So happy with the response this has gotten already! You guys are awesome. This chapter was meant to be longer, but since we're nearly pushing 9500 words here, I thought I'd split it in two. Also- I tend to think of the scenes in respects to television layout- so if the formatting isn't smooth or is annoying to read please, let me know and I'll work on that! Thanks a bunch, hope you enjoy!

She makes it home around six o'clock; sticky with sweat and trembling. Her heart thunders in her chest and her mind is a blank slate, unable to hold onto a single coherent thought for longer than a second, other than the bewildered, semi-detached piece of information she'd found out.

Unsurprisingly, she'd lost the cruisers after not long; but she'd managed to follow the siren sounds across the river, and then- to her disdain- up the back roads of Dixon Mountain. Until, she'd discovered the cars parked along the side of the road, and the one rookie officer manning the cars had barked at her to get away from the scene. Beca, defensive, had claimed that she was just on her way home and pumped farther up the hill, before she stashed her bike along the ditch on the side of the road and hiked into the trees, spying from afar.

She knew that hiking trail. The one the cop cars were parked out in front of. She'd wandered it- once- and it carved through the trees until it reached the meadow lookout at the top, overlooking the town of Barden.

Her first thought was maybe an animal attack. Bear, or mountain lion, maybe.

So she'd camped out, until she was bored out of her mind and worried about spiders crawling on her. Until she was equally concerned that it was about to rain again. Until finally, she'd seen officers wandering back down from the trail. She'd strained to hear, but eventually, she'd put together what was going on.

Denise Walker was dead.

Denise, who Beca had known since the second grade when she moved here; who was polite and generally nice and Beca never really had anything against.

She couldn't- can't- wrap her head around it. She'd sat there on her ass until it did actually start raining, and the cool drops were enough to shake her out of it and get her stumbling back down to where she'd left her bike. She'd pulled up her hood and ignored the burning in her thighs from the trek up here, allowing gravity to pull her back downhill. The cops gathered around their cars had glared at her as she passed, but she tried to act as nonchalant as possible.

Little would they know that by the time she hit the bottom of the hill she had managed to miss a rock in the road during her stupor, and she totally ate shit. Now her palms were all scuffed up and bleeding but that's okay, she didn't feel it. She'd simply climbed back on and continued on her way, knowing something she's certain no one else she passed on her way home knew.

She isn't sure how it happened.

She's sure she'll here about it soon.

And when she lets the bike fall carelessly in her front yard as she climbs back down from it, she sort of waddles up her front porch steps and pushes the door open, collapsing into the nearest chair at the breakfast table as soon as she nudges it shut again with her foot. Within seconds there's stomping coming up from the basement stairs, but that barely registers.

"Rebeca Mitchell!"

Grimacing, she pulls her shoes from her feet and tosses them to the shoe closet in the corner. Her mother, a moment later, appears on the top of the stairs with a laundry basket in hand and firm scowl painted across her face. "Where the hell have you been?" The woman demands, her salon-ruined hair flailing around as she rushes forwards.

And she's sure it's top secret information. So for one bizarre second she wonders if she should keep her mouth shut; not that the woman has any friend's to gossip to anyways. "Denise Walker," She gargles thickly, pinching her lower lip between her thumb and index finger, nodding along to herself for reasons she doesn't quite comprehend. Her mother just furrows her brow. "She's uh- she died, I guess." Before the woman can begin questioning her further.

Wendy's face of anger morphs into one of confusion, and she tucks the laundry basket tighter against her side, wandering over to place it atop of one of the granite countertops. "What?"

"I just- I heard the cops say that Denise Walker is dead." Beca shrugs, running her hands along the side of her face; the sting from her skinned palms finally alerting her to the injury's presence. She drops them back down to her lap. "I saw all the cop cars and I just wanted to follow them and that's what I heard."

"Who-" Her mother shakes her head, "who is Denise Walker?"

Makes sense. Her mother knows about six names of students outside of her own daughter. "She's in my grade." Beca explains, and then falters. "Or she was."

Some noise of sympathy leaves her mother then. "Oh, honey that's terrible!" She crows, but for some reason, it doesn't sound all that genuine and Beca comes to the moment before her mother engulfs her into a hug.

With a sound of protest, Beca wards her mother of by raising her hands in her direction, catching her mother by the upper arms and pushing her backwards as gently as she can. "No." She hears herself say, clamboring to her feet. "No don't do that."

Indignant, she can see the woman blink rapidly a few times, but can't bring herself to even remotely care. Beca just kind of mumbles something about being in shock and wanting some quiet, and then retreats down the same stairs her mother had just ascended from, into her bedroom, and she shuts the door behind her. There's no lock, but she carefully tucks her desk chair under the knob and haphazardly throws herself onto her duvets.

This could all just be a hallucination. Maybe, she'd overdosed on Red Bull during a mixing binge and this whole day had been one big caffiene-induced vexation. Or she's still at Amy's, asleep and dreaming.

Grasping the sensitive skin of her wrist between her fingers, Beca squeezes, willing herself to wake up if in fact, this was a dream.

It was just another storm rolling in.

After she had gone separate ways from Aubrey; waving her goodbye as the Jeep had done the full circle around the driveway, past the motel and the diner and back onto the highway- Chloe had shouldered her bag and headed towards the side patio. The rooster cawed from their hutch, and she stooped to give Rusty a little pat between the ears when she crossed paths with the elderly hound asleep on the stairs.

