A/N: Wow! You all seem to like this story. That makes me so happy, you have no idea. Maybe you have an idea. I like when people like my stuff! And I have seven chapters complete (minus editing) so this will be good to go once a week for a while.

Anyway, here's chapter two.

Emily tugged her jacket closer. Her hair wrapped around her neck and across her face and she brushed it away again and again as she hurried down the sidewalk.

Her phone buzzed. Her girlfriend's face smiled at her, her number glowing on the screen. Emily stopped, teeth chattering as she answered the call.

"H-hello?"

"Where are you?" Samara's muffled voice exploded from the speaker. Emily moved the phone away from her ear and winced.

"I started walking," she said.

She heard the rumble of Samara's engine in the background. "I'm so sorry," said Samara. "I'll come get you."

"It's fine." Emily scowled and started walking again. "I'm almost home."

Samara ignored her. "Just wait there. I'll pick you up on the way. I love you."

Emily hung up, shoving the phone back into her pocket. The trees chattered with the wind and the rain. It had started to drizzle, and Emily sped up, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning into the gale.

Paige rolled up her driveway past her mother's car, ducking into the garage and stowing her bike. She pressed her ear to the inner door.

Nothing. As far as she could tell, the house was silent as the grave. She crept inside, shutting the door behind her as slowly as possible. Her skin pricked to life, shrugging off the chill. She patted her nose, wriggling away the cold.

She slipped off her shoes and padded through the room, heading for the stairs. As she placed her toes on the first step, her mother called her name. Paige held her breath. Her mother did not call again. Paige resumed climbing.

"Paige, honey, can you come here, please?" her mother insisted. Paige groaned and thundered back down.

"What?" she asked, freezing in the doorway. Her mother sat in the chair beyond, curled up on the couch with her eyes fixed on the television, a steaming mug clutched between her hands.

"You're on your own for dinner tonight," said the older woman without looking at her daughter.

Paige's stomach rumbled and she grimaced. "Again?"

Her mother spun around. "Is that a problem? You're eighteen. You're perfectly capable of feeding yourself."

"Screw you," said Paige. The rush of blood burned beneath her still-frozen skin. Her mother narrowed her eyes and held her daughter's glare. Neither woman backed down, jaws locking and brows furrowing. Then her mother sighed and turned back around, snuggling down into awkward comfort.

"Where's Dad?" asked Paige, twisting the knife. Her mother sagged even more, shoulders drooping beneath the blanket.

"Out."

Paige let out a clipped laugh. She dragged in a deep breath. The air was warm and dusty, fresh-cooked off the heater. She let it go, and clomped up the stairs.

Samara rolled down her window as she inched along beside Emily.

"Em, please, get in the car."

Emily did not answer, but hugged her arms tighter and bit her quivering lip. Her steps began to slow.

"Emily, I said I'm sorry. I didn't plan to leave you hanging. I don't know what else to say."

Emily sucked in a stuttering breath and shook her head. "You always do this."

"I'm so sorry. I really am. Baby, you're shivering. Please let me drive you home."

The shivering girl stopped. She closed her eyes and tipped her head to the sky. The first drops of the returning storm splattered on her cheeks. They burned cold.

She slipped into the passenger seat and slammed the door behind her. Samara smiled and stepped on the gas.

They sat, parked in her driveway as the rain hammered the roof of Samara's car. Emily leaned against the window, breath fogging the glass as the crystal drops clung and collected and coasted down the outside. A chill worked its way into her, numbing her and stilling the breath in her lungs.

"Emily," said Samara. She reached out and her fingers brushed Emily's thigh. Emily scooted away, pushing up against the door. Samara rested her hand on the seat instead. She spoke again. "You know work gets busy sometimes."

"You could have called or something," Emily mumbled into the window. She reached up a finger and dragged it through the cloud of condensation. It cut through with a low squeak.

"I was really busy."

"You didn't call until you were already at the Brew. I left you so many messages."

Samara turned around in her seat, leaning over towards Emily. "Emily," she whispered. "At least look at me."

Emily glanced at Samara over her shoulder, cheeks stained with tears. Samara's face melted. "You're beautiful," she said.

