Even when you're out of work you still have a job to do
Even when you don't know what it is
Your job knows what it is
What it is is it's coming to get you
I'm talking to myself even when I'm saying "you"

And when you wake up you can feel your hair grow
Crawl out of your cave and you can watch your shadow
Creep across the ground until the day is done
All the while the planet circles 'round the sun
Everybody knows how this goes so let's get over it
And let's get this over with

-"Let's Get This Over With" by They Might Be Giants


Hotch didn't sleep the night before the first day of school.

It wasn't from excitement.

He stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, running through disaster scenarios in his head. There were twenty-four boys on his floor that he was responsible for, and what had seemed completely easy and manageable when he applied to be a resident advisor now seemed impossible. What if there was a fire? Or a flood? What if none of the kids on his floor remembered to set their alarms, and they all overslept?

His alarm was set to go off at five; at four-thirty he gave up on trying to sleep.

One of the perks of being an RA was having his own bathroom- the smallest bathroom in the world, but his own. He showered in peace and quiet and even had time to shave the faint stubble spiking on his jaw without dodging seven other teenage boys like he had the past two years. It didn't make him feel better, exactly, but it at least took off the sharpest edge of stress.

He hated to admit it, but he'd missed his school uniform. There was something safe and familiar about it- khaki pants, white button up shirt, the navy and gold striped tie. He had new shoes for this school year too, glossy and still perfect, straight the box.

He could hear the first rumbles of the other kids starting to wake up, chatting and slamming doors, the hallway lights shining under his door. Somebody was playing music, maybe a little bit too loudly, but it was the first day of school and everybody was bound to be full of nervous energy, he'd let it slide just this once.

He slipped out of his room and headed down the hall. From the looks of it, lights were on in every room and multiple showers were running. A little bit more of the tension in his shoulders relaxed. He didn't have to worry. At least not too much.

The door to Derek and Spencer's room was partially open. Hotch peeked inside. "Hey, how's it going?" he asked.

"Great!" Spencer said cheerfully. He was already dressed, but he had opted for the khaki shorts that the underclassmen were allowed to wear. Except-

"Hey, Spencer?" Hotch said. "Your socks don't match. And that's...that's not exactly how you tie a tie."

Spencer looked down at his mismatched socks, one red and one blue, and then up at Hotch. "I never match my socks, it's for good luck," he explained. "And my tie should be right, Penelope looked up a tutorial on YouTube for me."

Hotch laughed. "Not quite, buddy," he said. "And I get the sock thing, but you don't want to get dresscoded on your first day, do you?"

Spencer sighed. "I guess not," he said.

"C'mere, I'll show you how to tie your tie," Hotch said. He nudged Spencer over to the full length mirror and stood behind him so he could watch him work. "You leave it like that, you'll strangle yourself."

"Actually, the odds of that happening would be pretty low, unless my tie got stuck on something," he said. "A famous dancer in the 1920s died because her scarf got stuck on a car's hubcap. Isadora Duncan. Her neck-"

"Yeah, maybe don't get into that," Hotch said quickly. "There. That make sense how I did that?"

Spencer frowned and leaned closer to the mirror. "It makes sense, but the real question is if I can replicate it," he said. He looked down at his small hands. "I'm kind of a klutz."

"That's okay," Hotch said. "It took me a while to get the hang of it too. But don't worry, you have to do this every morning and after a while you won't even think about it. Now go change your socks."

Derek darted into the room, his shirt untucked and half buttoned. "Oh, god, socks," he said. "Where are mine? I don't remember where I put them."

"No, Morgan, I don't know where you put your socks," Hotch said dryly.

"In your dresser, top row, the drawer on the far right," Spencer said as he leaned closer to the mirror and frowned at Hotch's handiwork

Derek gave him a funny look, but opened the drawer. "Damn, you're right," he said.

"I know," Spencer said.

Hotch checked his watch. "Breakfast starts in fifteen minutes," he said. "You two about ready?"

"Yeah, yeah, give me a second," Derek huffed, hopping around as he tried to pull a sock on.

"Let me know if you need me," Hotch said, and he headed back down the hall to his room.

Nervous energy buzzed in his stomach like a shaken can of soda. There was nothing to be nervous about, really. Everything was going fine, none of the boys on his floor were going to miss class and nothing had caught fire. A major victory, really.

He put on his navy blazer and fastened the gold buttons, then picked up his backpack. Everything's fine, Hotchner, he told himself sternly. You haven't fucked up.

He walked back down the hall, checking doors surreptitiously as he passed by. Nothing seemed amiss. Everyone was up and getting ready. Everything was fine.

Derek and Spencer waited at the top of the stairs; Spencer had switched out his mismatched socks for the dress-code-approved tall gray ones, but Derek was wearing long pants like the upperclassmen. "You two have everything?" Hotch asked. "Schedules, books?"

"Yeah, man, it's not my first rodeo," Derek said, shrugging his new backpack onto his shoulders.

"Well, it's mine," Spencer said. "Although one rodeo still doesn't seem like an adequate number to be really prepared."

"You'll be fine," Hotch assured him. "Do you want my phone number? We shouldn't have phones out, but just in case you need me-"

"I don't have a phone," Spencer said.

"We'll keep an eye out for you," Derek assured him. "Can we go now? I'm starving."

Hotch checked his pockets- phone, keys, wallet. "Yeah, yeah, let's go."

He followed them down the long flights of stairs to the ground floor. Spencer was carrying the old backpack he'd carried on his first night and it looked ready to bust open with the weight of his books. He filed a mental note to ask him about it later. There was no way it was going to last the entire semester.