As she pulls the sliding glass door open, her father turns his head at her from where he'd been reading his newspaper at the dining room table. A smile beams across his face in greeting, and he's asking her the same question that's been asked of her since kindergarten.

"How was school?"

And Chloe smiles back, wedging her shoe off of her foot before making it all the way into the kitchen. "Good." The same answer she's been giving ever since kindergarten, as well. "Aubrey and I saw all the cop cars barrelling down town on the way here."

"Oh?" The man raises his thick, greying eyebrows at her. And then he rustles his newspaper again. "Well, I'm sure we'll know by tomorrow."

"Is mom at the diner?" Stepping into the kitchen, Chloe pushes the sliding glass door closed, wandering towards the fridge and pulling it open. She grabs a water bottle off of the top shelf before turning back to face her father. Who, in turn, had returned his attention to the newspaper.

"Yeah, she's cooking today." He hums, flipping a page. Nodding to herself, Chloe cracks open the lid and heads towards the stairs towards the basement. "Oh, Chlo-" She pauses, darting her head back into his line of sight. "Don't forget to feed your rabbit."

"Yup." She murmurs, bottle to her lips and heading back towards the stairs.

The basement was mostly hers. It was fully furnished, with her own recreational room, master-sized bedroom and bathroom, and the second bedroom down there had been converted into an exercise room. Atop of that was the laundry, and a storage room, of course. But other than that- it was all hers. It was great for entertaining.

But it was still nothing compared to Aubrey's, so- she didn't really entertain often.

Humming to herself, she slips into her bedroom, dropping her backpack onto her desk chair and hastily unbuttoning her jeans. Because, honestly, who wears jeans longer than they absolutely have to?

She still wonders about those sirens, though. Not much happens in Barden; sirens were hardly ever used, and the last big deal aside from Wheelchair Richard's incessant hope to rob the gas station at the edge of town, had been when some guy had smoked meth and decided to hold his wife hostage in some kind of murder-suicide that didn't happen, after the SWAT team had been called and surrounded his house for five hours. And that was nearly six years ago. Or occasionally someone would speed through town and they'd pull someone over; once or twice someone had given them a run, but that's it.

Things didn't get interesting here.

Things were affair scandals and teen pregnancies, a low-level pot grow-op or some kind of typical drug bust. Things were not the entire police force blaring through town, and Chloe couldn't understand Aubrey's nonchalant lack of interest in the event. Or her father's, for that matter.

Because it gave her a fluttering eagerness in her chest. The kind that she finds difficult to snuff out, fills her with such an intense need to know that it makes her squirm. All the way into her pyjamas and all the way out to the rabbit hutch, where she'd stopped first at the fridge to grab a stick of celery on her way back outside and when she squatted down next to the little furry white and brown creature. Quietly stroking him behind his ears and watching the cars meander along the highway, half-expecting to hear more sirens come from some direction, towards some exciting destination. That's not the case though. The world is otherwise silent; aside from the cars and the far-off chatter from people walking back to their vehicles from the diner, and the occasional caw of the rooster. But other than the lazy sounds of the world, there was nothing.

When Jersey has finished his little munching on the green vegetable, she rubs at his ears. He was getting old, but Chloe still thinks he looks as sharp as ever.

Closing the door to the hutch as she steps out, Chloe breathes in the air. It smelled like it was going to rain again.

A shrill ringing rouses her from her half-sleep. Chloe squints through the dim-light pooling in through the window above her bed; a warm orange hue from the motel sign. Blindly, she fumbles around her night stand for the offending device.

"Hel-?"

"Chloe!" The voice on the other end of the phone line is just as shrill as the ringing. With a wince, Chloe pulls the phone from her ear for a moment, before warily bringing it back. Not without leaving a little bit of distance, though.

"Aubrey," Using her opposite hand, she pushes herself upright on the mattress. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Of course I do, Chloe, I own clocks."

Should have expected as much. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she glances over at the electronic clock atop of her dresser. It was quarter to twelve. Chloe had dozed off some time ago, while trying to read the painfully boring novel Ms. Gendron had assigned them in English. "Well, what's happening?"

"I know what happened with the sirens."

Seven words that jolt her awake like a shot of espresso. Any remaining irritation flushes from her system and she bolts upright, floundering around to find the pull-chain on her lamp. "What?" She catches it and gives it a firm tug, pooling the room with florescence.

News travels fast in Barden, indeed.

"Are you sitting down?" Aubrey's voice shifts into something more somber, and Chloe's heartrate spikes.

"Yes."

"Okay." Chloe tucks her knees to her chest, resting her chin atop of them and waiting patiently. Her mind flickers with several ideas, but none of them seem plausible. "So, Denise Walker..."

Denise.

Chloe knew her. Had known her since second grade, been in several classes with her and held a conversation with her more than once. She was kind, optimistic, and she shared Chloe's love for music and dance.

Actually, when she thinks about it, Chloe wonders if they would have been good friends if she hadn't already been so close with Aubrey. The two of them were a bit of a tight knit duo.

"What about her?" They'd recently partnered together in foundations math. The only class she had without Aubrey- because no way was she going to be able to get through Pre-Calculus.

"Chlo, they found her... dead." It rings around a little. She knocks the word around in her skull, trying to chew it up, make sense of it.

Dead? Denise Walker? Who she'd seen alive and well, two days ago? "Oh my god."

"Yeah. Up Dixon Hiking Trail."

A lock of red hair falls in front of her face as she shakes her head. "Wha- no. What? How?" Absently, she tucks it back.