Emily couldn't help but smile, shaking her head. "I'm crying."

"You're beautiful," said Samara again. She reached out and placed her hand on Emily's arm. Emily sniffled and Samara frowned. "I'm so, so sorry. I can't take it back, but I can say it'll never happen again."

Emily locked eyes with Samara as the other girl's hand traveled down to her own, nestled in her lap. "Never?" she asked.

Samara grinned. "Never." She leaned forward and Emily peeled herself from the door. Their lips met, just briefly, before Emily pulled away to wipe her eyes. Samara squeezed Emily's hand before glancing out the window.

"Guess we'll have to make a run for it," she said.

Emily eyed the ominous sky and a smile tickled her lips. Samara slipped out of the car, slammed the door behind her and ran for the porch.

Emily followed, sliding from her seat into the elements. She didn't hurry. She turned her face to the sky. The raindrops splashed against her skin, breaking as they drummed their staccato beat. The gray clouds pressed in from above but the shiver that rolled across Emily's skin tore her open, lungs swelling with cold-laden air before spilling it free in a shifting mist.

"Emily!" shouted Samara. "What are you doing?"

Emily grinned at her girlfriend and spread her arms wide. "I love the rain!" She blinked, and the droplets sparkled in her eyelashes.

"You hate the rain!" said Samara, laughing. "Come on!"

The soaking wet girl ran for the porch and grabbed her girlfriend. They shrieked, Emily with mirth and Samara with distress. "Em! You're getting me all wet!"

Emily pulled away and Samara brushed past her into the house. Emily did not follow but leaned against the railing and watched the rain fall.

Samara called from inside, snapping Emily from her reverie. She shivered, soaked to the bone, and flicked the water from her hands. She headed inside and the door behind her.

Paige crept back down the stairs. Emily's coffee bubbled in the pit of her stomach and her thoughts swirled in her skull, drifting towards the refrigerator below.

She gripped the railing, one hand held in front of her to ward off the darkness. Her mother was in bed upstairs. Her father was… somewhere.

She tiptoed into the kitchen. Her bare feet stuck against the cold tile. She pulled the fridge open. The electric light flooded the dark room, casting its edges in sharp, ghostly relief. She squinted into the fridge to filter out the glow even as it cut across her face.

Nothing ready-made, which was a shame. She found the cold cuts and checked to see if they'd gone bad.

They hadn't. Unlike everything else in this house.

Crossing the room to flip on the light, banishing the harsh illumination of the fridge, she began to gather everything she needed for the perfect sandwich. If Emily's years in the coffee shop had turned her into a master barista, so had Paige's years under her parents' roof changed her into a professional scrounger.

A hand reached around her as she hunted for the bread and peeled away a slice of turkey with fumbling fingers. She closed the cabinet to find her father, a flush across his cheeks and nose, stuffing the slice into his mouth and licking his thumb clean.

"Got my smokes?" he asked. She fished them from her pocket and slapped them into his hand, turning up her nose at the smell wafting from him.

He slipped them in his own pocket and let his eyes travel over his daughter's face, melancholy seeping into his features. He found the scrape on her forehead, the bandages on her hand, the clothes that had changed since he'd seen her last.

"What happened, kiddo?" he asked as he reached out to stroke her hair.

She ducked beneath his calloused hand. "Nothing," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said, and his eyes began to water. They were unfocused, muscles relaxed behind the orbs. He blinked, trying to pull them together to lock on his daughter's, so much like his wife's.

"No, you're not," she spat. She threw open the cabinet, seized the loaf of bread and slammed it closed again. He jumped and she grabbed the turkey and elbowed him aside.

She flew up the stairs and flung herself into the room, leaning back against the door with one hand on the knob. A sob rocked through her, shaking up through her shoulders and down, down into her ankles. She flopped to the ground, legs splayed in front of her.

The chill-snapped rain air rushed through her window and her curtains billowed. Her tears poured down her cheeks and she pulled her shirt up over her nose, burying her eyes in the collar.

