Talia:

In my full opinion, waking up on a Tuesday morning is ten times more difficult than waking up on a Monday.

At least it's raining outside. I like the rain. It's not something I see as ominous or a warning to what the day might bring. Rather, I think it's good luck. And I'll need all of the luck I can get.

I stare at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and readjust my necklace, which always manages to have the clasp fall to the front. In my room, I decided today is a blue shirt kind of day. The light colored top hugs close to my chest as I slide my arms through a tan cardigan to complete my look. A perfect outfit for a wet day. That sounded wrong.

Plugging in a hair straightener, I impatiently tap my fingers on the sink while I wait for it to heat up. My hair under natural circumstances holds soft, fluffy waves from being braided at night. Today I thought I would try something different.

I lift the hot iron up to my hair, trying to imitate the process I have seen Jess complete many times before. Collecting a thick strand of my hair, I'm about to push the two sides of the iron together when there's a knock at the door.

"Lia!" Jess shouts from the other side. "Are you almost done? I have to put my make-up on."

"You can come in," I say back, still holding my hair between my fingers.

Jessica opens the door already dressed for school and notices what I'm doing, staring at me with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

"I'm going to straighten my hair," I reply. I thought holding the iron and my hair would be obvious enough as to what I am going to do.

She takes a step closer until she is right beside me. "You're grabbing too big of a chunk to straighten it. You've got to...oh, never mind, just let me do it."

My sister grabs the straightener from my hand and points at the toilet, silently ordering me to take a seat. She separates my hair into two sections, one higher and one lower, pinning up the top part with a clip. I feel the warmth radiating off of the iron as she begins her work that I was helpless enough not to be able to do by myself.

"So," Jess says, "any reason as to why you want your hair to be straightened?"

I'm facing the wall so I can't see her facial expressions, but I can only guess she has a knowing smirk on.

I clear my voice with a quick cough. "Nope. No reason."

Jessica huffs. "Really? Huh. Well, if I had to guess, I would think this has to do with someone who's name begins with G and ends with rayson. But, then again, what would I know?"

She unclips the top part of my hair and it falls down across my face. Her fingers push it aside and she begins her work on the next section.

"I just felt like having my hair be smooth and straight for once, that's all," I lie. Have I mentioned I'm a horrible liar?

"Mhm," Jess hums, picking up on every ounce of my bullshit. "Fine, fine. I'll accept your denial. Just know that if there really is someone you're straightening your hair for, they probably don't care how it looks. Anyways, I'm done."

I hear her unplug the iron as I turn around to inspect her work in the mirror. Jessica rests her hands on my shoulders and looks at me through the reflection.

"So pretty," she coos.

"Thanks," I say.

"I wasn't talking about you. Now get out, I need to get ready."

I roll my eyes. "We have to leave in ten minutes, so don't be late."

"You underestimate me, sister."

No, Jessica, I think I'm estimating you perfectly. It once took you thirty minutes to pick out a pair of shoes. I don't have the most faith in you. I don't tell her this, of course. She would just get mad and make us more late.

I walk out of the bathroom and head downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Cereal, here I come.

When I enter the kitchen, I immediately know something is off. How do I know this? Let's take in the clues shall we? Number one: it smells like pancakes and bacon. Number two: there's no spread of binders or loose paper on the table. And number three: my dad is in front of the stove. Cooking.

I rub my eyes, wondering if I'm seeing things correctly. My shoes hit one of the creaky floorboards and my dad turns around from his spot behind the counter.

"Hey, Lia," he says with a smile.

Okay, seriously, what the fuck? Why is he smiling? Why is he cooking? Why isn't he at work?

"Hi?" I say wearily, unsure of how to approach this change.

My dad steps forward and slides over a stack of pancakes with bacon. I now realize he's wearing plaid pajama pants and not his normal work slacks. In fact, his whole outfit looks increasingly relaxed and no where near normal.

I slide up on the kitchen stool and examine the food in front of me. I pinch my thigh just to see if this is a dream before looking around the room frantically. "Why aren't you at work?"

His arm moves to flip another batch of pancakes before he turns around to look at me. "I'm taking the day off," he says casually.

I choke on the chunk of pancake in my mouth. "The day off? But...y-you."

"I know, I know," my dad says, holding up his hands in surrender. "I never take days off, but I thought I would for today."

Staring at the pancakes, I frown. "Does this have to do with what happened last night?"

There's a pop of a sizzling piece of bacon in the background while my dad contemplates his next words. I think I already know what they're going to be.