"There you are!" Penelope said as they made it to the lobby. She and JJ waited by the door, both dressed in their navy blazers and red plaid skirts. "We've been waiting for ages."

"Neither of us could sleep last night," JJ admitted.

"First day nerves?" Hotch said. Both girls nodded. "You'll both be fine, don't worry."

"Easier said than done," Penelope said. "I can't help it, I worry."

"Let's just take it one thing at a time," Hotch said.

Derek shifted his weight. "Yeah, like breakfast," he said. "Can we go?"

"Wait, wait, wait," Hotch said. "Your rooms are locked, you've all got keys and your IDs?" All four of them held up their lanyards. "Okay. Now we can go."

Outside the morning sun was barely beginning to peek through the clouds, turning the tall trees on campus from dark shadows back into green leaves and branches again. The air was faintly cool, already tinged with the promise of the day's heat and humidity. Derek led the way, walking backwards to show off while he chatted brightly with the girls; Penelope's hair was tied in two curled pigtails and decked with little navy bows while JJ's was tied in a long neat plait down her back. Spencer trotted close to Hotch's side, his thumbs tucked in the straps of his battered backpack, watching his surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. Hotch exhaled slowly.

It's going to be a good year, he told himself. It will be.


Alex was right, and Emily was mad about it- she got lost on campus immediately.

She found her homeroom easily, which was good, but her first period class was on the opposite end of the building, and while she found the right room number, she was on the second floor instead of the third, and had to run up the polished staircase, her backpack swinging perilously on her shoulder.

She slipped into the correct classroom seconds before the bell rang, out of breath, her freshly dyed hair mussed around her face, and dropped into a desk in the back row. This wasn't much of an auspicious start, but then again, she hadn't had high hopes for this school in the first place.

"Bonjour, classe," the teacher said, and Emily frowned, pulling her folded-up schedule out of her blazer pocket.

French I, she thought. What the hell?

The teacher passed out copies of the syllabus and Emily scanned it quickly. "Now, since this is a beginner's class, I will permit English in the classroom," the teacher said. "But as we continue our studies, I will encourage as much French as possible. By next semester you will only be permitted to speak French in class."

This is bullshit, Emily thought.

She'd been speaking French since she was a toddler. When they lived in the Ukraine her mother had hired a French au pair; she spoke in French whenever her mother wasn't around- which, to be honest, was often. And her mom knew she spoke French, there had to have been a mistake when she signed her up for this class. She probably meant to sign her up for a more advanced class, or a different beginner class for a language she hadn't learned. There was no way her mom was this obtuse.

The teacher continued going over the syllabus as Emily dug her French textbook out of the black Kate Spade backpack her mother had bought for her. She flipped through it, frowning. It was all basics- vocabulary, mostly, and a little bit about French culture. There was barely any real conjugation, just a general introduction of passé composé in the last chapter.

She grinned to herself. This was perfect. She didn't need to bother to learn anything new. Everything they would cover she would already know. Hell, she'd been to France so many times she'd lost count. This would be the easiest class in her life.

"Emily Prentiss?"

Her head shot up. "Uh...present," she said.

The teacher smiled patiently. "What French name would you like to be called this year, Mademoiselle Prentiss?" she asked.

Emily blinked. It was way too early in the morning for creativity, and they didn't serve coffee in the school cafeteria. Her eyes fell on a large map of France pinned to the wall. "Lorraine?" she said helplessly.

"Ah, d'accord," the teacher said, making a note in her rollbook. "Now, Mademoiselle Lorraine, introduce yourself in French, s'il vous plait."

"Uh…" she stammered.

"Don't worry, we're all beginners here," the teacher encouraged. "Don't worry about the accent, it'll come in time."

Emily paused. "Je m'appelle...Lorraine?" she said.

"Very nice!" the teacher said. "Nicely done." She paused and tilted her head. "Can you see me after class, please?"

She rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair and hooking the heels of her Doc Martens on the rail of the desk on front of her. Thirty minutes into class, and the jig was already up. She wasn't sure how the teacher had figured out her ruse in a single phrase, but no doubt she'd get moved into an advanced class, or a different language altogether. She'd have to actually try.

The bell rang and she reluctantly made her way up to the front, swimming upstream against the other students hurrying to their next classes. "You wanted to see me?" she said.

"Yes," the teacher said. "I couldn't help but notice...something is just a little out of place."

Emily sighed. "I'm sorry, I should have said something, it's just that my au pair was French and I-"

"I know you're new, so I won't write you up just yet, but we only allow natural-toned nail polish in the dress code," the teacher said. "Unfortunately, that means your black polish isn't permitted. And it must be...in good shape."

Emily looked down at her hands, the nails chewed short and splotched with chipped glossy black polish. "Oh," she said. "That's what I...oh. Okay."

"D'accord, Mademoiselle Prentiss?"

Emily cleared her throat. "D'accord, Madame," she said. "Uh...merci."

She drawled the words out, flat and overenunciated, but the teacher smiled. "You're picking up the vocabulary so quickly!" she said, pleased. "I'm looking forward to having you in my class this year. Just make sure the polish is removed before tomorrow."

"Yes, ma'am," Emily said. She shouldered her backpack and speedwalked out of the classroom, biting back a smug smirk. This was going to be the easiest class she'd ever taken.


By the time the belltower chimed for chapel, the sun was up in earnest. James briefly wished he could take off his blazer, soaking up the heat, but he didn't dare. Inside the old chapel was dimly lit and cool, buzzing with quiet conversations as students filed down the narrow aisles.

