A bit of a slower chapter just to get the plot moving along.

Please review if you have any suggestions at all. I'm still mulling over where I want this to go and any suggestions would be appreciated

Homework club, Lyla concluded, was her own personal version of hell. She wandered the tables, pretending to look imposing whilst feeling anything but, her heels clacking on the floor loudly. Mrs. Taylor had insisted that she would be fine; if the socially awkward math teacher could handle this so could she. So far, she'd interfered on a hair pulling match between two rally girls and caught one of the football player's sexting with his girlfriend. She didn't feel as though she'd had much impact on both of the situations; the rally girls had simply been fixing each other's weaves and the football player was still tapping away on his phone, smiling ludicrously. Lyla had never been afraid of confrontation but standing up to these kids was different. Most of them had a deeply seeded distaste for authority and no amount of 'tough love' was going to change that, at least not in the sparse time she had with them.

"Wooo look at that ass." She'd been hearing whispers like this all week at school. Despite her best attempts at modesty, the male population of East Dillon had decided Lyla Garrity was the answer to all their hormone fueled sexy teacher fantasies. Mrs. Taylor had simply told her to ignore and set her boundaries early, but it was getting to her. She wanted to be taken seriously as someone who was here to listen and provide advice and nurture student-teacher relationships. So far, the only nurturing these students wanted from her was downright illegal.

"Miss? Can you help me with my math homework?" one of the football players raised his enormous hand. He was stuffed into a desk that was about two sizes too small for him, looking at her expectantly. Lyla hadn't taken math since high school, but back in the day she'd been pretty decent at it. Besides, she'd been waiting all day for this: a chance to do something productive and be helpful. Granted, she'd preferred something other than homework help, but beggars couldn't be choosers. She walked over quickly, tilting over the cumbersome young man to take a look at what appeared to be his algebra homework. As she leaned down, a perfectly timed spitball shot across the table and landed squarely in her cleavage. Lyla froze, feeling the oozy paper wad slide down between her breasts, nestling itself in the front of her bra. It was followed by another even wetter spit ball which landed with an audible splat on her right cheek before sliding down onto the table.

"Who was that?" She asked, keeping the quiver in her voice just barely under control. The boys at the table laughed, shrugging as they attempted to point fingers at their neighbor. Lyla could feel her face getting hot. She stared at the students in front of her, scanning each of their eyes for an admission of guilt. All she got was stone-faced stares and mirthful eyes, clearly enjoying her reaction.

"Nevermind. I think I got it now." The young man she had come to help turned back to his paper, snickering with his friends. She'd been set up. Taken the bait hook line and sinker. She could still feel the tips of her ears burning with embarrassment. She walked back over to her place at the front of the room, resting her hands on her desk and trying to compose herself.

"Okay. You're all dismissed." She tersely addressed her students before turning around and marching to the staff bathroom. They'd won for today, she'd had enough. Disgusted, she unbuttoned her blouse and dug the spitball out, throwing it into the trash. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, blouse half undone and hair dishevelled, looking more like someone who needed guidance rather than someone who was here to provide it.

"Don't cry about it, Garrity. It won't help." Lyla tried to calm herself down, although her eyes were filling with tears nonetheless. It wasn't supposed to be like this. In all the movies she'd ever watched, the kids with the rough life always loved the soft hearted teacher. This was humiliating and the worst part was that she'd have to do it again tomorrow.

"Dang it, Mr. Pagletti is such a hand talker it's a surprise he hasn't split coffee on me yet – " Tami Taylor mumbled to herself as she burst into the bathroom, rubbing at her coffee stained sweater with a wadded up paper towel. She stopped abruptly when she saw Lyla, blouse still unbuttoned and brown eyes glassy with unshed tears.

"So sorry , I was just heading out." This was just what Lyla needed to top of her day: an opportunity to embarrass herself in front of her mentor. She kept her head down low, attempting to push past Tami.

"Sweetheart, wait – " Tami thwarted her attempt at a quick escape, blocking off the door. "Maybe you should button up before you go out there?" In her endeavour for escape, Lyla hadn't even thought to make herself decent. She looked down at her gaping blouse, signing loudly.

"Oh my God. What am I doing? I've lost my mind." She said, mainly to herself, as her fingers made swift work of her buttons. She kept her head down, hoping Mrs. Taylor wouldn't notice the tears now freely rolling down her face.

"Honey, are you okay? I know it can be tough here." Tami said simply, although 'tough' didn't quite cover it. Her first few days at East Dillon were still fresh in her mind; she'd also spent some time back in the day in this bathroom crying. One particularly bad episode stood out in her mind: a student had slapped her, in the quad in front of half the school, when she'd demanded that she stop bullying a younger girl. It had been mortifying and she remembered going home that night and crying to Eric about it whilst drowning her sorrows in Chardonnay.

