A/N: This chapter's homages include "But I'm A Cheerleader" and "Viva Las Vegas" :)

"Look at her, she's fidgeting. Maura never fidgets."

"Dear, I think you're overreacting."

"It isn't like her."

"Well, she's still adjusting to life in America, Desmond! It's quite different, you know, quite a change. Give her time."

"It's been over a month."

"And she's showing progress. Let her be."

Maura glanced up from the kitchen table to see her parents standing in the doorframe, whispering to each other. When she was younger, she had always found it very romantic that her parents were so involved with each other, so close. But the older she got, the more she felt like she was being purposefully left out of the loop. She could tell by the way they were looking at her that they'd just been talking about her, and when she caught their eye, both of them smiled and walked into the kitchen. Her mother went over to talk with their cook, and her father settled himself on the opposite side of the table, newspaper in hand.

He taught no morning classes on Tuesdays or Thursdays, freeing him up for breakfast with his family on these weekdays. Maura prepared herself for his usual conversation-starter: "So! What's on your schedule for today?"

"I'm to start tutoring for Mr. Sluckey."

Desmond furrowed his brow and turned the page of his paper. "A teacher in your school? He needs you to tutor for him?"

"Well, it's this student he says has been giving him some trouble. She's in danger of failing biology, and she won't give him the time of day. Starting from now on, I'm going to spend my study period with her once a week instead of Nurse Johns."

"Mm. Good luck with that, Maura, and don't be afraid to quit if she proves impossible."

Maura left for school with a metaphorical chip on her shoulder. Last night she had introduced herself to the confusing and very frank texts of Dr. Alfred Kinsey. Her parents had not raised her to be Puritanical, and she didn't often hesitate about asking them most things, but this was different. She already knew her parents were aware of homosexuality, and she herself had figured that a person had to be either one or the other: you were a regular man, or you were an effeminate male with particular taste for fashion and the theater; you were a regular woman, or you dressed in severe suits with your hair cut short as possible. Girls who looked like Maura were certainly not lesbians.

But Dr. Kinsey believed that such labels were limiting, that one's sexuality was prone to change over time. Something Maura had assumed to be straightforward—either you craved sex with men or sex with women—was, with the turn of a page, much more flexible. In Kinsey's own words, females (or males) "do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual. The world is not to be divided into sheep and goats." According to Kinsey, one might even be interested in engaging in nothing but heterosexual sex, yet still indulge in fantasies or attraction towards the same sex.

He had concocted a scale to help people orient themselves, which Maura found a tad overwhelming. Being aroused by Jane's sweaty, half-dressed appearance yesterday seemed to rule out that she was "exclusively heterosexual." Had she ever aroused by any men? Was she "predominantly" heterosexual, or only "incidentally" so?

More data would have to be collected before she could feel sure about reaching any sort of scientific conclusion.

When she reached Mr. Sluckey's classroom before lunch, he seemed relieved to see her. Maura figured she ought not to have been surprised to see Jane Rizzoli sitting in the back row of his room, looking supremely bored until she saw Maura. When she raised a dark eyebrow in interest, Maura clutched her books to her chest and tried to assess every mental and physical reaction pummeling through her.

Jane's dark hair was pulled back, save for one curly strand that fell to the left of her face. She was slouched over her desk, legs spread far apart, which looked a little awkward considering she was wearing a long dress. The olive-green color of it didn't quite suit her complexion, and the white shrug she wore over it seemed only a needless feminine accessory. She may have gotten dressed in the dark for as comfortable as she looked, while Maura might have been born in stockinged legs with a pink ribbon in her golden hair.

"Hello, Maura!" Mr. Sluckey said, getting to his feet and all but jumping towards the door. "Good luck, and have fun!"

Without another word, he was gone, and Jane just rolled her eyes. "Thought that doughy menace would never leave."

Unable to think of a suitable response, Maura took a few steps closer, but stopped at the first row of desks. Jane raised her eyebrows from the back, and Maura responded by dropping her books onto one of the desks. Today she was determined for Jane to bend at least once.

"I'm back here," Jane said.

"Yes, and I am up here," Maura responded. "So we are at a standstill."

"What?"

"I refuse to sit in the back like a hoodlum."

"Hoodlum?" Jane laughed. "These are assigned seats, sweetheart. This is where I sit. It's where I've always sat."

"You should ask to sit closer in the front. Statistics show that students who are seated in the back of the room are more likely to perform poorly in class. They are more easily distracted, less likely to take good notes, and less likely to participate—even given the chance."

Jane spread her arms to gesture to the emptiness of the room. "There's no one else here, sweetheart. No distractions."

