I know the winds from the south have
The waves riled up like a hungry mouth
And your stomach goes hollow at the
Thought that it could swallow you whole

Well, it'll rain for forty days and nights,
And nothing you do can slow the rising tides
But the river takes her shape from every tempest she abides
And like her, you'll be made new again

Let it come down, let it come down
Let it make in you a new river

-"New River" by the Oh Hellos


monday

He woke up happy.

Derek's alarm rang across the room, earning a disgruntled mumble as his roommate slapped at sleepily. Spencer nestled himself deeper under his covers. His new sheets and comforter were soft and warm around him, and his new pajamas were soft and cozy against his skin, and his favorite blanket was tucked up against his cheek.

And then he realized that he'd actually slept. He didn't even remember falling asleep exactly- he had the vague memory of the other kids beaming with pride as they showed him his new room, and Alex tucking him into bed.

Derek's alarm went off again, and Spencer climbed out of bed, pulling the sheets and comforter back into place. "Morning, pretty boy," Derek yawned, rubbing his hand over his face. "You sleep okay?"

"Yeah!" Spencer said. "What do you think they're going to have in the dining hall for breakfast? I'm so hungry."

He didn't wait for a reply; he hurried to get dressed so he would have enough time to move his things from his old backpack to his new one. They'd picked out new school supplies for him too, pens and pencils and highlighters and notebooks; he packed everything carefully but there was so much he almost couldn't close the zippers. It was heavier than he expected when he slid his arms through the straps, but he could definitely carry it.

Hotch didn't seem so convinced. He kept looking down at Spencer as they walked from Lincoln House to the dining hall. "Are you sure you can carry that?" he said.

"I'm good," Spencer said. "I've got it."

"Your backpack is as big as you are," JJ laughed.

He didn't mind, he knew she was just teasing. And he could see Emily and Alex waiting on the front steps, so he picked up his speed, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders. Emily half-heartedly covered a yawn with the back of her hand. "Oh, thank god, you guys are here," she said. "I need caffeine so bad."

"I'm starving," Spencer said, grabbing Alex's hand. "Can I get chocolate milk, please?"

Alex beamed at him. "I think we can do that," she said, squeezing his hand back. He followed her through the line, leaning on the rail as he pointed out what he wanted to eat and she placed it on the tray. And even though Hotch made a face, she let him get chocolate milk.

Dave and James showed up halfway through breakfast, taking their usual seats at the table. "Happy Monday, my nerds," Dave said, slapping his notebook down.

"Oh, you look pissed," Penelope said.

JJ elbowed her. "Don't say pissed," she said.

"It's not a cuss word."

"It's not polite."

Penelope leaned close to whisper-shout in her ear. "Pissed."

"Penelope!"

"Stop, stop, stop," Emily said, massaging her temples. "I'm still not caffeinated enough for this."

"What's got you so stressed?" Hotch asked.

Dave smacked the notebook. "This fucking creative writing project," he said. "It's the first one of the year, and I need to make a good impression on Strauss."

"You guys let him say bad words," Penelope mumbled under her breath.

"He's practically an adult," JJ whispered. "You can't stop an adult. It's different then if, like...if Spencer swore."

"Fuck!" Spencer piped up, and he giggled and ducked when JJ threw a wadded up napkin at him.

"Stop it," Alex laughed. She got up from the table and dug through her bag. "Hold on, Spencer, I need to fix your hair. You look like you've been electrocuted."

"Electrocution has a fairly low fatality rate, all things considered," Spencer said as Alex pulled out a spray bottle and a brush. "Also, lightning can definitely strike in the same place twice."

"How do you know these things?" Derek asked.

He shrugged. "I just do," he said.

Alex spritzed detangler through his thick silky hair and began gently working the brush through it. "You need a haircut in the worst way, my darling," she said. "You look like a very tiny Oscar Wilde."

"Oscar Wilde was arrested for sodomy and-" he started to say.