Each section of old high-backed church pews were marked, and the returning students found their places easily while the new ones milled around, whispering embarrassed questions. It had been the same way as long as he could remember- boys on the left, girls on the right, freshman in the front and rising to the seniors in the back, and each class seated in alphabetical order.

He'd been sitting between Barrett and Bly for the past three years, it wasn't hard to find his spot. Dave was a few rows behind him, frowning at his phone as he tried to text without being notice. James looked across the aisle, scanning for Alex. He didn't see her yet, but there was still time before chapel started.

He leaned back against the hard back of the pew and looked up at the rafters. The chapel was one of the oldest parts of campus, an old Edwardian church renovated over and over again over the past hundred years. The air conditioning was new, the well-worn hardwood floors were at least half a century, and the stained glass windows were original, heavy leaden panes holding up colored glass like melted candies and casting bright patterns across the room.

Alex walked into the chapel, her hair catching rainbows, and she caught his eye and waved. He waved back. The sides of her hair were drawn back from her face with a velvet ribbon and she wore brown laced ankle boots and white knee socks and her arms were laden down with books, and she was beautiful.

He didn't fall in love with her when they first met. They were fourteen, both brand new freshmen. She was working her first shift in the library, supervised by a bored senior who didn't want to be there, and he was stressed about being assigned a critical essay for his English class in the first week of school. He had asked her to help him find a book, which turned into her offering to help with his essay, which ended with her covering his rough draft with red pen notes and him vowing to never speak to her again.

But her edits were right, and she was always in the library which made her hard to avoid, and she was pretty nice once he got to know her. And then she and Dave became friends after she hit over the the head with a book and they both got sent to the headmaster's office, and the three of them had been inseparable ever since.

Chapel service started with the headmaster stepping up to make a welcome speech; James only half-listened. He wasn't as brazen as Dave playing on his forbidden phone, or as sly as Alex hiding a novel in a bible dust jacket, but chapel was an excellent time to close his eyes for a little bit.

No, he couldn't exactly pinpoint when he'd fallen in love with Alex. He just...suddenly got nervous around her, second-guessing everything he said or did around her. She didn't seem to notice. But Dave sure did.

And Dave was right. He needed to ask Alex out at some point before the school year was over. If he waited too long, he might not ever get the chance. He'd probably stay in state for college, commuting to get his pre-med major, while she would probably end up in a big city, maybe overseas. He might never see her again after graduation. He wouldn't see her again until their ten-year-reunion. And by then-

"Hey, Blake. Are you going to sit here all day?"

He opened his eyes. Dave leaned over the back of the pew, smirking at him, and Alex was next to him. "I guess I zoned out," he said.

"You must have been thinking pretty hard, you've got that line between your eyebrows," Alex said. He rubbed his face. "What's got you so worked up? It's only the first day of school."

"Oh, it's nothing," he said. "It'll...it'll all work out eventually."


"Penelope, are you sure that's a good idea?" JJ said warily.

"I did," she said. "Why? What's wrong?"

JJ crossed her arms. "This is gym class," she said. "You might not be making some...practical choices."

"What do you mean?"

JJ steered her over to the mirror and stood beside her. "What do you think?"

Penelope frowned. They were both wearing gray tee shirts with the school logo and navy shorts, but JJ's long hair was pulled up in a ponytail and she wore running shoes. Penelope had left her bows in her hair and her sparkly platform sneakers kept shedding glitter as she moved. "I think I'm okay," she said.

JJ sighed. "We'll see," she said.

Penelope followed her out of the locker room and into the gym. All ninth graders were required to take gym, otherwise she would have found a way to get out of it. Maybe she could fly under the radar.

Her sneakers flashed lights as she walked, reflecting in the polished gym floor, and she made a face. Maybe she should tone it down, just a little. At least for this class.

"Hey, Spencer!" JJ called. "Over here!"

"Oh, lord, he's so small," Penelope sighed. "We need to keep an eye on him. He might get stepped on. "

Spencer jogged over to them, his long hair flopping in his eyes. He was half the size or less of every freshman milling around the gym and his sneakers looked like they were one wrong step from disintegrating around his ankles. "Hi!" he said. "Are you guys stuck in this class too?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Penelope said. "It's going to be a long year."

"It shouldn't be that bad," JJ said.

The teacher blew his whistle. "Okay, kids, huddle up," he said. "Most of your other teachers are gonna start classes today with announcements and looking over the syllabus. I don't believe in a syllabus, so...boys on this side, girls on that side." He blew his whistle again. "Go!"

"I don't get it, what's happening?" Penelope said, looking around wildly. "JJ, what's happening?"

"Oh, no," she said as the coach began placing red balls at the center line. "Dodgeball."

Spencer frowned. "That's archaic," he said. "Boys on one side, girls on the other, don't they realize that the spectrum…" He paused. "Did you say dodgeball?"

JJ caught them both by the shoulders. "It won't be that bad," she said. "Penelope, just stick with me, okay? Spencer...good luck."

"I will come home carrying my shield, or on it," he said glumly.

Penelope blinked. "And that means…"

"I'm not gonna survive out there."

JJ shook them both lightly. "Just try to get out as soon as you can, as easily as you can," she said. "Don't be a hero."

"Spencer, I'll get you out if you can get me out," Penelope said. "As gently as possible." He nodded.

The coach blew the whistle again. "On your marks!" he called. Spencer darted over to the opposite side of the gym, nearly tripping over his shoes. "Get set!"

"Shit, shit, shit, shit…" Penelope mumbled under her breath, her stupid sneakers blinking cheerfully as she backed up. JJ crouched like she was at the starting line of a hundred meter dash.

"Go!"