"They just found her... hanging, Chlo. I don't-"

Hanging? Squeezing her eyes shut, she tries not to imagine it. No silhouette. No nothing. "Like a suicide?"

"I don't know." Aubrey's voice is soft. So unlike her usual, biting tone. She can be caring when she needs to be. Empathetic. Aubrey may be the more hardened one of them, but she isn't completely without soul. "I'm sorry. I know you knew her better than I did."

"I..." She doesn't want to take credit for knowing her. She didn't really; she knew her name was Denise Walker and she knew she liked to sing and dance, and she knew that she had an allergy to bees. That's all she knew. She didn't know anything about her home and she didn't know her favorite color or anything else that could suggest that Chloe's knowledge of her skimmed anything other than the surface. She probably barely knew anything more about her than her blonde-haired counterpart on the phone. "guess so. Wow."

Dead?

"I heard, though," Aubrey's voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. Chloe finds herself leaning forwards, as if there was someone actually in the room with her. "that they aren't necessarily ruling it as a suicide just yet."

"What do you mean?"

Chloe knows what Aubrey means. There's only one other thing she could mean, right?

She just needs to hear it said out loud.

"Murder."

The school didn't call, like Beca expected they would. In a town so small, she had assumed that the news would be enough to warrant a day off- for mourning purposes. But, it appeared that that wasn't the case.

Beca took the day off. She'd managed to persuade Wendy with little effort. Another small bonus was that the woman wasn't going to be on her case anytime soon- that could wait, for now. The woman wasn't completely stupid though, she knew that Beca wasn't close with Denise, so she could only milk this for so long.

Which, also, she felt a little bad about. No one else's death should amount to a personal gain for her, no matter how minimal the plus-sides were.

In the morning she'd phoned Amy. The cord ended up wrapped around her fingers, her wrist, through her fidgeting by the end of the conversation. Which was held behind the closed door of the bathroom. She'd called firstly to see if the girl had even heard- had any idea, and she did. Because news travels fast in Barden- but she'd mostly called to see if the Tasmanian had somehow acquired any amount of knowledge unknown to her. A clue. A fact. Anything other than the stiff conclusion that Denise Walker was dead.

She'd had no such luck. Amy didn't know anything more.

It was times like this that Beca cursed herself for having such a small network.

She knew if she were to talk to Cynthia Rose, she'd probably know something. But, they weren't exactly that close and nor would Beca put the girl through that for nothing more than her peace of mind. She knew that the two were... well, close, to say the least.

And so, she ate some toast, and she went back to bed. Her mother knocked on the door to check up on her, but Beca assured the woman that all she needed was some 'quiet time' and she was fine, otherwise. Just still in shock, y'know? To which her mother responded, "are you still going to go to work tonight? If not you should probably call in," And Beca nodded if only just to acknowledge the woman.

Things felt like they moved like molasses for the next few days. She went to work. Heard gossip. She figured it out soon enough that the Barden police force weren't calling it a murder, but they weren't not calling it a murder, either.

People surrounded Denise's locker with flowers and photos at school. Beca did her part. She plucked a few flowers from her mom's garden on the way to her bike, secured them by the stems to her handlebars and carefully avoided crushing them.

"Isn't it weird?" Amy whispered to her as they stood in front of the monument that had arisen not far from their own lockers. Beca knelt down, trying to find a spot to nestle her own bundle of daisies and peonies. "It's pretty cliche, isn't it? Murder in a small town?"

"Surprised it didn't happen sooner," Beca says absently, setting the flowers down and standing back up. There was a photograph taped in the middle of it all. It was cliche. "She was really nice. It shouldn't have been her."

Amy just sort of hums, mumbling something along the lines of "she never questioned Fat Amy. She just said it". And then they're gone, headed to class- only to pass it again later. It's then, after the first lunch bell, when Amy is pulling her food from her locker that she glances over at Beca. She can see it, in her periphery. She senses a question.

"Yes?" She raises her eyebrows, just once, before turning back to her own backpack and fishing around for her lunch bag.

"Who's going to tell Legacy?" And just as quickly, Amy is bringing her free hand up to her nose, pressing her finger against it. A child's game. "I vote Beca."

Beca tuts reprovingly. "Aw, Porkchop is gonna be so depressed." It was kind of like voting who gets to kick a puppy. Emily has about two moods; elated, or disheartened.

"When does she get back, anyway?" Amy shuts her locker, pulling some kind of peanut butter bar from the depths of the grocery bag that she used as a lunch kit. Beca furrows her brow. Emily had mentioned something about being gone two weeks- out in Mexico with her mom, step-father, and step-brother. Beca couldn't quite recall the day she left, however. "Should be soon, right?"

"Tomorrow or the next day?" She shrugs.

Amy smirks while she rips open the wrapper. "It must have been nice to have some time away from your stalker."

And then it kind of feels like a vice squeezes all the air from her lungs in a heavy sigh. She had almost- almost- blissfully erased the memory of him from her mind. Her hand finally grips an apple and she pulls it out, before diving back in for her water bottle. "I so wish he wasn't her step-brother. It's weird, dude. Don't even get me started."

"He's like a lost puppy." Amy muses then, but her voice trails off. At the shift, Beca looks up, following Amy's gaze. She needs to swivel her head to stare down the hall, and she spots him.

Or, well- them. The Treblemakers. But she knows who it is Amy's pining after. And it makes her bristle.

"Bumper?" She questions, exasperated. "Really, Amy? You're still on this?"