"Yeah, we're not unpacking all of that right now," Hotch said.

Alex's fingers were deft and gentle on his tangled hair, combing through his loose curls. "I think I could braid your hair, it's so long," she said.

"Wait, I want my hair braided," Emily said. "Alex, braid my hair."

"You didn't say please."

"Please, Alex, braid my hair!" Emily pleaded. "I can't figure it out."

"All right, all right, fine, stop whining," Alex said, raising her hands in surrender.


Emily twirled the end of her braid around her finger as the school chaplain droned on. It didn't matter what was happening, chapel never failed to make her sleepy. The high hard back of the church pew was the only thing keeping her from actually dozing off.

She glanced across the aisle at the junior boys' section. Hotch had his arms folded and his chin tipped into his chest. Apparently the uncomfortable church pews didn't stop him from falling asleep.

She slid her phone out of her sleeve and opened her messaging app. Her dreams last night had rattled her, dredging up memories that she thought she'd locked away for good. It kept her in a haze still, a sour taste in her mouth and an ache in her chest.

Still no answer from Matthew.

She wondered if he'd even seen her messages. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe he didn't want to.

She tapped back to the contacts page, glancing around surreptitiously to see if anyone had noticed her with her phone out, and her thumb hovered over John's name. But no. She couldn't. She didn't want to.

Instead she opened up a new text message, chose the newest number she'd added.

hey :)

She almost went back to delete the emoji, but she sent it too quickly and cursed under her breath. The girl next to her shot her a disgusted look. Emily glanced up at the rafters. If she wasn't going to hell yet, swearing in the middle of a chapel service would probably push her a little closer that direction.

To her surprise, her phone buzzed with a reply.

hey girl. how's your hangover?

She grinned despite herself. There had to be worse things than making friends with a public school party boy, right?

She tapped out a reply to Ian, but the girl next to her audibly huffed, and she slid her phone back into her sleeve. Maybe she could wait for the chapel to wrap up before she tried to keep texting.


tuesday

Dave waited so he could be the last one to turn in his work. He didn't feel like his story was ready to turn in, but at the same time, if he looked at any longer he might possibly go insane.

He set his neatly printed and stapled story down on the pile. Strauss didn't even look up from her computer as he placed it on her desk. "Thank you, Mr. Rossi," she said absently.

"No problem," he said.

He lingered for a moment, hoping she'd pick it up and at least read the cover. She glanced up at him. "You can go, Mr. Rossi," she said.

"Oh," he said. "Uh...okay."

He shouldered his backpack and headed out of the classroom, joining the rest of the student body migrating to the dining hall. Maybe he should have done just a little more editing before he turned it in. It might have been even better if he changed the point of view. If only he'd thought of that sooner…

"Hi!" Penelope said, popping up at his elbow.

He nearly tripped. "Jesus, Pen, you scared me," he said.

"Sorry, I have that effect on people," she said. She hopped down the stairs beside him, hugging her books to her chest. "Were you leaving Strauss's class? Did you turn in your story? I'm sure it's great. When can I read it?"

"You can read it when it comes back with an A," Dave said.

Penelope wrinkled her nose. "Strauss never gives As," she said. "She's way too tough. Emily and I have debate club on Thursday and I am positively dreading it."

"That's my point," Dave explained patiently. "Strauss never gives As, unless it's really good work. So I figure I'll get an A right off the bat, and then it'll be smooth sailing for the rest of the year."

"Or you'll get an A, and then drive yourself crazy the rest of the year trying to top yourself," she pointed out.

Dave paused. "Shit," he said. "I hadn't thought of that."

Penelope patted his shoulder. "I'm sure it'll all work out eventually," she said. "And once you get all those good grades in your creative writing class, your parents will stop giving you a hard time about wanting to be a novelist." She tucked her thumbs in the straps of her backpack and smiled up at him. "Let's get to lunch! I think it's a pasta day."

He stared at her, mouth agape, as she skipped away. "Wait a minute," he said. "Garcia! How do you know that? Come back here!"