She took a rattling, wheezing breath, sucking it through her teeth, and her tongue tasted her own warmth and Emily's scent, still wedged in the threads of the fabric. She worked her head between her knees and wrapped her arms around her head. Her fingers dug into her hair.

The rain poured down, and Paige McCullers cried and cried.

Emily bounced down the stairs, slippers flapping against her heels as she went. Her flannel pajamas, riding low on her hips, swished around her legs. The rain chill still clung to her skin like a clammy hand, but the warmth of the house gathered her in its embrace. It cut through the cold residue to fill her from the outside in.

Samara waited on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. She'd changed, too, after Emily had drawn her into a sopping embrace. Her eyes lit up as her girlfriend flounced into the room, traveling to the shoulder that peeked out from beneath the too-large shirt that Emily wore.

They settled in to watch their movie – a horror flick of Emily's choice – with Emily snuggled into Samara's side, Samara's arm draped across her shoulders.

"So, how was work?" asked Samara as her fingers traced circles over the exposed skin of Emily's shoulder.

Emily shrugged. "There was hardly anyone there. We closed early."

"So I wasn't really late."

Emily pulled away and raised an eyebrow. "You still didn't answer my calls. Or my texts."

"I know, I know. I'm sorry I brought it up. So just a boring day? I hope Kevin didn't try to hit on you again." Samara smiled, but her eyes flashed with irritation.

Emily settled back down with a chuckle. "No, he behaved…" she trailed off.

Samara squirmed. "What? Did someone else hit on you?"

Emily sat upright. "No, no, I… well, maybe. She didn't mean to, though."

"She?" Samara's eyes narrowed. "Who is this girl?"

"She's new to the school," said Emily. "And like I said, she didn't mean to. It just came out wrong. Or I misinterpreted it." She shrugged. "I told her I'm happily taken." She leaned in to kiss her girlfriend, but Samara pulled away.

"She goes to your school?" Emily nodded. Samara's expression soured. "Well, you should stay away from this bitch, whoever she is."

"Samara!" Emily pouted. "She backed off after I told her I was taken." I suppose that's not completely true... "It was an honest mistake."

Samara shook her head. "Honest or not, this girl is into you. It's not that I don't trust you-"

"No?" Emily crossed her arms.

"-I just don't trust this girl's intentions. Of course I trust you." Samara took Emily's hand in her own, but couldn't, or wouldn't look her girlfriend in the eye.

"She might be on the swim team with me," said Emily.

Samara linked their fingers and looked up at Emily with pleading eyes. "Em, please. Be nice to her - not that you'd ever be anything but nice-" She smiled. "But don't go out of your way to see her."

Emily watched Samara play with her hand, watched her trail her fingers along her arm, watched her lean in close. She smiled into the kiss, her hands slipping down to Samara's waist, curling in the folds of Samara's shirt.

Then she thought of Paige, the way the biker had smiled when Emily had offered to help, the appreciation apparent in her eyes when Emily handed her the dry set of clothes. I can't avoid her. It would be cruel.

She pulled away, smiling as she broke into a yawn and stretched. Samara rubbed her knee. "You're not getting sleepy on me, are you?"

Emily wrung her hands. "I'm sorry. It was a weird day. I think I just want to get some sleep."

Samara leaned forward and kissed Emily on the forehead. "I understand. Let me clean up." She rose from the couch, carrying away the blanket and the popcorn. Emily stretched again and slunk after Samara. She watched her girlfriend gather up her things and shrug on her jacket. They shared a goodbye kiss, parting at last with a lingering gaze and fingers that did not break apart until gravity willed it.

She watched Samara drive away. Samara's taillights glinted in the mist that sprinkled from above. She heard the creak of a bike down the street and her head snapped towards the sound, but it was only the neighbor's kid, pedaling back home.

She relaxed; she hadn't realized that her whole body had tensed up, that her breath had become snagged in her throat. She shook her head. I'll see her at school tomorrow.

The butterflies in her stomach lasted only a moment before the nausea took over. Her eyes searched for Samara's car, wide and frantic, but her girlfriend was gone.

Samara can't read minds.