"Yeah, it does. Look, Lia, your mother and I...we had a disagreement with what you shared with us yesterday." He stares down at the floor, unable to meet my eyes. "I don't want to be in the same office as her after some of the things she said. Besides," he says with a shrug, "I want to be home in case you need to talk about it, or something. I know I've been a shitty parent by locking myself up with work and being so harsh with you about school, but just know that I'm here. Okay?"

Wow. I slowly nod my head, still uncertain about this change in events. "I just don't understand why you sided with me. I thought...I thought once I told you who did it to me that you wouldn't believe me."

"Do you know what type of law I practiced out of college?"

I shake my head no.

"Well, unlike your mom who went right to be a criminal defense attorney, I handled sexual abuse cases. I learned a lot during my time there. Most importantly, I learned to always believe the victim, something that some people still can't wrap their heads around. That's something I can offer you that your mother can't. She's too caught up in who did it."

Wow. Again.

I shovel another fork-full of pancakes to hide my shock. This is a lot for a Tuesday morning. "I wish she would believe me."

"I know," my dad says, his eyes filled with sympathy. "Remember that I'm here, though."

"I know," I echo, smiling as I clean the rest of the pancakes off of my plate.

There's a few moments of silent understanding before my sister's voice cuts through the air.

"What the fuck?!"

Our heads whip to stare at her. Jess stands by the edge of the counter with a shocked look on her face as she examines the pancakes and bacon. She's going through what I went through a moment ago.

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," our dad says, "but I made breakfast."

Her mouth gapes open. "Yeah, I can see that. Why?"

"He pities me," I state pointing my fork at him with a smile.

Our dad throws up his hands. "Hey, wait, I didn't say it like that..." He looks at me and notices my amused expression. "Oh, you're joking. That was a joke."

Both Jess and I laugh at once as she leans over the counter and grabs a pancake with her bare hands.

"Why don't we all have dinner tonight," he says while turning off the stovetop and removing the last pancake. "We can get take out or pizza or something. Sound good?"

I can't remember the last time we all ate dinner together as a family. It seems Jess can't remember either, because we both exchange a look that reads, "is he serious?" We silently come to the conclusion he is.

"Yeah, that sounds nice," my sister answers for us, which I nod my head along to. "Let's get pizza. But not from the place on Main Street, they're sketchy and the cheese smells like feet. No meat, also. I'm a vegetarian now."

"Since when?" I ask.

She rolls her eyes as if it is common knowledge. "Since Quinn looked at me sadly when I was eating a burger the other day."

Our dad points between us, now totally confused by what we are discussing. "Wait, I thought Quinn was your friend?"

I guess Jess hasn't had the talk with our parents yet. And, clearly, my sister is very good at hiding parts of her life from their sight.

"I haven't told you yet because I was scared, but Quinn is my girlfriend," Jess begins cautiously. Her sentences are elongated and end in a higher pitched voice, almost like someone would ask a question. "Not a friend who is a girl, but a girlfriend. Like, romantically...because I like girls."

He narrows his eyes at Jessica. "Why did you say it like that?"

"Huh?"

Our dad clutches his stomach and releases a belly laugh. Jess grows even more confused.

"Jess," he finally says, "if you're going to tell people you're gay, you should say it with a little more confidence."

At this, Jess laughs alongside our dad and our family suddenly feels somewhat whole again. The pieces are slowly being put back together by three-fourths of its members, and even so, significant progress is already being made. I think I was right when I said the rain was good luck.

"What time does school start for you two? It's already 7:30," he says after checking his watch.

Classes just started and we're not even out the door.

"Shit, we have to go," I say, picking up the car keys and waving. "Bye, dad."

Jessica snatches three more pancakes, shoving one in her mouth during the process. She smiles and says goodbye with her cheeks stuffed with food. It's not until we reach the door about to walk outside when he says it back.

"Bye, girls. I...I love you, both."

We turn around in unison, just as any in-sync twins would, and smile. "We love you, too."

***

The rain is pouring down as we pull into the school. It's irregular beats echo through the interior of the car as I turn off the engine.

Jess leans her head back into the seat and groans. "Great, now we have the furthest spot possible from the entrance."

"This wouldn't have happened if you didn't take so long to put your make-up on," I reply, causing her to shove the middle finger in my face. A bit harsh, Jess.

"You're such a liar! We're late because we were talking to dad for forever this morning," she glares.

I smile despite her mean look. "It was nice though, wasn't it?"

Her best attempts to stay mad fails, and her frown turns upside down. "Yeah, I guess. Let's just make a run for it."