"How long was that? How long was that?" Spencer asked eagerly.

Alex clicked the stopwatch on her phone. "Twelve minutes, seventeen seconds," she said. She capped the pen and dropped it down on the completed crossword puzzle. "That's not too bad."

"I could have helped you with the pop culture stuff," James pointed out.

"Nah, it was more fun to watch them try to struggle through it on their own," Dave said.

Alex rolled her eyes. "I think we did just fine," she said as she got up from her spot on the floor. "But I should probably get back to work." She kissed the top of Spencer's head. "You guys behave. And keep an eye on him."

She went back to shelving, dragging the cart along behind her. They were still being extra careful with Spencer, taking turns walking him from class to class and making sure someone was keeping him company. Just to be safe. He seemed to be so much happier, though, and the dark circles under his eyes were beginning to lighten.

Someone cleared their throat behind her. "Hey, um...is it okay to check these books out?"

She straightened up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Of course," she said. "Oh! T.S. Eliot, right?"

"You remembered," he said, smiling at her. He held up the book. "That project's over, so I'm switching to something a little more fun."

"Kate Atkinson?" she said. "You have good taste, she's one of my favorite authors."

"I know," he said, and she frowned. "I, uh….I sat behind you in a couple of classes last year. You carried her books around a lot, and I figured I should try them out."

"Oh," she said. "Uh-huh, I do read her stuff a lot. Human Croquet is my favorite, but Life After Life is a close second."

"I'll have to get that one next," he said. He tilted his head. "I'm John, by the way."

"Nice to meet you properly," she said. She nodded towards the full cart. "Sorry, I should probably keep going. I think one of the sophomores is working the desk for checkouts right now though."

"Sure," he said. "I'll see you when I've finished this one, I suppose."

She didn't think anything of it as she walked away and went back to shelving, humming under her breath. There wasn't much time left on her shift, and she was looking forward to locking up.

She pushed the empty cart back into place and leaned against the desk, biting back a yawn. "You tired?" James asked, approaching the circulation desk with his hands in his back pockets.

"Stayed up too late last night doing homework for history," she admitted.

James cleared his throat. "I was, uh, thinking about going over to the Honeybean in a little bit," he said. For some reason he seemed almost nervous, averting his gaze as his hair flopped over his eyes. "Do you...would you maybe want to go with me?"

"That would be great," she said, and he brightened. "I could definitely use some caffeine. Hey, Spencer, Dave, do you want to get coffee with James and I?"

Spencer's head popped up from the back of the couch. "Yes, please!" he called.

Dave pulled him back down. "No, we're good," he said. "We're fine. You guys go."

"But I want coffee!" Spencer objected.

Dave sighed heavily. "Fine," he said. "James, I tried."

Alex hip-checked him playfully. "Why do you look so sad?" she said. "I'll get you a cupcake, that'll cheer you up."

"Sure," James sighed. "That sounds nice."


wednesday

Penelope glanced up from her laptop as the door opened. "Hey, Jayje," she said. "How was practice?"

JJ dumped her soccer bag in the middle of the floor. Her face was bright red with exertion and her blonde hair was matted to her temples. "Fine," she said shortly.

"Are you going to shower before dinner?" Penelope asked.

"Yeah."

Penelope rifled through her stack of brightly colored and sticker covered folders. "Do you have notes from English class today?" she asked. "I'd ask Spencer, but his handwriting is-"

JJ buried her face in her hands. "I hate soccer!" she sobbed.

Penelope froze, the folder slipping from her fingers. "Uh...just today?" she asked. "Or is...is this a more permanent thing?"

"No, I hate it, I hate it so fucking much!" she wailed. She sank down on the floor, still hiding her face. "I don't want to do it!"

Penelope slid off her bed and cautiously sat down on the floor next to her. "You can quit," she offered.

"I can't," JJ said, her shoulders hitching sharply. "I can't. I don't quit."