The boy was perhaps the most obnoxious, egotistical dirtball she'd ever had the misfortune of coming across. Just because he was the lead singer in his little boy band, he thought his ass crapped gold. What Amy saw in him- she had no idea. He wasn't even that funny.

Amy shakes her head though, blindsided from being caught. "No- no. This sexy fat-ass has better things to chase." She then emphasizes her point with a firm pat to her own behind. Not entirely convinced, Beca nods anyways.

"Alright. I'm glad."

"Besides-" Pulling the water bottle from her bag, Beca nudges her locker shut with her elbow, spinning to face the blonde. "Your boy-toy is part of the Trebles too."

"Not a boy-toy." Beca corrects quikly. "Nope. Never, no thank you."

"He's kind of cute." Amy offers with a shrug. "Maybe I'll pounce on him."

"Well," She cracks the lid on her water bottle. "you have my blessing." And then she's a little caught off-guard when she realizes how normal this conversation is. Despite the fact that there's a memorial a few lockers down. She eyes it- Amy's reply somewhere vaguely heard, but not registered.

Those flowers feel like they're crawling under her skin.

"Let's go outside."

It wasn't any shock to Chloe that news of Denise spread like wildfire. Amidst it all, all Chloe could think about was her poor family; how the death of their child had become trivialized, and exciting. She'd told no one; but it wasn't like she needed to, anyways. Information spread on it's own.

Aubrey had taken it upon herself to organize a memorial, and a vigil of sorts. She'd still confessed in hushed tones to Chloe, however, that she was curious as to what really happened. Aside from the speculation- there weren't many details being shared about what the police force was putting together in regards to it. That meant it was safe to assume that they had nothing- being as it was Barden and there were little to no secrets here.

Seriously- she's way too well-informed about the sex life of some of her peers.

So after a while, she had concluded that it was time to move on. She wouldn't bring it up to Aubrey any longer; wouldn't ask if she's heard anything new, out of respect for Denise and her family. She focused instead on old things. Or, well, really- old things. Things that preoccupied her happily until two weeks ago- and things that she hadn't thought about for a very long time beforehand that suddenly resurface like half-drown buoys in the corners of her conscience.

"What was that scary story you told me one time?" She asks Aubrey, late on a Friday night. The second Friday without Denise Walker in the world. They're sitting around the fire pit built into the stone at the base of Aubrey's back patio. It's not a clear night, but there are a few stars still visible, and the blonde looks up over the embers at Chloe with her brow gently furrowed. "You know," she prompts, when it becomes clear that Aubrey isn't following. "the urban legend? About the woods?"

"Oh," Aubrey chuckles softly, a smile pulling against her lips. Chloe always thought that Aubrey had a nice smile; wide and bright. "you take that stuff too seriously."

"No," Chloe shakes her head too, grinning impishly. "just refresh my memory. I want to hear it again." She isn't sure why; but the memory of it had begun to stick with her over the last few days. Maybe the idea of hearing something else bizarre would take her mind off of Denise.

Logically, Chloe knew, it wouldn't. But it was still worth a shot.

When Aubrey doesn't appear to make a move to indicate that she was going to be repeating the tale, Chloe pouts. Slaps on her best puppy-dog impersonation. "Please?" It could be considered a whimper.

"It's just a stupid story, Chlo," Aubrey argues, but Chloe can tell she's caving. "I told you when we were like twelve. Why are you even thinking about it?"

At that, she shrugs, absently using the fire poker to prod around the crumbling logs. "It's just been on my mind, I dunno." She smiles again, sheepish. "Maybe I've been watching the horror channel too much."

She hasn't. But her curiosity isn't easily smothered by sheer will alone.

The sigh Aubrey gives then is heavy and defeated. "Okay," She relents, raising her hands palm-up to her shoulders briefly as a sign of her compliance. "I don't really remember it though. Unlike you, it hasn't really crossed my mind since the eighth grade." Chloe gives her a reproving look, but says nothing. "Back when Barden was settled in the eighteen-sixties," Which Chloe can't believe, considering it probably hasn't grown much since. "some guy found this young girl wandering the woods. They thought she was from another colony. But she was all... bloody, and wearing strange clothes," Aubrey wrinkles her nose as she says it, before waving away the notion with a lithe flick of her wrist. "and he just thought she was lost. As urban legend goes, though, he took her in, tried to get her to talk but she was a mute. It wasn't before long that strange things started happening though, of course." Chloe nods along, because- of course. Urban legends wouldn't permit the absence of such things. "The cattle couldn't stand her, they would break from their fences and run to Fadear Lake. And then the farmer started going crazy, hearing voices in the wall and you know- all those cliche things," Aubrey sighs. "and he locked the girl in the cellar of his farmhouse and then went on a killing spree, murdering three people in town with an axe before going home and locking himself inside. Apparently, everyone he murdered showed up at his house the next day and he killed himself, leaving the girl in the cellar to starve to death." The blonde then laughs helplessly, throwing her hands into the air again as though to finish her story with a fizzling climax. "To end, the land with the abandoned farmhouse is cursed and that's why it's been empty all these years. Happy?"

Chloe hums thoughtfully, her the index finger of her free hand tapping out a rhythm against her chin. "No names?"

Aubrey laughs. "Chloe, it's a story! Probably just something some douchebro told my sister in the twelfth grade when he was trying to scare her."

"Well, people say weird things about that house-"

"Of course they do." Aubrey shakes her head, a fond, amused smile playing at her lips. "It's a decrepit old house by the lake, it attracts scary stories."

Now, it's Chloe's turn to raise her hands palm-up. "Pardon me for being curious."