Maura shrugged and sat down at the desk she'd chosen. If Jane was just going to waste her time anyway, she might as well spend the study period doing a little reading herself. Biology had long been her favorite subject to study, and no matter how inane a textbook was, she still found herself fascinated by different writers' and illustrators' takes on various topics. What intrigued her the most was the recent discovery of the double-helix deoxyribose nucleic acid. Science was so incredible.

Which was why she couldn't believe it when people like Jane would show up at her side and say, "How can you be so interested in such boring stuff?"

"I don't think anything is boring," Maura replied, looking up. She couldn't help smiling at her own mini-victory as Jane plopped herself into the next chair over. "There's no such thing as dullness, only ignorance."

"Come on," Jane scoffed. "Can you honestly say you enjoy everything in the entire world?"

"Well, I see a whole spectrum between enjoyment and boredom. Just because I don't excel in one area doesn't mean I find myself bored by it."

"One area, hm? Let me guess—you're not really the athletic type."

"I study ballet."

"That is not a sport," Jane said with a laugh. "Not even close, sister!"

Maura pursed her lips, deciding it wouldn't be prudent to argue. "Open your book, Jane."

"C'mon, let's just blow this popsicle stand."

Words never ceased to confuse. "What?"

Jane nodded towards the window. "Let's just get outta here! We could grab a malt or something, and be back before Lucky Sluckey even knows we left." Grinning at the abashed expression on Maura's face, Jane asked, "Bet you've never cut school, have you?"

"Of course not," Maura said, looking affronted at the very thought. She pulled Jane's book towards her, opening it to the proper page. "Now—"

"Ever had a glass of beer before?" The response was another scandalized look. "Bet you never had a glass of beer." Under the desk, Jane knocked Maura's knee with her own. "Wanna get one with me?"

"Absolutely not, and I will give you two reasons," Maura replied. "First of all, beer is cheap and holds far less nutritional value than something such as wine, which I have developed an amiable palette towards on occasion. Second of all, I have no desire to spend more time with you than is strictly necessary, Jane Rizzoli."

Feigning hurt, Jane said, "Why not? Everybody loves me! Well, except most of the teachers here. And the principal. And the nurse. And a lot of my classmates. And my baby brother, a lot of the time. Oh, and my mother."

"What makes you think your mother doesn't love you?"

Jane at a little straighter in her chair, pulling her chin out of her hand. "Huh."

"What?"

"That was an interesting response. Most people would say, 'oh I'm sure she loves you.'"

"How could I say that with any integrity when I can't be sure?" Maura asked. "Having never met your mother or witnessed her behavior when she's around you, it would be impossible for me to reach any sort of conclusion about your relationship. I couldn't even come up with a hypothesis as I have laid no groundwork for conjecture. Although given your general attitude, I could understand a parent having difficulty with you."

The last sentence somehow came off as merely observational, not a jab, but Jane treated it just the same. "I guess a goody two-shoes like you is a parent's dream."

"We get on all right, I suppose," Maura said. "More often than not, they aren't around long enough for me to really tell."

"Leave you alone a lot, huh?"

Maura shrugged and nodded.

Jane just snorted and leaned back again. "Poor little rich girl," she snarked.

She caught Maura's eye, and suddenly felt overcome with remorse. Jane was accustomed to disapproval and sharp remarks, having always been on the wrong side of her teachers and almost never able to please her mother. She dished it out because she could take it. Jane called things like she saw them; or as Maura might say, she went off conjecture. There was a somberness present in those bright hazel eyes, a silent plea for Jane to understand—you really don't know me. Please don't act like you do. The sorrow in her features was subtle, but Jane was learning how to pick up on small details.

Jane was the first to look away. Maura was then treated to a phrase that rarely came from Jane's mouth with any level of sincerity: "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it," Maura said. "If you'd like to make it up to me, you could try to let me teach you. That's why we're both here."

Sighing as if this was the worst possible thing Maura could ever have asked her to do, Jane obliged. Opening the book to the proper chapter, she said, "You really dig this stuff, huh? Science. Sluckey told me he had a student to tutor me who was a real whiz kid."

"I've always found it very intriguing, yes," Maura said in a dignified manner. "I really don't see why other people don't think so."

"You wanna be a nurse, or a chemist or something when you grow up?"

"I haven't decided, although medicine in particular is fascinating to me."

"Just don't get all Dr. Frankenstein on us," Jane chuckled.

"I have no intention of attempting the reanimation of dead tissue," Maura said, "but did you know that recent advances in medicine have been made to make it possible for a deceased person to donate an organ to a living person who needs it? A surgeon in the Ukraine first tried it in the 1930s—a Dr. Voronoy, if I recall correctly—but the process hasn't been perfected yet. According to Dr. Medawar from the National Institute for Medical Research, azathioprine has been identified as a usable immunosuppressive drug, which means that deceased-donor transplants will be possible among more of the population besides identical twins."