"Okay, yes, well…" Penelope said. "What's worse, quitting, or forcing yourself to do something you hate?" She rocked back on her heels. "Why'd you even start playing soccer if you don't like it?"

"I didn't know I hated soccer," she said, swiping at the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I just...I needed to. I can't explain it, but I had to do it."

Penelope fidgeted with the friendship bracelets on her wrist. JJ didn't tend to talk about personal things, she stayed close-lipped most of the time. She had the feeling this was the most she was going to get out of her for the time being. "So what do you want to do about it?" she asked.

JJ shrugged. "I don't know," she said. She wiped her nose on the hem of her tank top. "I can't quit, though."

"Can you pull back a little?" Penelope suggested. "Maybe tell your coach you don't want to play a lot. Ask if you can be the understudy?" She sighed heavily. "I'm so sorry, I know nothing about sports, everything I know is about theatre."

JJ half laughed. "I can't do that either," she sighed. "I've been working so hard and the coach is finally letting me play more. I can't suddenly change my mind and not want to play."

"Maybe you could do something else," Penelope said. "Like...you can play soccer, but also do something fun that you actually like. What kind of things do you like?"

JJ sniffled and hugged her knees to her chest. "Ballet," she said softly. "I used to dance a lot."

"You can still do that!" Penelope said. "There's a dance studio here- it's in the gym, I think. I bet there's a class, or a club. Or something." She smiled. "I bet you were really good at ballet."

JJ smiled a little. "I was," she said. "I had just started dancing en pointe when I quit."

"You can dance again," Penelope said. She elbowed her gently. "I'm sure it'll all come back to you."

"Maybe," JJ said. She scrubbed her cheek with the heel of her palm. "I'm sorry I came in here and started bawling."

"Oh, you're fine," Penelope reassured her. "You've seen me cry like, six times in the past week. This is only fair. Now, do you want to shower before we go to dinner? Because I adore you with my whole heart, but you're really sweaty."


Hotch's heart thumped in his chest. "Really, Penelope, I'm not feeling all that great," he said. "I don't know if I should be here. Maybe I should skip theatre club tonight."

"Nonsense," she said, linking her arm through his and forcibly dragging him along. "You're fine."

"But...maybe…"

"You don't have Lyme disease, Aaron Hotchner," she said. "Trust me. I am a pro at WebMD, and you don't have Lyme disease."

"Why do I want to throw up, then?" he asked.

"Well," she said slowly. "I consulted our resident medical expert, future Dr. James Bartholomew Blake-"

"I don't know his middle name, but I'm sure it's not Bartholomew."

"Dr. James Blake, and he said he's diagnosing you with a big ol' crush on Haley Brooks," Penelope grinned.

He could feel the embarrassed flush heat up instantly across his cheeks. "I don't have a crush on Haley Brooks!" he said.

"Hotch, give it up," she said. "Your protests are very cute, but they're absolutely useless. Besides, my sources say that you punched a guy in the hallway last week, and then she made out with you in the girls' bathroom."

"She just hugged me, we didn't make out!" he said. He stopped. "You knew?"

"Oh, yeah, we all figured it out," she said. "What, did you think you could walk around with one eye bruised up and swollen shut, and we wouldn't try to figure it out?" He involuntarily reached up towards his eye; the swelling had long since gone down, but the skin was still faintly purple and yellow along the edges of the bruise. "Don't worry about it, though. My sources told me that the guy you punched totally deserved it."

"What sources?" he asked.

She opened the door to the theater and ushered him inside. "Let's just say I'm really, really good at social media," she said.

"That doesn't answer my question," he objected. "How did you-"

He was so distracted that he didn't see Haley walking right over to him, adorable as ever in a flowy pink tank top and a scrunchie holding her hair back in a perky ponytail. "Hey, Penelope!" she said. "Hey, Aaron. Oh, your eye looks better!"

His mouth went dry. He wanted the floor to open him and swallow him whole. He wanted to, at the bare minimum, leave. Except it felt like his feet were rooted to the floor.