Aubrey raises her eyebrows. "You know what they say about curiosity," And then she's pushing herself from the flimsy lawn chair, folding it up and glancing at her friend over her shoulder. "that it kills the cat."

Assuming this was the end of their night, Chloe rises from her seat as well, miming Aubrey's actions and folding the chair in her hands. "Yeah, but satisfaction brought him back." She grins knowingly, pinching her tongue between her teeth as the blonde stops abruptly, and sighs. This was an argument they've had before; and yet Aubrey continued to use the proverb, as if expecting Chloe to not counter it.

"Hate to break it to you," The blonde then says, coming around the fire and extending an arm towards Chloe's outstretched one, held and offering the chair to her to be slipped into the appropriate spot in the shed. "but I don't think there's really any satisfaction to be found in tall tales."

"So," Chloe bats her lashes innocently as Aubrey grabs the chair from her. "you don't want to come hunt Bigfoot with me, either?"

She's met with a shot of dry sarcasm, sent directly from green eyes in daggers.

Aubrey doesn't need to help her. All she needs is something to take her mind off of Denise Walker for a little while. This is something she'd do on her own.

There have been four distinctly direct conversations between Beca Mitchell and Chloe Beale in her lifetime. The first being during fifth grade.

Beca had been standing, looking at the poster's outside of Ms. Oates classroom, when from behind her, she'd heard a voice.

"Can you move please?"

Beca, to herself, had scowled but obliged; the Halloween cape from her Scream costume stirring along the floor as she did so. Chloe had stood there, for a few more moments longer than necessary just staring at her. It had rubbed at Beca's small, but easily irritated ego. "What are you looking at?"

Chloe, who had been dressed as a farmer with a straw hat and a plaid shirt, in overall's, had gaped at her for a moment. Missing one front tooth, like a proper hick. Chloe had shrugged, and continued on her way.

Their next significant meeting had been in seventh grade. They'd been placed in the same class, sure, but they'd never been seated next to each other. However, she'd been seated nearby one Aubrey Posen- and when they had a substitute teacher one day, Chloe had traded spots with Beca's usual desk partner in order to be seated next her friend for the day. Beca, who had been desperately unable to discern what said teacher was trying to convey with the assignment had eventually swallowed her nerves and leaned over.

"Hey, what is this sheet supposed to be for?" She'd asked, awkwardly folding the corners of the paper. Chloe looked at her over her shoulder.

"Don't know." She responded with an exceptional air of snobbery, turning her back on Beca again and resuming her conversation with the blonde. It was this action that casually pushed Beca's compass of indifference towards a slight dislike.

Again, they spoke in eighth grade gym class.

"I like your shoes."

Beca, who'd been tying said shoes, squinted up at the face looming near her. It was Chloe, a shy smile on her lips. Beca blinks. Chloe directs her finger towards Beca's shoes again, as if to make a point. "I like your shoes." She repeats, the smile faltering a little. "The laces, I like them, they're cool."

The laces were a neon green, against a plain black. Beca had got them at Walmart, or somewhere else cheap. Bizarre, considering Chloe's shoes looked far more expensive and they were far more flashy; oranges and pinks and reds. Furrowing her brow, Beca muttered her 'thank you' and that was that. Her compass shifted again, back to indifference.

It swayed back in the negative direction though during tenth grade science. The redhaired girl was usually paired with Aubrey- who else- but when the other girl appeared to be sick, or otherwise absent, their teacher had paired Chloe with Beca for a lab study. Chloe had smiled when they sat down, they spoke about nothing for a moment, and then Chloe excused herself to go to the bathroom. And she never came back. Leaving Beca to do the whole damn thing by herself.

Dick.

From that day forward, they'd had no significant interaction. Which was more than fine with Beca. She'd never felt any pinch of desire to speak to anyone other than the few she could tolerate. Even then- her quota for social interactions was very, very limited.

But when after two weeks of this 'D' block bullshit wasn't going very far, and they'd done all of their tentative 'remembering Denise' conversations- Mrs. Abernathy decides to assign pairings for a project herself, after a pattern falls into place in which the girls' were not mingling outside of their usual partnership. Beca always paired with Amy. Chloe always paired with Aubrey. Pastor's daughter Jessica always paired with Ashley from Beca's English and Art classes. Cynthia Rose pairs with Stacie Conrad of all people- et cetera, et cetera.

"We're switching things up today," The older woman announces from the front of the classroom, after the second bell had rung and they were all in those blue plastic seats. Mrs. Abernathy picks up a stack of papers from her desk, before bringing her hand up to tap her index finger thoughtfully against her chin. Beca can already sense something she's about to resent coming. Maybe it's because she hates sudden change, or maybe it's because of the look the woman is giving the room. "Amy," She points to the girl seated next to Beca. "You go with Flo today."

Throwing Beca a look that's equally exasperated as it is pleading, Amy shuffles to her feet, dragging her chair towards the Guatemalan girl sitting a few seats to Beca's left.

"Aubrey and Jessica." Mrs. Abernathy continues. "Cynthia Rose and Lilly. Beca and..." There are a limited amount of girls left for her to be paired with. Most- she does not like. Shifting, she crosses her fingers behind her back and prays for Ashley. "Chloe."

Her prayers go unanswered. Sighing, she looks over at the red-haired girl in the row in front of her, who, in turn, swivels her head around to look at Beca. When she locks eyes with Chloe's big, bright blues, the girl looks like she maybe tries to smile but her disappointment is weighing on her too heavily for it to ever come across looking genuine.

Wonderful. Just great.