As usual, Maura didn't realize she had been rambling until she caught sight of Jane's slack-jawed expression. She blushed and hunched over her desk.

"Wow," Jane said. "I think you should be teaching this class, not Sluckey."

"I'm not a teacher," Maura said.

"No, but you're smarter than he is."

"I doubt that."

"I wouldn't be so sure, square." Maura looked over again, and after a few moments of careful studying, discerned that Jane's grin was playful, not condescending. "So if I have trouble dissecting my frog—will you help me?"

Maura's smile widened. "Are you squeamish?"

"No!" Jane scoffed. "What am I, a pansy?"

"A viola tricolor?" Maura asked in confusion.

"A wimp. I ain't squeamish, I just object to the whole practice on moral grounds. Those poor damn frogs didn't do nothin' to me."

"Jane, as your tutor, I'd appreciate it if you would refrain from swearing and using double negatives in my presence," Maura said, only semi-seriously. She couldn't keep from grinning for too long, and after a short pause, Jane reflected it. Looking down at her book, Maura said, "So, Mr. Sluckey asked me to cover Gregor Mendel with you. His work with—"

"What's going on with you and my brother?"

It was Maura's turn to sigh. "Jane, please. Can we just get through some of this, at least?"

"This is related! Mendel did genetics. Genetics are like traits, and inherited family stuff, right? Tommy's my family. We share certain traits. I want to know what my trait-sharing brother has been doing with you."

"We haven't been doing anything but spend time together," Maura answered, feeling uncomfortable. "It's been years since I faced such a capable opponent in chess."

"Huh. Y'know, I taught him everything he knows."

"Is that so. Now, Mendel's laws—"

"Wanna play some time? We could get that beer."

"I told you, Jane. I have no interest in getting beer with you."

"Okay, just the chess, then."

"You want to spend time with me?" Maura asked in disbelief.

Jane bit her lip, smiling. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

"Then don't be cruel."

Jane's smile turned into a bit of a smirk. "To a heart that's true?"

"Hm? Oh… that's a song, isn't it?"

By way of response, Jane sat up a little straighter and crooned, "I don't want no other love, baby it's just you I'm thinkin' of!" She swayed her shoulders, then laughed at the look on Maura's face. "Aw, don't tell me you're gonna go complain about the King's grammar."

Actually, Maura had just been taken aback by the fact that Jane could carry a tune, even if only for one lyric. Her speaking voice was so low on its own and alluring in its own way—there was an added sultriness when it dipped even lower to hit a note or two. Growing up attending all-girls schools, then wandering around cities filled with handsome European boys, Maura had never been more singularly attracted to anyone than she was to Jane Rizzoli at this moment. What disturbed her the most about this right now wasn't even the fact that they were both girls, it was that Jane had been a bit of a bully. Not in a physical way and maybe not even as bad as some of her schoolmates abroad, but she definitely hadn't tried to be nice. Maura didn't like the idea of being attracted to someone who seemed to enjoy teasing her.

And yet, what then continued was the first study session of Maura's life which involved no studying whatsoever. Jane couldn't or wouldn't concentrate, preferring instead to keep changing the subject, and Maura kept indulging her despite her initial efforts. The bell for lunch rang before Maura was aware even five minutes had passed, and she looked up at the clock in surprise. She jumped when Jane shot out of her chair like a firecracker, books scooped into her arms as she raced towards the door.

"Thanks a lot, teach!" she said.

Maura was left sitting dumbly in the classroom for a few moments, trying to process what had just happened. She was collecting her things when Mr. Sluckey reentered the room, beaming at her.

"So! Have any luck, Miss Isles?"

"Jane's a very enthusiastic learner," Maura said, getting to her feet. Only the subject was me, not biology. "I can see how she might be difficult to teach, though."

"Well, I appreciate your willingness to try," Mr. Sluckey laughed. "I think this is just the kind of arrangement she needs. She asked for you specifically, you know."

"I did not know that."

"Mm-hm. I believe her brother told her about you? Thomas?"

"Oh, Tommy, yes."

"Good boy, that one. Anyway, you go on and enjoy your lunch, Maura."

The Rizzoli kids were halfway home by the time this conversation ended. They were having a heated debate over a slew of baseball cards which had come into Tommy's possession during homeroom: Frankie was already trying to finagle a trade, and Jane was questioning the validity of the stats on some of them. They spilled into the house still arguing about it, and eventually reached the subject of Lou Gherig's rookie card, which their father had in his possession and was the only item any of them fought over getting when he died.

"I don't want to hear another darn word about baseball!" Angela said, banging a ladle against a pot as the kids came into the kitchen. "Especially from you, Jane—can't you pick another hobby?"

