bike, back to Jax. Could sixteen year olds even legally ride? Weren't there classes you had to pass? He had just told her he failed geometry; how could she trust him with her life—

"You're not serious."

He shrugs and leans back against the bike with his arms crossed across his chest, looking like he might be testing her. "As a heart attack, babe."

It's only now, after she's agreed to tutor Jax Teller—and apparently implicitly agreed to other things, like riding on the back of his bike which she wasn't even sure was legal—Tara starts to wonder what she's getting herself into.