Why on Earth do teacher's think it's a good idea to push people out of their comfort zone?

Suppressing a groan, Beca gets to her feet, stiffly hooking one hand around the back of her seat and heaving it off of the ground. If this turns out to be tenth grade science class all over again, she's going to be super pissed. But she makes her way over anyways; maneuvering around the rearranged girls and gently placing the chair back onto the ground in Aubrey's old spot, before settling in. In her periphery, she's pretty sure she can see Aubrey glaring at her, and she chances a look in the girl's direction. She was right. The girl is staring her down like she thinks Beca's about to rob Chloe somehow. Grimacing, she looks away just as quickly.

"I want you girls," The woman continues once everyone has assembled in their new partnerships. She then waves the booklets around in her hand, placing them on a stool in the middle of the room. "To go through these booklets and then we'll have a vote on event planning. The girl you're sitting next to now," Beca glances at Chloe through the corner of her eye, watching the girl's fingers fidgeting idly in her lap. "Will be your partner in crime for planning one of the events in your pamphlets."

Mouthing an expletive of choice, Beca cranes her neck towards Amy at the back of the classroom, who shrugs as she rises from her seat, heading towards the stool. Turning back around, she's surprised to find Chloe had gone already, and was scooping up some booklets. When she returns, she extends her hand towards Beca, offering up a pamphlet and Beca takes it after a moment's reluctance. "Thanks." She murmurs, dropping it down to her lap and half-heartedly flipping through the pages.

Charity dances. Awake-A-Thon. Serving dinner to the homeless. Community runs. All things that were...

"not my thing." She murmurs, blowing air from her cheeks as she flips a page on community runs to an elementary school Fun Day. Beside her, Chloe hums, and suddenly she can feel eyes on her. Blinking, she looks up at Chloe, who was blinking right back at her. She hadn't really realized that she had voiced her distaste aloud, but now it would just be silly to deny having said anything. Clearing her throat, she taps at the paper. "This planning stuff. Not really my thing. I'm sure you... with all your committees are much more equipped for this. So..." Chloe's eyebrows elevate slowly towards her hairline, and she nods, as if she isn't sure what she's looking at. Which is, essentially, Beca sticking her foot in her mouth. "I think this would be better for everyone if you take the reins."

"Oh." Chloe says quietly, turning her attention back down towards her own pamphlet. Which, Beca notices, was still on the very front page. Chloe hadn't even been looking at it. However, she does kind of gingerly tuck her finger under the page now, turning it over and observing. "Well, it's..."

"You pick." Beca offers, shaking her head. "Seriously- just, you pick what you want to do. I don't care."

"Well, if you want me to take the reins it's only fair that you pick." Chloe counters, sitting back and curling in the corners of her booklet. She's got a small smile on her face that isn't rude, just earnest, but Beca couldn't really care less about any of it.

"Dude, no, honestly." She shrugs, waving the little booklet around. "I'm not into any of this. Pick what you want to do."

She can see Chloe's chest rise from under her little red long-sleeve button down, and she blinks rapidly a few times, turning her direction back to the paper. Beca has the inkling feeling that she would like to argue this point, but was deciding against it. Instead, she resumes her silent staring at the paper on her lap, and Beca does the same. Only, she isn't deciding on anything; it's just something to do. She skims the pages another time, before she gets bored of that too and takes in the room.

Other pairs were silently discussing choices- or, in Stacie and Ashley's case, they were happily gushing about something. Amy and Flo seemed to be casually agreeing on something. Aubrey seemed to really be taking initiative, routinely jotting down a few side-notes for whatever the hell reason on the booklet, while Jessica chewed on her nails and watched. And then, from under her brow, the prim girl catches Beca's eye and she zips her eyes away from Aubrey, back to Chloe. Who, seemed to notice the quick movement and peeked at her from the corner of her eye, before hastily turning the page of the paper over in her hands. To the third page. She still wasn't even bothering to read anything.

Frowning, Beca tries not to stare at the girl. She just waits. Watches her feet and wishes that the clock would move faster.

"Can't you just-" Chloe's voice breaks through the growing tension between them. Beca looks up. "Can't you pick? I'll organize everything but can't you pick?"

Beca's eyes dart down to the page, where it remained there on the third one. She hadn't progressed since.

Sort of, like a delayed reaction, Beca remembers all the times she'd observed Aubrey and Chloe working together. Watching as the blonde explained the process of a lab experiment thoroughly or described, in great detail the chapter of the novel they were supposed to be reading in English class.

She remembers idly thinking that Chloe Beale is lucky she's that pretty, because she's as dumb as a bag of rocks.

And it's because she's that pretty that she gets a free pass. That she gets to be popular and coddled despite this. But as soon as Beca slacks for even a minute she's got someone breathing down her neck.

"What's the matter, can't you read?" It's a little harsh, sure, and she's not super certain where it comes from but she says it anyway.

Chloe purses her lips, eyes widening slightly, betraying her surprise. And then her mouth flounders open for a moment, lashes batting wildly. "Of course I can read, Beca." There is an equal- and admittedly, deserved- amount of bitterness administrated in the words. She turns back to the paper and scowls at Beca from the corner of her eyes. "I don't think I'd be graduating with you if I couldn't."

Here's the thing; she starts most of her fights. She really does, on the penchant of her being a little bit hot-headed and immediately defensive whenever someone raises their voice at her in response. And that's why she would like to snap something about the only reason Chloe is graduating is because Aubrey has been doing all of her homework since the fourth grade. On the account that they'd need to be working together for a chunk of time in the foreseeable future, however, she thinks maybe she ought not to be a total asshat. So, she bites her tongue.