Penelope shrieked. JJ took off at a dead sprint and grabbed one of the red dodgeballs. "Okay, okay, okay, this is fine, this is fine!" she said. JJ lobbed the ball across the line and smacked a tall dark-haired boy in the chest. "Oh god!"

Across the gym Spencer ducked around a couple of older boys and picked up a dodgeball, cradling it against his chest with both skinny arms. "Penelope!" he called. "I'll get you out!"

She ran towards the front of line. "Yes, please!" she shouted. "Save me from this!" He rolled it towards her and it grazed her ankle, making her glittery sneakers light up again. "Yes! Perfect! I'm out!"

He flashed her a thumbs up, but from behind Penelope a red ball soared overhead and connected squarely with Spencer's face with a solid boink. She winced as he fell backwards and the ball bounced away.

The coach whistled. "No hits to the face!" he hollered. "Little guy, you're out! Sparkle girl, you too, off the court!"

Penelope beat a hasty retreat off the gym floor and scrambled for the bleachers. Spencer followed her, his hands over his face. "Are you okay?" she asked anxiously as he plunked down beside her. "You got thwacked real hard."

"I'm okay," he said, slightly nasal and muffled. "I'm not bleeding." He moved his hands and eyed his palms critically. "No, not bleeding. It could be worse."

"God, gym class is going to be the worst part of this school year, isn't it?" she sighed.

"If this is the worst, it'll be a lot better than if I stayed home," he said. "Wow, JJ is really going for it, isn't she?"

Penelope watched JJ scoop up a red ball and hurl it across the gym without breaking her stride. "Yeah, look at her go," she said. "Wow. Okay, yeah, we're just going to hide behind her during class, aren't we?"

"Absolutely," Spencer said, nodding vigorously.


"Is it possible to have senioritis on the first day of senior year?" Dave asked.

"It shouldn't be possible, but yet, you've achieved it," James said.

Dave grinned. "Listen, the senioritis hit the second I finished my last exam for junior year," he said.

"Of course it did," James sighed, leaning his elbows back on the sunbaked stone wall.

"Colleges don't look at senior year grades, they look at junior year, and you know I'm right," Dave countered. "I'm going to coast through the rest of this year, smooth sailing. And then I'll spend the summer in Italy with eight million of my relatives, and then I'll start college."

"I'll spend my summer working in my dad's bakery, like I do every summer," James said dryly. He leaned back, tilting his face up towards the sun. "Lucky me."

"But hey, I'm sure you're going to get into a great school," Dave said. "Hell, you and Alex are neck and neck for valedictorian. I'm sure you'll get accepted to everywhere. Have you decided your number one choice yet?"

James pushed himself off the wall and straightened up. "Oh, there's the girls," he said. "Jeez, Emily looks pissed."

"No, I think that's just her resting facial expression," Dave mused.

Alex and Emily walked down the steps of the dining hall together, drinks and to-go containers in their hands. "How's it going so far?" James asked.

"Great!" Alex said. "ASL is going to be my favorite class this year, I can already tell."

"I've been dresscoded twice!" Emily said cheerfully. "They're just warnings and not official write-ups, but still."

"Get a third, and that might be a school record," Dave said.

Emily tossed her hair back as they walked down the cobblestone path. "So where are we going?" she asked. "And why aren't we eating inside, in the air conditioning? This blazer is a fucking polyester nightmare."

"You'll get used to it," James said.

"As for where we're going," Dave said. "Every group on campus has their own spot. The three of claimed one of the best spots on campus our freshman year. It's a little bit of a hike, but it's worth it."

"It'd better be," Emily said.

Dave grinned. "Oh, it is," he said as they approached the chain link fence covered in ivy and lamb's ear. James shifted his water bottle under his arm and picked the foliage apart until he reached the latch. It fought back, sticky with humidity and the past few months of disuse, but it swung open with a reluctant groan.

"We found this place during our freshman year," Alex explained. "It hasn't been used in decades."

Emily surveyed the old amphitheater, the sun-faded concrete sinking deep into the ground. Rainwater collected at the bottom in a dark half-dried puddle, and on the inner side of the chain link fence long-forgotten rosebushes bloomed in wild abandon. It was still humid but a little cooler from the shade of tall oak and maple trees. "Do you guys often wander into the weird parts of nature?" she asked.

James shrugged. "When you spend about seventy-five percent of your high school years on campus, then yeah, I guess," he said. He set down his lunch. "We come out here a lot when it's not raining. It's a good place for studying, too."

Emily peeled off her blazer and dropped it on the top concrete step. "Yeah, it's not bad, I guess," she said. "And I guess it's a lot quieter than staying inside."

The amphitheater had been their tradition for the past three years. No one else at St. Thaddeus had found it, and it had stayed their secret. For the first time, Dave felt the first little twinge of nostalgia. He'd spent his entire childhood knowing that someday his parents would drive him through the gates of St. Thaddeus and waiting for it anxiously. Now it seemed wrong to be so ready to leave.

They chatted aimlessly until the belltower rang; James gathered up everyone's trash and Alex picked up Emily's blazer. "You might want to keep an eye on this," she said.

"Ugh," Emily groaned, snatching it back. "I hate this thing. I've worn it for half a day, and I hate it already. When it's my turn to graduate, I'm going to burn it."

Dave laughed. "You wouldn't be the first," he said.

They made their way back out of the amphitheater and he squinted as they left the shade. Alex reached through the thick glossy ivy leaves and pulled the gate latch shut, then moved the vines back in place.

"All right, where's everybody going to next?" James asked.

"Chemistry," Emily said. "Kill me now."

"Ha, I've got senior math," Dave said. "And that's nothing. That's just reviewing shit."