Before he could move, Haley reached for him and pulled him into a hug, her slender arms sliding around his neck. He couldn't move. He could catch the scent of her perfume, something light and sweet like flowers and honey, and she had to raise up on her toes to reach him. After a moment, he hugged her back.

He wasn't sure when to let go, he wasn't hugged often enough to really be familiar with the correct protocols, but after what he guessed was a socially-acceptable amount of time she stepped back, smiling at him. All this time he'd been avoiding her- because how was he supposed to come back from accidentally admitting one of his biggest secrets to her in a girls' bathroom?- and now he was slightly shocked to realize there wasn't anything to worry about.

He tried to think of something clever to say, or sweet, or at least something, but what came out of his mouth instead was-

"You, uh...you hug real hard."

He immediately wished he was dead.

Haley laughed and flexed her right arm playfully. "It's all that cheerleading, they keep placing me as a base," she said. "Oh! Did you guys hear? Miss T finally announced the fall musical."

"Oh god," Penelope gulped. "Oh, no. What is it? Am I going to cry? Is there a role for a spunky blonde with a youthful belt?"

"Maybe?" Haley said. "We're doing Wedding Singer!"

Penelope shrieked; Hotch covered his ears. "Oh my god!" she said. "Oh, I'm so excited. I love that so much. Oh my god."

"Is that...like the Adam Sandler movie?" Hotch said.

"Yeah, it's based on it!" Haley said. "If you want, we can meet up and listen to the cast recording so you can be ready for auditions."

"Oh, I don't think I'm going to-" he started to say.

Haley held out her hand. "Give me your phone," she said. Too startled to argue, he handed it over, and she quickly tapped in her name and number, then sent a text to herself. "When are you usually free?"

"Uh...most of the time?" he said. "Except Saturday nights."

"We'll find a time then," she said. "I wish we could do it tomorrow, but I have cheer practice." She handed his phone back. "I think you'll like the show, though, it's really fun."

"Haley!" Harper called from across the house. "Come over here, I need to show you something!"

"Sorry, I've got to go," she said. "But text me soon, okay?"

She headed back down the center aisle, and Hotch looked down at his phone. She'd added little sparkle and pink heart emojis around her name. It was cute.

"Hey, Hotch, can you take like a really big breath for me?" Penelope said. "I don't think you've breathed in the past ten minutes."

The blush had definitely spread all the way to his ears and neck. "Shut up!" he said. "I've been...I've been breathing!"


thursday

"I hate this," Dave groaned as he pushed open the double doors from the main building. "This is so stupid."

"Stop whining," Alex said. "It's not that bad."

Dave kicked at a rock. "We've already been sitting in classes all day, and now they want us to go sit for three more hours at this stupid senior class meeting?" he said. He yanked at his tie. "And it's so fucking hot! It's September, why is it so fucking hot?"

James squinted at his phone in the bright sunlight. "It's ninety-seven degrees, but with humidity it feels like a hundred and one," he said. "What did Spencer say was the highest recorded temp in Tennessee?"

"A hundred and two, I think," Alex said. "So not quite a record, but pretty damn bad." She pulled her hair up into a high ponytail at the crown of her head and tied it off with an elastic. "This is kind of going to be a drag, isn't it?"

"Yeah, especially since the kids are going to go have fun without us," James said. "Penelope said they were all going to get ice cream at the student union."

"Lucky bastards," Dave sighed.

His complaining really was merited; the heat was ever-present and slightly damp with humidity, his dark navy uniform blazer soaking up the sun to the point of being almost painful. They trekked across campus, their steps slowing as the heat started to get to them.

Mr. Cruz stood at the doors of the chapter with a roster. "David Rossi, James Blake, Alexandra Miller," he said, checking their names off. "Perfect, come on in. Oh, but make sure your phones are off."

"Come on, do we have to?" Dave complained.