"I just don't understand why you don't want to pick." She diverts, gesturing at her own pamphlet in her lap. "This is more your territory than it is mine."

Rolling her head on her shoulders, Chloe sighs. "Fine. Give me your top three."

"I don't have a top one."

"Well, we don't want to wait and get last pick, so tell me which one you hate the least." Chloe argues, flipping the page on her own pamphlet again and exhaling heavily through her nose. Beca can hear the frustrated huff from where she's sitting.

Frowning, Beca relents. "Fine. Awake-A-Thon. That could be cool, I guess."

Chloe nods, shutting the booklet without continuing her idle perusing. "Okay. We'll throw our vote in for the Awake-A-Thon. Do you have a second choice?"

A first choice was as much Beale was getting from her. "No," She sighs stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest and tapping her feet. This class couldn't end soon enough- and they'd just begun ten minutes ago. "You pick that."

"Alright," Chloe's voice is disheartened, but ultimately, defeated.

And then resumes about three minutes of silence, before Mrs. Abernathy is clapping her hands together with enthusiasm and progressing to the front of the class. Picking up a piece of chalk, she begins to write out the several options on the board.

Amy and Flo take the elementary Fun Day spot. Mrs. Abernathy is unhappy but unsurprised when no one wants to take on the Senior Centre option, and moves on to he charity dance. Two hands rise into the air. One from Aubrey and the other, Stacie. Which is followed by an equal amount of scowling from both girl's, and beside her, she can see Chloe chewing her lip.

"Alright, well, we'll come back to that," Mrs. Abernathy then moves on to the community run, which no one else was interested in. "Awake-A-Thon?"

Meeting Beca's gaze, Chloe tentatively extends her hand into the air. To Beca's horror, Cynthia Rose does the same. She's never felt more of a dislike for Cynthia Rose than she does in this moment- not that the girl has ever done anything against her, nor was this, but all it meant was that now they'd have to battle it out for a spot and that was way more than the easy effort Beca was hoping for. The woman at the front of the room hums thoughtfully. "Well, I guess we'll come back to that, too. That means no one is interested in the homeless dinner, either?"

The lack of real community involvement here was something, Beca thinks, and it's nothing good. Oh well.

"I don't think that one would be that bad," Chloe whispers, leaning over slightly in her seat. "It would probably be really easy to organize."

Which is true, Beca can concede. And if Chloe was going to be the one organizing, anyways, it really wouldn't effect her. And it would probably look good on a transcript or resume...

She shrugs. "Whatever. Go for it."

Chloe smiles, just a little, before extending that hand upwards again. When Mrs. Abernathy points to her, she announces happily. "Beca and I will take the homeless dinner."

What was Beca thinking? They should have taken that from the start- there were like, three homeless people in Barden. This would be a walk in the park.

Impressed, Mrs. Abernathy jots their names down beside the option, and then proceeds to do the same with Cynthia Rose and Lilly beside the Awake-A-Thon. Next, Beca knew, would come the fun part. Claws out between Aubrey and Stacie. "Okay, and back to the dance-"

"Mrs. Abernathy?" The quivering voice of neither of those two girls cut the woman off- as Jessica raises her hand into the air tentatively. The woman in question pauses, nodding in the direction of the pastor's daughter, allowing her to proceed. "Why don't Ashley and I work on something, so Stacie and Aubrey can both work on what they want to?"

Beca sees Aubrey's green eyes bulge from all the way across the classroom. "Oh, that's- I don't think that's necessary," The girl immediately insists, "we can figure something else out."

Mrs. Abernathy turns her direction to the two brunette's in the opposite group. "Ashley? What would you like to do?"

Alarmed at being addressed, the girl raises one hand to her chest uncertainly, before it seems to click in that she was in fact being spoken to. "Oh." She stammers. "I- well, I don't mind either way-"

"I think it's a good idea." Stacie interrupts from her seat beside the speaking girl. Beca thinks she almost sees Aubrey snap the pencil she's holding in two, and next to her, she hears a sharp inhale from Chloe that she can only imagine must be borne from some kind of nervousness. "If, of course," Then, the buxom girl is resting a gentle hand against Ashley's shoulder and batting those jade cat-eyes at her. "you don't mind Ashley."

The girl croaks out her uncertainty, eyes darting between those staring at her. Which was everyone, really. Although some looked more bored than others. Smirking, Beca leans back in her seat. She can practically hear Aubrey grinding her teeth; it was kind of common knowledge that the two girl's had it out for each other since puberty, and she could only wonder where on earth this could lead them now. It was definitely interesting. Casually, she finds Amy's gaze at the back of the room. She has her lips pressed together in a thin line, surely to hide her laughter.

"It's-" Ashley seems to have finally found words. "I mean... I don't mind, if it's easier that way." And then she shrugs, but there's a frightened mouse look about her that she can't quite shake despite her best efforts.

"Well," Mrs. Abernathy draws then, eyes darting from girl to girl. "what do you girls think?"

Aubrey is the first to speak. "I think," She sounds just as strained as Beca imagined she would. Stacie is wearing an entirely self-satisfied smirk that Beca can't help but actually feel a small tingle of respect in; because there was something about grinding Posen's gears that sang well with her and no one seemed to do it better than the girl's own rival.

Again, she hears a shaky exhale from the red-haired girl in the seat beside her followed by an equally breathless whisper. "Holy doodle here we go," Beca smothers the chuckle by quickly pressing the back of her hand to her mouth, peeking over at the blonde.