"Oh, god," Alex groaned. "We're in the same class. This is going to-"

A pargo zipped past them on the manicured grass, then pulled up to a stop. The passenger climbed out, keeping a hand on the roof. He wore the white security team shirt, and a gold badge was pinned to the left pocket. "Hey," he said sharply. "Aren't you supposed to be in class?"

The driver twisted around in his seat. "It's fine, MacGregor," Bennett said. "They still have time."

"Yeah, we're just heading back," Dave said.

MacGregor frowned at them, scanning the emblems on their blazers, and relented. "All right," he said. "You kids better hurry."

"Yeah, we will," James said. MacGregor got back in the pargo and Bennett drove down the path; James scowled. "God, they creep me out."

"It's not a big deal," Dave shrugged. "But yeah, we'd better head back soon. Alex and I have a math class to get to."

"Oh, it's going to be a long year," Alex said.


Spencer wrestled with his backpack, trying to untstick the zipper. It popped and gave way at last, and he pulled his history book out and placed it on his desk before shoving the backpack under the seat.

This was his first class so far without one of the girls. He hadn't thought that it would make him nervous- he'd spent his first few years in school doing perfectly fine on his own without friends. But then again, he'd never had to switch classes before, and the campus was huge, and it was reassuring when Penelope or JJ slid into the desk next him.

"Hey. You should move."

Spencer looked up. "Why?" he asked.

Two bigger boys- both at least a foot taller than him, a blond one with a linebacker's build and a brunet one with a narrow ratlike face- leaned over him. "Neal wanted that seat," the brunet said. "So you should move. There's a desk in the back."

Spencer blinked. "Why should I move?" he said. "I was here first."

"You heard Dallas, I was going to sit there," the blond complained. "You should move. It's my first day, you should be nice."

"It's my first day too," Spencer said. "And I don't think you actually want to me to be nice. I think you're trying to play on societal politeness in order to get your own way."

Neal scowled, but the teacher stepped to the front of the classroom. "All right, everybody, take your seats," he said. "You heard the bell ring, that means everyone should be seated."

Neal stomped away, but Dallas slid into the empty desk beside Spencer. Spencer sat very still, his hands clasped on his desk, his eyes trained on the teacher. It was an old habit, honed in the past few years of being the smartest and the smallest of every class. The more the teachers noticed him, the less the bullies were inclined to pick on him.

At least for the time being.

He wasn't new to bullying. Before he started school, it was the neighborhood kids shoving him around on the playground and taking off on their bikes to leave him behind- knowing he didn't have a bike, and no ever taught him how to ride, anyway. And when he started school, the other kindergarteners were content learning ABCs and 123s; he struggled to use the safety scissors and he couldn't color neatly inside the lines, but he sat alone during playtime with novels that he smuggled out of his mother's vast collection.

It didn't help that he was already small for his age, and now he was surrounded by kids five and six years older than him, already well into their growth spurts. His mother kept promising he was going to grow, that someday he'd even be taller than her, but it wasn't much solace now when he was half the size of his classmates and getting better grades than them.

His mother told him once that "the smart kid in class feels like the only kid in class." Well, she didn't tell him that. He'd overheard his parents arguing when they thought he was asleep. His mother wanted him to skip more grades; his father insisted he needed to go back to his correct class for his "emotional maturity" to catch up.

All he wanted for his parents to be happy, and proud of him, but since that wasn't going to happen, he might as well challenge himself.

The history textbook on his desk was brand new, the edges of the pages still sharp and crisp. He'd never used a brand new textbook before. The glossy cover made his stubby half-sharpened pencils seem even more shabby, but that was all right. Maybe now that he had some money in his flex account, he could get himself some new pencils.

The teacher talked them through the syllabus and he tapped his fingers against the heel of his palm as he listened. His feet didn't touch the floor and he swung his legs back and forth.

A hand snaked over and took one of his pencils. He whipped around. "Hey!" he whispered loudly. "That's mine!"

Dallas shrugged. "You should be nice and let me borrow it," he said.

"But I-"

"Mr. Reid?"

His stomach dropped. The teacher was staring at him, and so was the rest of the class. "Everything all right?"

He looked over at Dallas holding one of his last pencils, then shook his head. "Yes," he said in a small voice. Dallas smiled.

The teacher frowned at him before turning back to the syllabus, and he shrank into his seat. He had miscalculated what the bullying situation would be like in private school. A childish part of him had hoped that he wouldn't get bullied at all, that he'd be surrounded by kids as smart as he was who didn't bother picking on little kids.

Dallas wrote notes on the margins of his syllabus with Spencer's pencil. He pressed down too hard and the lead snapped; he dropped the pencil and let it roll off the desk and onto the floor. Spencer didn't dare to move to pick it up.

He focused on the teacher instead, drumming his thumb against the back of his hand. The second the bell rang he leaned down to pick up his pencil, scooped up his textbook and backpack, and darted out of the classroom.

The only good thing about being a fraction of the size of the other kids was that he could disappear. He ran into the crowded hallway, clutching his belongings, and nearly collided with a grownup in a white shirt.

"Hey!" the man said sharply, grabbing him by the shoulder. His gold badge glinted in the hallway lights; his name tag said Officer MacGregor. Spencer gulped. "No running in the halls, Lincoln House."

"I'm sorry, there's these bigger kids-" he stammered.

The man let go and he tripped, trying to catch his balance. "You're lucky I got better things to do right now," he said. "Get to class, Lincoln House."

"Yes, sir," Spencer mumbled.

He slowed down, weaving around the taller kids, his heart pounding in his throat. His last class of the day was English comp, and when he skidded into the room, slightly out of breath, his belongings piled in his arms, the first thing he saw was Penelope waving from the front row. "Spencer! Come sit with us!" she said brightly.