"Sorry, kids, the headmaster's coming in to talk to you, and you know how he feels about cell phones out when he's speaking," Cruz said. "All three of you, phones off, I want to see it."

They pulled out their phones and switched them off, holding them up for Cruz's approval. "I find it deeply ironic that this is a senior seminar, but we're being treated like children," James said.

"Hey, if it was up to me, this probably could be a series of emails instead of an in-person meeting, but you know how things are with traditions around here," Cruz shrugged. "Go on in, take your seats. It's going to be a long afternoon, I'm afraid."


Penelope stumbled down the hall, catching the door to the English classroom just before it closed. "Ah, Miss Garcia," Ms. Strauss said, raising an eyebrow. "So nice you could join us for debate club."

"I'm sorry!" Penelope gasped, clinging to her backpack. "I forgot it was debate club day, and I was like, halfway through the courtyard, and then I remembered, and then-"

"No need for excuses," Ms. Strauss said as she closed the door behind her. "Hopefully this will remind you to be a little more focused and a little less tardy. I have noticed your tendency to be a little...how shall I say it? Flighty."

"I am focused!" Penelope said. "And you say flighty like it's a bad thing, but I think I'm just...you know. I'm energetic. And I'm thirteen! I think I have things pretty well together for a thirteen-year-old!"

Strauss sighed. "Just take your seat, please," she said. "I hope you and your partner are prepared for your presentation."

Penelope slid into her usual seat. "Oh, yes, we're-"

She stopped. Emily wasn't there. Not that they typically got a lot of work done in debate club; usually it turned into Emily letting her draw tattoos on her arms with her collection of gel pens while they surreptitiously watched YouTube videos on her phone. But they'd gotten enough done that they were ready for the project presentation today.

She craned her neck towards the door, trying to see through the small window. Maybe Emily was with the other kids; maybe she was on her way now.

"Miss Garcia, something fascinating you in the hallway?" Strauss asked.

Penelope whipped her head around. "No, ma'am," she said, trying to sound as meek as possible. All she could do was hope Emily would show up.


The second she reached the cool damp shade of the creek, she stripped off her blazer and wadded it up on the ground, then pushed her sleeves up to her elbows. She ripped off her tie too and dropped it in the pile.

Emily exhaled slowly. It was painfully hot, to the point that she kind of wondered why she would go through the effort hiking all the way out to the creek, but the water sounded soothing, and it was peaceful, and all in all, maybe it was a good choice.

She dug out a pack of cigarettes and her favorite lighter from the bottom of the stupid Kate Spade bag her mother got her, then found a shady spot close to the water. With another heavy sigh she sank down in the grass and lit the cigarette.

Half a dozen places she'd lived, and she'd always been able to find some kind of place to hide away when she needed it. The residence in the Ukraine it was the room with the piano, in France it was the small garden in the back. In Italy it was a little corner in a stairwell, a cool marble bench that no one ever noticed. Matthew noticed it; they used to skip classes with John and sit there instead.

She took a long drag from the cigarette and laid back in the grass, staring up at the cloudless blue sky peeking through the branches of the tree shading her overhead. The melancholy pressure in her chest seemed out of place against the cheerful color around her, but at the same time it was almost nice to wallow in the sadness prickling down to the fingertips.

The cigarette tasted slightly stale. It was an old pack, hidden for too long from a mother who wasn't going to bother looking. She'd need to find a way to sneak more cigarettes without the other kids finding out. Most likely they'd have something to say about her habit.

John smoked too. He'd given her her first cigarette, letting her take a puff off his and trying not to laugh when she coughed and spluttered. Matthew didn't like it when they smoked though. He complained about the smell that clung to their clothes, how they were bound to get in trouble for it.

She picked up her phone and tapped on the messaging app again. There wasn't any signal this far out, but that was probably for the best. Keep her from making stupid decisions while she was feeling unusually vulnerable.

She dropped her phone back in the grass beside her and took another long drag. The shade was pleasant, and the water cooled the air even though there wasn't a breeze. Maybe some time by herself would fix her unsteadiness.