"Whaddya mean another hobby?" Jane asked, throwing herself into her usual spot at the kitchen table. "It's America's favorite pastime, Ma!"

"It's fine for you to watch," Angela said, dishing up gnocchi for everybody, "but you shouldn't obsess over it like the boys do."

"God forbid," Jane mumbled.

Angela smacked her hand with the ladle, chastising her, "Don't use the Lord's name in vain!" Once everybody was served and milk was poured, Angela settled herself in the seat next to Tommy and said, "Now. Today's the day you were going to start getting help in biology, wasn't it, Jane?"

"Yeah," Jane said through a mouthful of gnocchi. She swallowed and sat a little straighter under Angela's scrutinizing gaze. "You were right, Tommy. Maura really knows her stuff."

"Oh, Maura's helping you out?" Angela asked brightly. "Tommy, when are you gonna let me and your father meet that girl?"

"Why do you care?" Jane snorted. "They're not going steady, Ma. They're just friends—right, Tommy?"

"Right," Tommy said with a glum sigh.

Angela ruffled his hair. "Aw, Tommy! Handsome boy like you? How could she resist?"

"Yeah, Maura thinks you're top-shelf," Jane said. "At least when it comes to chess. Coming from a brain like her, I'd say that's a pretty high compliment." Tommy perked up a little at hearing this.

Half an hour later, they trudged back to school to finish off the day, and split their separate ways after the final bell rang: Tommy took off with Sumner Fairfield, Frankie stayed back for football practice, and Jane raced home to change out of her godforsaken school clothes. She had a small window of time before Angela got home from her weekly art class, and Jane didn't waste a second of it: the dress and shrug were thrown into the hamper, and Jane yanked on her favorite pair of jeans and a checkered black-and-white top. Glancing at herself in the mirror, she brushed back some straying strands of hair and then ran back out of the house.

Every so often she liked to drop by Gilberti's Garage for a lesson in auto-body maintenance. Angela refused to let Frank teach her, which Jane thought was incredibly stupid—what if she was driving along one day and her car broke down? Wouldn't it be better to know how to fix the problem herself if she was alone, rather than wait God knew how long for somebody to come by? So she'd struck a deal with Gilberti's son, who would show her a thing or two about auto mechanics in exchange for baked goods from her mother.

"You got the goods?" he asked when she showed up.

"Cut me a break today, Giovanni, she didn't make anything. I'll owe you next time."

The nice thing about Giovanni was that he was pretty agreeable. "Yeah, okay," he sighed. "C'mere, I'll show you what I've been workin' on."

Jane whistled. "A Bentley? Wait—I think I know who owns this car."

"Isles was the name," he said. "Isn't she a beauty?"

"Holy cow."

"C'mon under it, take a look." Giovanni grabbed a dolly and kicked it towards Jane. She excitedly got onto it and rolled under the car. "See the problem?" Giovanni asked. "That's right, you don't! I fixed her right up. Of course, it was an issue under the hood, not under the car, but I figure—that's the closest you or me will ever get to a Bentley. Might as well give it a good look while we can."

"What was wrong with it?" Jane asked from under the car.

"The engine whistled," Giovanni answered.

Jane rolled back out and saw Maura Isles standing in front of them. "Don't blame it," she let slip.

"Pardon?" Maura asked.

"Nothin'," Jane said, getting to her feet.

This, she supposed, was what passed for casual wear when it came to Maura Isles. She was wearing a strikingly short white skirt, makingher pale skin look a little darker in comparison. Her legs seemed elongated by the pink heeled shoes she was wearing, the same color as her button-up top. It hugged her body fairly close; in fact, her entire ensemble was a little more form-fitting than Jane would have expected such a classy girl to wear. For once, Maura's hair was pulled upwards, its elaboration off-set by the pair of sunglasses she had shoved up past her forehead.

"Engine trouble, huh?" Jane asked, sauntering closer when Giovanni (much to his dismay) was called away by another customer.

"According to our driver," Maura responded. "He brought it in without my knowledge. I'm sure if I'd taken a look, I could've fixed it."

Jane snorted in disbelief. "You?"

"Me. Why is that so surprising?"

"Uh…look at you!" Jane laughed.

"Rest assured, I know my way around a car Do you work here?"

"No."

"What were you doing under my car, then?"

"Just takin' a look. The owners of the garage are family friends of ours. Sometimes I come down for a lesson or two, just outta curiosity, y'know."

"I see. Do you know what the problem was, then?" Maura asked, walking around to the front of the car. She popped the hood for a look at the engine, leaning over as she did so. When Jane didn't answer, Maura looked over to see the girl staring at her, rubbing her neck. "Jane?"

Jane's voice was dry: "Hm?"

"The problem?"

Jane licked her lips. The curve of Maura's ass in that white skirt. That. That is my problem.