"We saved a seat for you," JJ said.

And sure enough, the girls had saved a desk between them, and he dropped his things on the floor in relief. "Thanks," he said.

Penelope yawned, stretching her arms above her head. "I am not used to this," she said. "Is it just me, or has this day felt like the longest ever?"

Spencer repacked his backpack. "You spent all summer in a relaxed environment, so your brain is adjusting to a new normalcy," he said. "And besides-"

He paused. Neal and Dallas walked into the classroom, and before he could look away they scowled at him.

The girls didn't catch it. "Oh, did you see this?" JJ said, pulling out a brightly colored flyer from her folder. "There's going to be a back-to-school carnival tonight."

Penelope clapped her hands. "I love that!" she said. "We're going, right? We all have to go!"

"Derek and I have tryouts after school," JJ said. "We can probably go...but I'm going to be so tired."

"Oh, it'll be fun!" Penelope said. "We'll just pump you full of caffeine and sugar and you'll be fine. And you're going to come too, right, Spencer?"

"Yeah," he said absently. Neal and Dallas took seats in the back of the classroom, away from him, and he relaxed. They couldn't do anything to him from that far away. And he wasn't about to let their intimidation tactics get to him. He'd dealt with worse before. This was nothing.

"Are those your only pencils?" JJ asked.

He looked down at his desk and the two chipped yellow pencils, both of them worn halfway down, one with a broken lead. "Yeah," he said. "That's all I need."

JJ unzipped a pocket on her light blue backpack and took out a mechanical pencil with a clean white eraser. "Those are pretty much useless," she said. "You can borrow one of mine if you'd like."

She held out the pencil; he stared at it for a moment before accepting it. "Thank you," he said, and he smiled.


JJ stood for a moment by the locker room door. Shrieked conversations bounced off the slick concrete floor and the dark blue metal lockers. She shouldered her bag and slipped past the older girls to find a quiet corner to change.

She had been quietly dreading this moment since the night before, when she signed her name on the roster for soccer tryouts. Maybe it wasn't too late to back out. There had to be other kids who impulsively signed up for clubs and teams and never showed up. And she was a new kid, a new freshman, and no one would know who she was.

She had never been a sports kid. That had never been her thing. It had always been...well, it didn't matter now.

She pulled an East Alleghany High School soccer team shirt over her head and tugged at the waistband of her Nike shorts. The shirt was too big, but she needed it for good luck. For a moment she contemplated taking off her necklace, but the second she touched the clasp she drew her hand back. No, she needed the necklace for luck too.

Her mom had gotten her new running shoes, bright blue and hot pink, the laces still perfect in the eyelets. They were a little stiff still, she hadn't bothered to break them in, so there was a strong possibility of blisters. That was fine. She'd dealt with worse. This was nothing.

Her first pair of pointe shoes had dug into her heels until she bled through her tights, but she hadn't cared. She had spent the entirety of her first pointe class at the barre, wobbling through her first relevés and echappés, joy pulsing in her chest with every slow, unsteady step. Before long she figured out how to make her pointe shoes her own- bending the shank, placing the elastic and ribbons exactly where she wanted them, stitching the extra fabric into the sides. Three times a week after school she went to class, and soon her pointe shoes became a seamless part of her.

But then, of course, she had stopped dancing, and her pointe shoes and her leotards and her tights were packed away in a cardboard box under her bed in Pennsylvania, gathering dust.

"All right, ladies, I want everybody on the field in five minutes!"

JJ tugged the elastic from the end of her braid and combed her fingers through her long blonde hair. She pulled it up into a ponytail as she walked, her hair falling into complacency quickly after a lifetime of smooth Balanchine buns, and snapped the tie into place.

Outside the gym the afternoon sun was oppressive, making her squint. The grass on the soccer field was cropped short and smelled fresh and sharp. Now that she was on the field it seemed massive, stretching out impossibly far. It reminded her of how her studio could seem so vast when it was her turn to cross the floor in tour jetés and turn combinations, counting out beats in her head and hoping she remembered to spot correctly.

And if she could spend thirty minutes after class practicing piqué turns because she wanted to get them right, she could spend the next hour or two running through the grass and chasing after a black and white ball.

She lined up with the other girls. No one was speaking now; the locker room camaraderie had given way to every man for himself. She held onto her elbow behind her back, her feet in her bright blue and pink sneakers falling into an unconscious fourth position out of long-held habit, and surreptitious took stock of her competition. There were some other freshmen there too, she wasn't the youngest or the smallest, but these girls oozed athleticism, their hair held back with narrow neon elastic bands and their tee shirts advertising the sports camps they'd attended and the teams they'd played for.

"All right, everybody," the coach called. "We're going to spend this afternoon running through some drills. I want to put you through your paces, see what you're all capable of. But first I wanna see all of you take a lap. Everybody line up!"

JJ followed the girls, slipping into the middle of the crowd, and when the coach blew the whistle to start she took off, weaving around taller girls with longer legs. Maybe these girls had more experience, maybe they'd played soccer since their childhood days the way she remembered her first ballet class in her little pink leotard, waving a ribbon stick to the Nutcracker score.

But she had something they didn't, and that was something to prove.

She had never played soccer herself, outside of elementary school gym class, but she'd spent hours sitting on hard silver bleachers, her feet propped up on the seat in front of her, watching games. More often than not it was cold, the Pennsylvania fall turning to chill by the beginning of October, and her mother would wrap her up in fleece blankets and her father would get her hot chocolate from the concession stand and she would scream and cheer with every play, every goal, her eyes trained on the only player that mattered, watching her long blonde ponytail fly behind her like a pennant.