Derek shifted his weight, chugging from his water bottle. It spilled over his chin and he swiped at it with the back of his hand; it dried down almost instantly.

"God, it's hot as balls out here," Thornton complained, pulling at his shirt. His face was already so red that his freckles had disappeared; he was almost the same color as his hair.

"This is gonna be a rough practice," Maclain said. "Everybody better keep drinking water, I don't want anybody keeling over."

Derek chewed on the inside of his cheek. If he was honest, he had to admit that he was secretly dreading this practice. Three hours running around in the sun was going to be exhausting, even if he kept drinking water.

"Hey, where's the soccer girls going?" somebody said, pointing back up towards the gym. The girls' soccer team trailed back from their field towards the locker rooms in a straggling line. "Maybe they got their practice canceled. Lucky."

"Maybe we'll be lucky too," Willis said. "See the coaches down field?"

Derek squinted. He could see the football coaches talking to the cheer coaches. The cheerleaders were all stretching, identical pinpoints of white tank tops and navy blue shorts and ponytails tied with gold bows, but usually at this point Alexa would already be running them through drills.

"Oh, shit," Thornton said. "God, I hope they cancel us."

Derek drained his water bottle dry, keeping his eye on the coaches, and they started making their way back towards the gathered football team. Lamb crossed his fingers. "Please cancel it, please cancel it, please cancel it," he mumbled under his breath.

"All right, boys, bad news," the head coach called. "It's too damn hot for practice today. All sports practices are canceled for this afternoon, so just...go, enjoy your afternoon, stay hydrated, don't do anything stupid."

Cheers erupted over the team, most of them immediately flopping down to sit in the grass. Derek cheered too, but he was already calculating what he could do instead. He was making such good progress, he didn't want to just take the day off.

"Hey, Morgan," Coach Buford called. "Come over here."

He jogged over, holding on tight to his empty water bottle. "Yeah, Coach?" he said.

"Since you've got some free time this afternoon now, what would you say to some extra weight training?" Buford asked. "You've already improved so much since the season began, I'd like to see what exactly you're capable of. I can probably show you a few things that can help you out."

"That'd be great!" Derek said. "Thanks, Coach. I'd appreciate that a lot."

Coach Buford smiled at him. "No problem, Morgan," he said.


JJ waited until her last teammate left the locker room before grabbing up her bag and heading down the hall. She hadn't really explored much of the building outside of the gym during class or practice; there was a distinct chance of ending up in trouble if she caught wandering, but that was a risk she was willing to take.

She explored the dim, quiet halls; the fluorescent lights were turned off and the air was cold with the AC pumping. There was a lot more to the gym than she expected- there was a pool in the building, which came as a total surprise- and rooms with weights and cardio equipment.

The door to the dance studio was unlocked. She crept inside and set down her bag. The voice of every dance teacher echoed in her head, scolding her for wearing her street shoes on the floor, so she toed them off and set them down.

She didn't recognize herself in the mirror. It seemed wrong to be in a dance studio without a leotard and tights and a Balanchine bun. Now her hair was pulled back in a ponytail with a thin elastic headband holding back loose strands; the sides of her bright blue tank top were cut low to show off her floral print sports bra and she wore black Nike shorts like every other girl on the team.

She looked like Rosalyn.

But before she could think about it too much, she realized that her hand had naturally gravitated towards the barre. It was so familiar under her palm, her fingers curling lightly. She slid her socked feet into first position, her muscles remembering the pull and stretch even if her turnout wasn't as strong as it used to be.

There was still a whole playlist of barre music on her phone, leftover from rainy days in their unfinished basement, practicing rond de jambes and developpés on a square of marley with a PVC pipe barre her dad had made. But she didn't need to turn the music on. She could hear it in her mind, clear as day, the counts ingrained in her, and she sank into a demi-plié, her arms moving of their own accord, and it was like she had never stepped away from the barre in the first place.