"that, if we think about something as... large as the charity dance, we should take into account that I- no offense, Stacie-" Aubrey mends quickly, but it was lacking any and all sincerity. "have organized these kind of things before."

Mrs. Abernathy sighs. "While that might be true, Aubrey, this is an opportunity for everyone."

"I don't mind." Ashley speaks up then. "It'll make the sailing go smoother. Jessica and I can work on something else."

"It's-" Aubrey starts again, but cuts herself off with a sharp hiccup. Hiking a single, questioning brow, Beca glances back at Chloe. The girl has wide eyes and she's got one hand gripping the bottom of her seat, like she's about to stand. Aubrey too, appears suddenly horrified and she swallows whatever it is she was about to say with a tight-lipped smile. "whatever works."

The relief coming from Chloe now is palpable. Mrs. Abernathy raises her eyebrows as well and sort of gapes dubiously for a moment, before she blinks a few times and turns her attention to the remaining brunette. "Stacie? What do you think?"

One corner of the girl's lips curl into a half-grin, and she shrugs. "Yeah." With the most subtle hint of venom in her voice, she agrees. "Whatever works."

The woman looks like she wary to agree with the two of them, but doesn't say much else. Just writes the two of them down next to the charity dance option and allows Jessica and Ashley some time to consider what it was that they wanted to do. Running her tongue along her teeth, she casts her attention back in Chloe's direction. The girl seems to notice and gives her a small smile, rustling the pamphlet in her hands. "So," The girl hedges after a moment. "I'll just get started with this later. Can I have your number, just in case?"

For some reason, it's suddenly an intimidating prospect. Having someone like Chloe Beale obtain the knowledge of her phone number, as simple as it was. Beca realizes after a moment that her jaw has dropped of it's own accord, and what comes out next is some noncommittal vowel sound. "Yeah." She stutters out, after she's finished looking like a total ass. "Sure."

And then Chloe's grin is blinding her; it's all tooth and her eyes are crinkling up. "Okay." She sounds appeased. Then, she raises her index finger in her direction, requesting Beca to give her just a moment. And then the girl folds over to stoop down at her bag resting against the leg of her chair. She fishes around for a moment, until she emerges again with a pen in hand.

Beca recites her number, feeling a little bit like she was having an out-of-body experience, and Chloe dutifully writes the digits on the palm of her own hand. Afterwards, Mrs. Abernathy permits everyone to go back to their usual spots if they want, and they do. Beca falls back beside Amy and mutters her relief to her Tasmanian friend.

"This is going to suck," She concludes, partially listening to the new lesson about Bellas they're getting into.

"Let's do something with Legacy tonight," Amy practically whispers it into her own shoulder while eyeing Mrs. Abernathy, but Beca still hears her. "she's still all bummed out."

"Okay."

They drop by Emily's locker after school with the proposition, and the younger brunette agrees with a smile- though she's missing some of her usual glimmer. When they- or, correction, Beca- had first reluctantly broke the news on her first day back at school from her vacation, the girl's jaw had dropped and she'd lost all appetite involving the apple she'd been holding. The thing was abandoned on the picnic table outside. Emily had her fair share of questions at first, but they couldn't answer most of them. Ever since, she's been a little off.

Not that she and Denise were close, or anything. Beca just knew the girl was sensitive, and thus these kinds of things must affect her in a more personal way. It kind of made Beca question how she handled it. Because, all in all, she felt pretty casual about it; aside from a placid interest or the quiet kind of surprise that settles in one's gut, and sits, waiting. Maybe it's a relative of denial. A distant cousin.

And so around four, she's leaving her house again to meet up with Amy. The girl is already outside when she gets there, sitting in her yard, taking the scarce opportunity to soak in the sun the day is providing them. And then Amy meets her on the road, and she hops down, guiding the bike by the handlebars as they continue on their way to Legacy's house.

"I hate walking." Amy complains. "Why do we even do this?"

"Um." Beca bites her cheek. "Because you haven't hurried up and gotten your license yet? So we walk around like a bunch of dorks?"

Amy scoffs, waving away the accusation with a vehement shake of her hand. "Oh, don't you start with me, Short Stuff. You're two months older than me. So in case you don't remember," Beca rolls her eyes, "you should have your license first, yeah?"

"Not my fault my mom doesn't take me out." She protests weakly, before bringing one hand up to shade herself from the beams getting into her eyes. "I'd probably be like, a threat to public safety."

It's a ten minute walk from Amy's to Emily's. When they reach the house on the hill, Beca casually turns away from the windows; so as to not risk any unwarranted communication with her step-brother, should he see her. Because he will almost always go out of his way to strike up a conversation. Even if it literally means walking out of the house and down the driveway. Emily is out quickly though, shouting something about being home later to Mrs. Junk before darting out the door, towards the garage.

"Oh, what's she doing?" Amy questions aloud, causing Beca to glance over her shoulder. "Porkchop!" Amy shouts, waving her arms above her head. "Yoohoo- we're over here! Wrong way!" Emily pays no mind to that however, but she's running back out just as quickly, guiding her own bike in a similar fashion as Beca in their direction. Amy groans, shaking her head. "Wha- no, this isn't cycling club, what's going on?"

"There's somewhere I want to go," Emily pants as she approaches, all exuberance and high-spirited energy as she nearly throws herself onto her bike. "I heard a scary story."

What happens in every single small town mystery? Um, murder. We're no different here. Lol.