She hadn't gone to a soccer game in a long time. Before she packed up her pointe shoes, they had packed away the cleats, the jerseys, the trophies. There was still a photo, framed, hanging over the piano, an action shot from the last championship game, frozen in time.

The other girls were running ahead of her and she was losing ground, and for a sudden second her blood ran hot. She hated them, she hated all of them, they lost their singularity and blended into one faceless entity, and she hated them.

JJ gritted her teeth and clenched her hands into fists and she ran faster, gaining on them, her new sneakers slipping on the grass. She would think about everything else later. Right now she needed to focus on making this stupid team, even though it was the last place she wanted to be.


The library was still quiet, but she wasn't expecting it to be too busy yet, not until teachers started assigning papers and projects. There were a few students there, though, browsing the shelves and lounging on soft-cushioned armchairs with novels. Alex sat at the circulation desk, sorting through new books and adding them to computer system, humming to herself.

The cart was stacked high with books waiting to be put away; she slid her chair back and took off her blazer, hiding it under the desk. Technically she was supposed to be in full uniform when she was working, but with only a handful of students around it probably didn't matter.

She unbuttoned her sleeve cuffs and rolled them up to her elbows before pushing the cart out from behind the desk. The wheels stuck and sputtered on the rug and she forced it onto the hardwood with a cheerful clatter.

She started with fiction and worked her way through the alphabet, stretching to reach the top shelves that were just ever so slightly out of her way, and then moved on towards nonfiction. The air conditioning raised cold prickles on her arms, but afternoon sunlight shone through the tall windows and cast comfortable shadows over the padded windowseats.

She turned a corner in the stacks and stopped. This wasn't the first time she'd found a student asleep in the library, but this was definitely the smallest one. He was little, maybe eight years old or so, curled up on the windowseat like a kitten, his head tilted against the wall and a book left propped open on his lap. If he hadn't been wearing the St. Thaddeus uniform, she wouldn't have guessed he was a student.

She tugged the cart as quietly as she could, frowning as she shelved books into the 600s section, and then it hit her. It was the same kid Emily had knocked over on orientation night. She'd noticed then that he was small, but in the dark and the hustle of handing him over to the RA at Lincoln House it hadn't quite clicked that he was that young.

The cart snagged the corner of a shelf unit with a skip and a clank, and a couple of precariously balanced books dropped to the floor. She cursed under her breath and bent to pick them back up, but as she dropped them back on the top rack she heard a startled little shriek.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you up," she apologized. "You can go back to sleep."

The little boy sat upright, rubbing his eyes. His book had slipped to the floor. "I can't believe I fell asleep," he mumbled.

Alex laughed. "Don't even worry about it," she said. "You're not the first kid to fall asleep in the library, and you definitely won't be the last."

He yawned. "Probably first one this year though, I'm guessing," he said.

"You are right about that," she said. "It's Spencer, right?"

He scrunched up his face. "Uh-huh," he said, and then he brightened. "Oh! Alex! You helped me the other day!"

"Yeah, that was me," she smiled. She picked up his dropped book and sat next to him on the windowseat. "How's your first day going so far?"

Spencer shrugged. His hair was a little too long for dress code standards, curling at the ends and sticking up in the back from his impromptu nap. "This school is more academically rigorous than my old school, so that's good," he said.

"They're not as tough back in Las Vegas?" she asked.

"That, and I was supposed to be going into the fifth grade," he said dryly. "I skipped a few years."

She laughed. "Yeah, yeah, that's a very good point," she said. She handed him his book back. "The Time Machine, huh? That's a good choice."

"I haven't read it since I was in second grade," he said, running his hand over the cover. "It's not my favorite HG Wells, but I like it."

"I always liked War of the Worlds better," she said. "And besides, the Morlocks gave me nightmares when I was a kid."

"Me too!" he said. "Hopefully I've outgrown that, though."

Alex bit back a grin. He couldn't be older than ten, and he was small for his age- there wasn't much for him to outgrow. Briefly she wondered what would possess his parents to send a kid this little across the country alone, academics aside.

"Well, I'm here pretty much every day after school, so keep me updated if you need a book recommendation," she said. "There's a lot of new stuff coming in."

"Thanks, Alex, I'll-" He paused as his stomach rumbled noisily.

She laughed. "It's been a while since lunch, hasn't it?" she said. He shrugged sheepishly. "C'mere, follow me."

He slid off the windowseat, his book under his arm, and she led him back to the broad circulation desk. "So this is a secret," she warned him. "Because there's no eating in the library. Ever. Absolutely not." She opened up a bottom drawer and picked up two packages of poptarts. "Do you want strawberry, or cinnamon brown sugar?"

Spencer's eyes lit up. "Strawberry!" he said.

She handed it over and opened the brown sugar packet for herself. "I always keeps snacks in here," she said. "So if you're ever in the library and you're hungry, let me know, okay?"

"Thanks!" he said. He sat down on the floor and leaned against the wall, munching happily as he opened his book again. Alex sat down at the desk again, hiding her poptarts on an inner shelf, and picked up the next book to be processed.


Derek skidded to a stop and grabbed his water bottle from the sidelines; sweat rolled down the back of his neck and soaked the back of his shirt. He was used to running outside back home, but that was different. In Chicago he spent the summer running on crowded sidewalks, his shoes striking the pavement in long even strides, dodging a sea of people. And in Chicago it was hot, but here the air was thick and swampy with humidity, making it harder to function. But he could do it.