"It's good, Mrs.T, really good. Just…getting acquainted with the kids." She'd finished with her buttons and didn't know what to do with her hands anymore, folding them neatly in from of her trousers. Mrs. Taylor nodded slowly, clearly not believing whatever Lyla was trying to sell. She looked like she needed someone to talk to, but if Lyla was anything like herself, which Tami suspected she was, she'd keep this bottled up inside, hating the feelings of failure and inadequacy. As much as she wasn't the high school cheerleader anymore, Tami could still clearly remember her after Jason's accident. She'd bottled up so much and when it all exploded after her infidelity with Tim, she didn't know how to cope. She wasn't going to let that happen again, not on her watch.

"Why don't you come over for dinner tomorrow night? We never properly welcomed you back to Dillon and I think it would be nice. You can bring Tim too if you'd like. I know Eric was planning on having him over since he's been out." Tami rubbed Lyla's arm for added measure; this wasn't a pity invite. Tami saw something in this girl; it reminded her a little bit of Tyra back in the day: potential. Plus, she had a massive roast sitting in her freezer, a gift from Grandma Saracen now that Julie was 'part of the family' and she knew Tim Riggins was just the guy to help Eric finish it off.

"Ok. Yeah, okay. I think that would be nice." Lyla said, slowly smiling and feeling her breathing start to slow. Now composed, she exchanged details with Mrs. Taylor before making her way out of the bathroom. She had a lot to learn still, she realized, but she was also lucky because she knew she had the best teacher around.

/

For the first time he could remember, Tim was early for class. Even before his parents had ditched town, he was often late for school, his schedule subjected to his alcoholic mother's mood more than any real obligations. But this was round two for his post-secondary career and he sincerely hoped he'd last longer than he did at San Antonio State.

"I'm so incredibly proud of you Tim." Lyla had told him this morning in the shower, when he'd finally confessed to her that he'd been taking classes at Dillon Tech and not sleeping away his afternoons in his trailer, like she'd been lead to believe. He'd received a nice reward for that tidbit of information, although the trailers tiny shower stall barely left enough room for him nonetheless two people attempting shower sex. He was still thinking about Lyla naked and wrapped around him when he threw himself down into a desk, making sure to distance himself from the other students. He had plenty of friends and figured neither the blading middle aged men nor the pimple-faced 18 year olds where suitable additions to his social circle.

"Welcome everyone to Engineering Basics, Day 3. If you're still here, under your own will, then that's a start." The prof started off dryly, clearly used to the fluctuating class size that was common at Dillon Tech. Tim pulled out his notebook and the pencil tucked behind his ear, ready to scribble down whatever the professor scrawled on the chalkboard. His educational career had always been based on using those around him to get ahead. But this was different: he'd chosen to be here. Neither the state nor Lyla had mandated this. Somehow, that made a difference and the Tim Riggins who'd spent over two years skipping every Wednesday of high school was now taking notes furiously.

"Well that's it for today folks. Let's take this up next class. Any questions?" As the professor put down his nub of chalk, Tim gathered his books, surprised at how quickly time had passed. His brain felt crammed with information; he pictured numbers leaking out of his ears as he made his way to the truck. Some of had made sense though, which was a first for him. Not since Landry had read him 'Of Mice and Men' had he walked out of a class feeling like he knew something.

"Honey, I'm home!" His declared unnecessarily as he crossed the trailers threshold. Lyla was sitting in what constituted as the kitchen, pulling out last night's leftovers. This place sure was small, he noticed, especially with Garrity's fancy work clothes hung up all over the place to prevent the ever present threat of wrinkling. She'd been appalled to learn that he didn't own an iron, although he didn't understand the need to smooth out all your clothes when they were just going to get all crinkled anyway.

"How was it?" Lyla asked enthusiastically as she heated up pasta, narrowly avoiding catching the sleeve of one of her hanging dress shirts in the microwave. She was spending a lot of time here, but it was still difficult to adjust to such a small living space. Her dorm at Vanderbilt had been similarly small, but she'd shared it with a small, feisty Korean girl, who when she wasn't snapping at Lyla for 'breathing too loudly' was over at her boyfriends. Tim took up significantly more space, particularly with his constant habit of stretching languidly onto every seat he occupied.

"It was good. I learnt some stuff." Tim said simply. He knew it made Lyla happy that he'd decided to go back to school, but this wasn't like it was with San Antonio State, where he'd done it just for her.

"Yeah? How's it feel to finally be actually learning in a classroom instead of picking up girls and shooting spitballs?" She settled onto the bed, forgoing the rickety table and chairs he often referred to as his 'decorative dining area'. Lyla was excited for him. All she'd ever wanted for Tim was for him to want something for himself. She'd never cared what that was, although for a time she'd tried very hard to make is San Antonia State, just that he was passionate about something. He had all this intelligence and kindness stored in him but with no drive nor much motivation, it was wasted. He needed an outlet, an opportunity to become more than the towns former football star turned alcoholic womanizer, a chance to overcome the prophecy that followed the 'Riggins' name. College was his chance.