Emily pushed her hair back from her forehead and squeezed her eyes shut. She glanced at the sky; in the distance, the clouds had cleared and she could just see the twinkle of stars through the curtain of speckled rain.

Paige bent over her desk, pencil scratching back and forth over her notebook. Her calculus book lay open in front of her and she rifled through it before propping her forehead in her hand and grimacing.

She winced at the touch and remembered the scrape there. She trailed her fingers over it, tracing its outline. With a huff, she tossed her pencil onto her desk and snuck out of the room.

She peered at herself in the bathroom mirror. The cut swept over one eyebrow. It had begun to scab. She leaned forward, taking in each ridge of the rough, cracking seal.

Her hands had not had a chance to scab, isolated beneath the bandages. She inspected them and found no debris whatsoever. The pain was minimal as she replaced the dressings. Her knee was much the same.

Paige's fingers traced the patch of skin where Emily's thumb had brushed. She flinched and yanked her hand away, shaking her fingers as though she'd been burned. She chewed her lip and headed back to her room.

She slipped downstairs for the last time, replacing the bread and turkey. She hadn't wanted to risk doubling back for anything else. Her father's thick snores led her into the living room. He lay on his stomach on the couch, face pressed into the cushion and arm dangling over the side.

Paige turned towards the stairs but stopped with her hand on the railing. She glanced back and shivered. Balanced on the tips of her toes, she found the blanket - the one that her mother was rarely without - and draped it over her father. His feet poked out the ends, grimy socks with fraying soles peeping from under the fringe. Her mouth froze between a frown and a smile.

When she returned to her room, she crossed to her desk, but could not sit down. Her half-completed homework stared at her, naked blue lines waiting to be filled with her next attempt at a derivation.

She couldn't bring herself to care. Why care about the rate of change of the temperature of a tub of water? Could an equation describe how quickly her heart had started beating when Emily had taken Paige's hand in her own? Could she solve for the amount of time it would take for her to shake the girl - the taken girl - from her thoughts?

She'd heard once that rate of change of acceleration was called a jerk. Perhaps that could explain the way her stomach had flipped each time Emily had smiled. It had felt like a jerk. A lurch. Her heart had leapt into her throat and throbbed there, blocking all air to her lungs.

She's taken. She has a girlfriend.

It didn't seem to matter. Her skin still tingled where Emily had touched her. Her heart still pattered each time she remembered the way the girl had looked at her. So caring. So worried for me. She barely knows me. She didn't know me.

Paige flicked off her desk lamp, and the room was suddenly dark, lit only by the shifting light oozing through the open window. She leaned on the windowsill. The wind streamed across her skin. Outside, it tousled the leaves, spinning them about with a crinkling clatter. Everything gleamed, coated in the residue of the evening's storm. It was fresh and crisp.

She left the window open, though the forecast predicted more showers throughout the night. She yanked off her shirt, pulling it over her head. It dangled in her hands as the starlight glanced from her exposed skin.

Just a Rosewood Sharks shirt. Nothing special. The print was cracked and faded, the fabric glowing with a well-worn halo of fuzz.

Paige lifted it, folded it. It made a neat square. She set it on her desk beside her notebook. She closed the notebook, eyes avoiding the words "Emily Fields?" printed in the tiniest of lettering along the left margin beside a doodle of a bicycle and a woman's lips.

If I wake up early, I can wash that shirt before I go to school.

She wondered where Emily's locker was. Where she sat at lunch. Did they have lunch together? Maybe she could find her at swim practice. Did the swim team practice tomorrow?

Paige pulled her covers over her head.

You're being ridiculous.

Her head sank into the pillow.

Still...

She drifted to sleep, head filled with the sounds of rain and the taste of coffee.

A/N: Well, there's chapter two. Less direct interaction between our heroines, but we certainly have a better idea of just what each of them is dealing with. I promise, Paige and Emily will have occasion to actually talk to each other again next week.

As usual, throw me any comments, questions, criticisms, whatever. Review, send a PM, find me on tumblr, whatever floats your boat. I'm all ears. Or, well, eyes, I guess, since this is the visually-oriented Interwebs and all.