He dropped the water bottle and picked up his speed again, pushing himself through the drill. This year he wasn't going to be content with the JV team, playing opposite other kids that were like him, too small and skinny to make it with the big boys, and sitting glumly in the bleachers while he watched the varsity team play the homecoming game without him.

Last year, though, he was only five-three. He was a buck twenty soaking wet, his arms and legs skinny and gangly. And he'd been devastated to not make varsity, but deep in his heart, he knew it made sense. He didn't look like a football player, he looked like a little kid dressed up like a quarterback for Halloween, swallowed up in his pads and his helmet and his jersey.

His growth spurt started to kick in before the end of his freshman year, his muscles aching with the first twinges of growing pains. He ran laps around his neighborhood, and he finagled a deal with his old middle school coach to work out in the weight room in exchange for helping out with the summer peewee league. His mother joked that he was going to eat them out of house and home; his sisters complained that there were never any snacks or leftovers anymore, but he couldn't help it, he was constantly hungry.

It wasn't until his mother needed to take his measurements for next year's uniforms that he realized how much he'd grown. Six inches taller, taller than his mother and both of his sisters, and his shoulders were too broad to fit into last year's blazer, and he had muscles now, actual muscles.

His shoes tore through the soft manicured turf as he ran. He could already feel the differences from last year, how being taller and stronger and less clumsy made him play different, play better. His heart felt light in his chest, buoyant with joy.

Football was woven into his earliest childhood memories. Watching games on Sunday nights and falling asleep on the couch during overtime, bundling up to see the Bears play in the winter and squishing in between Desiree and Sarah to stay warm, playing in the peewee league and the elementary school team while his dad shouted encouragement from the sidelines.

The assistant coach blew his whistle, high and piercing. "All right, boys, that's good, that's good," Coach Horner called. "Take a break, get some water!"

Derek jogged back over to his water bottle and took a long swig, the water warm and tepid from sitting in the sun, but he didn't care. "Morgan, you're looking pretty good out there," another sophomore said. "Way better than last year."

"Last year, he was half the size he is now," another kid joked. "Are we sure that's even the same Derek Morgan?"

He grinned. "You guys are just jealous," he said, flexing proudly, and they laughed as he sat down in the soft grass and stretched out his long legs.

At the opposite end of the football field he could see the cheerleading tryouts, pretty girls flipping across the grass and calling out chants. He grinned. The girl-crazy hormones had kicked in last year, before the growth spurt, but he couldn't so much as hold a conversation with a girl, much less found a date to the homecoming dance. He'd ended up dragging Hotch along to keep him company, the two of them sitting on the sidelines and scowling- Derek because he couldn't get a girl to dance with him, Hotch because he had a history paper he wanted to work on instead.

He elbowed the sophomore next to him. "Who do you think is gonna get cheer captain this year?" he asked.

The sophomore next to him snorted. "Are you kidding?" he said. "Unless a professional suddenly sweeps in, you know who's gonna get it."

"And she's single now. She broke up with Maclain over the summer."

Derek sat up. "Are you shitting me?" he said.

"No, man, she dumped him."

Derek grinned. "Maybe one of us has a chance," he said.

"Are you kidding? She's practically got a force field around her."

"No, no, you don't understand," Derek said, leaning back into the grass on his elbows. "You gotta get the best friend on your side first. That's the trick. Get Harper Hillman to like you, and if Harper Hillman approves, that's gonna be your ticket to get to Alexa Lisbon."

The whistle blew again and he pushed himself off the grass, brushing off his shorts. There were more drills to be done, but his energy never flagged. If anything there was a second wind in his lungs now, propelling him forward. He could picture it clearly, starting on the varsity team, hearing his name announced before the game, showing everybody that Derek Morgan was a force to be reckoned with.

It was almost five when the last whistle blew. "Good work out there, boys," the coach called. "We'll have the list up in a day or two. Now get off the field, they've got to set up the carnival out here." Derek picked up his bag and slung the strap over his shoulder. "Morgan, come over here a second."

He jogged over, his heart pounding in his chest. "Hey, Coach Horner," he said, trying to sound casual. "What's up?"

"You're looking pretty good out there, Morgan," he said. "Big improvement from last year."

He grinned. "Thanks," he said. "I worked pretty hard over the summer. And grew a little bit, too."

Coach Horner laughed. "Yeah, you did," he said. "Now, have you gotten to meet the new coach yet? I wanted to introduce you if you hadn't."

"No, sir, not yet," he said.

"This is our new coach, Carl Buford."

Derek held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Coach," he said.

Carl Buford smiled back at him and shook his hand. "Nice to meet you too, Derek Morgan," he said. "You're pretty impressive out there."

"Thank you," he said, the praise warm in his chest.

"Now, I can't say anything yet, but...I'm hoping to see you out on the field again soon," Coach Buford said with a conspiratorial wink. "Keep an eye out for that varsity roster."

He grinned. "I will!" he said. "I think it's gonna be a good year."


Author's Notes:

Oh, my sweet summer children.

We're getting into the angst! I laid a lot more groundwork into this chapter. A lot. There's gonna be angst on the way. But also lots of fun stuff! Next chapter all the kids will finally officially meet and they'll all be pals! It's going to be adorable. Super adorable.

Special thanks to Cinminds, CriminalMindsGoneWrong, ItsEmilyFreakingPrentiss, Sam the duck, ferret54, Eeltje, Bohogal1998, nitrogentulips, Lady Lunera, firepoppies, Cat, and Lady Sarlon for reviewing!

I'm on tumblr as themetaphorgirl, I have a pinned post of more drabbles and info about this AU, and I'd love to chat!

Up next: the back to school carnival, and making some new friends