"Spitballs? Nah, that wasn't my style back in the day. Although I do miss the rally girls, now those were some memories." He teased her, although the look on her face lacked much humor. She'd been so relaxed since she'd been with him. Lyla was a worrier, which was an adaptive trait he figured she'd picked up after all those years of living with Buddy Garrity, who could find trouble anywhere. However, she'd seemed much more at ease these days, that is until today.

"Well spitballs seem to be the new thing these days. I had two shot at me today at East Dillon. That place is like my kryptonite. Those kids…they just don't care." She leaned against the wall, her food abandoned beside her. She was still thinking about the homework club, ruminating on what she could have done differently.

"You gotta make them care. Isn't that sorta you're job description?" Tim asked, sitting down beside her. He kicked off his boots and ran his fingers through his tangled and windblown hair.

"When did you get so wise, Tim Riggins?" She asked, looking up at him as he nudged her uneaten plate of food, waiting for approval to devour it. She nodded, smiling at him and his insatiable appetite.

"Took up Tai Chi in prison. I've found my inner Bhudda." He joked as he shovelled pasta into his mouth. It was somewhat true; he'd had a lot of time to think whilst in prison. He didn't think he was any wiser nowadays, just maybe overthinking things a lot less than back in the day. Most things, he'd realized, had a pretty simple solution once you really thought about it.

"Well thank God for you and Tami Taylor since I'd be sunk otherwise. She invited us for dinner tomorrow. Coach wants to see you too." It took Tim a minute to figure out who 'Tami' was, since she was always Mrs. T or Mrs. Coach to him. He'd written Coach in prison and although they'd never talked about the stuff he'd written, part of him still felt weird about it. The letters had started off as a way to pass the time; he wasn't even going to mail them since they consisted mostly of his daily musings and contained nothing significant. He'd sent them out at the last minute, figuring he needed to explain himself to Coach, one of the few people who'd believed in him. But now it felt strange, probably what the nameless rally girls felt like after encountering him in the hallways after a night of drunken sex. Coach had now seen that exposed and vulnerable side of him, something he didn't' show to a lot of people.

"Yeah, okay. Maybe I'll even brush my hair for the occasion." Tim joked, referencing to Lyla's many daily comments about his hair getting too long. Prison didn't exactly a barbershop nearby and he liked it this long. He had something to run his hands through when he got nervous, which he was sure was going to happen pretty often at the Taylors tomorrow.

"Oh you're definitely brushing it!" Lyla said, pulling a hairbrush out from the night stand. He quickly set his plate down and jumped away, determined to at least make her work for it. She laughed, chasing him around the small trailer, all thoughts of her horrible day put away at least for a little bit.

/

"I'm half bald now. Coach probably won't even recognize me." Tim joked, referring to his brushed and freshly cut hair, which he'd only let Lyla do after much insistance. Lyla smiled, grabbing his hand as they walked up the familiar front steps of the Taylor's modest home.

"Be good in there." Lyla squeezed his hand, reminding him that this wasn't just 'Mrs. Coach' anymore but her boss now. Not that she thought she had too much to worry about, but you never know with Tim.

"I'm always good. I'm like the role model of goodness. Parents tell their kids 'be more like that saintly boy Tim Riggins'. That's a fact." Tim teased as Lyla rolled her eyes and rang the doorbell.

"Hello! Come on in guys! Tim Riggins, look at you! You look great!" Tami opened the door and promptly wrapped Tim up in a hug so tight that he was sure he felt his ribs shifting around. Back in his high school days, Tim probably would've needed some solid alone time in the boys bathroom following a hug like this from Dillon High's former hottest principal. Nowadays, he returned her hug earnestly, breathing a sigh of relief knowing that she wasn't hateful towards him; he'd found a lot of former Dillon alumni weren't quite so welcoming now that he was Tim Riggins the former convict, even if his crime had been completely non-violent.

"And Lyla don't you just look wonderful. Come on in, guys." Coach appeared in the hallway ushering them in. He was back in the Panther blue, which Tim thought suited him much better than East Dillon red.

"I've got dinner on the table but can I start you guys off with a drink?" Tami asked, ever the excellent hostess. Tim badly wanted to request a beer but bit his tongue. He thanked Mrs. Taylor for the juice she handed him, feeling Lyla's proud gaze; she'd clearly read his mind about the beer.

"So Tim, you're building a house out in Kilroy I here?" Tami asked. Tim often wondered what people would ask him about if he hadn't been building his house. It's not like he had much to offer up given his past year had been spent predominantly in a jail cell. He'd never been much of a casual conversationalist when it came to things like pop culture, but now he was even more lost in that respect. Nonetheless, he could talk about that place all day, so it suited him just fine.

"Tim? Can I talk to you outside?" Coach stepped out from the patio, gesturing to Tim to follow him. Tim stood up slowly, rubbing his palms down his nice jeans, the one's Lyla had bought for him after complaining that every pair he owned was ripped up. He nodded politely to Mrs. Taylor, leaving her and Lyla alone while he ventured outside to face Coach.