Hotch drummed his fingertips against his thighs. He'd been on his way to meet the other kids in the student union when he'd gotten the text from Haley that her practice was canceled, and did he want to meet at the theater?

Yes. Yes, he did. He was stupidly nervous, but he did.

He waited on the steps of the theater, his blazer draped over his arm and his phone clutched in his hand just in case she called or texted him again. There was always a chance she could change her mind.

But he spotted her walking towards him, still in her practice clothes with her cheer bag over her shoulder. "Hey!" she said cheerfully, jogging up the stairs. "They canceled practice! What a relief, honestly."

"Yeah, it's way too hot," he said.

She slipped around him and opened the door to the theater. "Let's get in the air conditioning, then," she said.

He followed her inside. The theater was dark and his steps slowed, but Haley grabbed his hand and led him down to the stage. "We can go to the green room," she said.

"What's a green room?" he asked as she led him backstage.

She laughed. "It's where we all sit when we're waiting to go onstage," she said. She flipped on the lights and dropped her cheer bag on the floor. "Make yourself at home!"

He looked around his new surroundings. The walls were covered in sharpie'd graffiti- signatures and quotes from past performances- and posters from other shows. A wall of mirrors ran along one wall with a countertop underneath, all set up for actors to put on makeup. There a couple of mismatched couches too; Haley plunked down on a particularly overstuffed one and patted the seat beside her. "Come here," she said.

Hotch dropped his phone in his blazer pocket and set his things carefully down on the floor. Haley fiddled with her phone. "So you've seen the movie, right?" she said.

"Uh...yeah, a while ago," he said.

Haley hooked up her phone to a small speaker, then settled back beside Hotch, so close that she was almost leaning against his side. "I think you'll like it a lot," she said.

He swallowed hard. "Uh-huh," he said, but he wasn't paying much attention at all the to the music.


Spencer sat on a bench in the courtyard, swinging his legs back and forth. He wasn't quite sure who he was waiting for. Usually someone walked with him, but he'd found himself alone after his last class. This was the only time he ever really noticed his lack of a phone. It would be pretty useful if he could text or call one of the other kids, see where they were.

He squinted it up at the clocktower. It wasn't too late, only about three-thirty. It wasn't one of Alex's library days, but Derek and JJ had sports, and if he remembered correctly, Emily and Penelope had debate.

Someone would come for him. He was sure of it. And if no one came in the next few minutes, he'd just head back to Lincoln House. He could change out of his school clothes into some of his new stuff and take a nap with his new pillows and blankets. Maybe get a head start on his homework before dinner.

He was just about to leave when a pretty girl in a practice cheer uniform approached him, the gold ribbon glinting against her long dark hair. "Hey," she said. "You're Spencer Reid, right?"

"Uh-huh," he said warily.

She twisted her fingers together, looking at him through her lashes rather than making eye contact. "You know Alexa Lisbon, right?" she said. "She's out by the fieldhouse. She wants to talk to you."

Spencer tilted his head. He'd never had a single conversation with her. Why would she possible want to talk to him now?

But he could hear Derek's voice in the back of his mind.

You get a popular kid on your side, everything works out. Hell, all it takes is Alexa Lisbon saying she approves of somebody, they're in for sure.

He slid down from the bench. "Okay," he said. "I'll go talk to her."

He slung his new backpack on his shoulders, and he started walking towards the football field.


Author's Notes:

I apologize in advance for the angst that's going to happen.

Special thanks to Cat, leliannajackson, sweetkid45, ItsEmilyFreakingPrentiss, nitrogentulips, Loads of Randomness, xgoldentigerlilyx, Daisyangel, Spooladio, mercigirl01, kawalter08, It's Morley to You, and various guests for reviewing!

Also! If you want to hear what Hotch's southern accent sounds like in the last chapter, you can to go to my tumblr (themetaphorgirl) and on the pinned Patron Saint masterpost, scroll all the way down to the link that says Hotch Has an Accent!