At that, we both climb out of the car and run to the entrance. Except, it's more of a light jog because of our need to leap over the countless puddles in our way. By the time we reach the front, two minutes have gone by and my hair is close to soaked.

Oh, my God, my hair got wet.

"No," I groan. I pick a strand of my hair and examine it in the schools office as Jess signs us in. It's lightly curled now. My natural hair is in full bloom. "No, no, no."

Jess turns and looks at all of my fuss. She pushes a piece of her own hair behind her ear, and I mentally curse at how lucky she is for having perfectly wavy strands, despite the rain. "You look fine."

"I look insane," I mumble.

She rolls her eyes. "Remember what I said. He probably doesn't care."

I twirl and fix my hair quickly, muttering about how unlucky this is, which is ironic because I woke up this morning thinking the rain would bring good luck, not bad.

We head our separate ways to our first period classes, my wet shoes squeaking through the halls all the way to the art room. I take a deep breath in before entering the studio, knowing all eyes will be on me.

Once again, I am unlucky. Miss Bradstone is lecturing to the class about different art textures when I stumble into the room. All eyes perk up immediately. His are still turned away, completely unaware of my sudden presence.

"Ah, Talia, so nice of you to join us," Miss B sing-songs, extending a hand to take the late-slip from my hand. "Please, take a seat."

When she says my name, Grayson turns around in his seat, his eyes trailing over my appearance. I give a forced smile and walk over to the table, quietly placing my bag on the floor and sitting across from him.

"Hi," I whisper, not wanting to disrupt the class.

His head tilts to the side like a dog while he thinks. What could he possibly be thinking about? "Your hair," he says, his finger pointing to where, you guessed it, my hair is.

This time I genuinely smile. I know what he's insinuating, but I might as well have my fun. "Yes, Grayson, I have hair."

He rolls his eyes. "Ha, ha," he says sarcastically. "I meant it's curly."

"Yeah, it was down-pouring outside. My hair gets curly when it's wet," I explain. I pick up a natural strand and hold it in front of my face, examining its messy curl. "I usually brush them out because I don't like them."

Grayson watches my movement through curious eyes as I push my hair behind my ear. "I think it looks nice."

"Thank you," I say with a nod. Jess was right when she said he wouldn't care what my hair looked like. "Do you still have my phone?"

He nods and searches through his bag until he pulls out my phone and hands it to me across the table. Yesterday evening, we were too distracted to have remembered him holding onto my phone. Kissing does that, apparently.

"All right, class!" Miss Bradstone beams from her spot near the projector. I mouth a silent thank you to Grayson. "I'm giving you the rest of class to work on your semester-long projects. Use your time productively!"

The classroom fills with the sound of stools dragging across the floor and chatter. There's not much of the first sound from our end of the room, as Grayson and I are already next to each other, and our position only requires me to move my stool a few feet over to the other side. Grayson clears some of his loose paper to the side, opening a spot to his left.

We haven't been this close since the kiss.

Obviously we can't fully make-out during school, but if I gave him the chance in an appropriate location, would he? Would he run his fingers through my hair? Would he rub his lips until they're swollen against mine? I would like him to.

Being this close to him, I would really like him to.

The bad thing is that I don't know where we stand. We crossed a major boundary when we decided to kiss. We stepped even further when he made me practically moan into his mouth. There's no coming back from that. So what are we?

"So?" Grayson says, pulling me out of my daydream of kissing him. "The project."

He points at the project sheet in front of him and looks at me curiously. My thoughts felt so loud I wouldn't be surprised if he actually heard them.

"Oh, right," I say with a nervous laugh. "We should probably make a lips...list! We should make a..."

I trail off when I realize there's no coming back from my little slip-up. My cheeks are already on fire as I press my hand to its side. I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed.

Grayson stares at me with an all-knowing smile and raised eyebrow. He's clearly a mind reader.

"What was that, Talia?" He asks in a low, silky voice.

Now he's just messing with me to get a reaction.

I shake my head and mentally punch myself for making that wording mistake. Think before you speak, right? "Lists. I said we should make a list of the supplies we should use."

He leans his body weight forward across the table by resting his head on his hand. Grayson is accepting none of my lies. "Mhm. I thought I heard you say lips."

I should slap a piece of tape across his mouth so he doesn't speak with that voice. The voice that's makes me want to melt into my seat. The voice that almost makes me admit my mistake. Key word: almost.

"Nope, I said list," I say. I flip over the project sheet and title the page "supplies list" and underline it for emphasis. "Here, now let's make one."

I think I am in the clear until I hear a muffled laugh from Grayson. He reaches his hand out and taps the top of the page with the title. "That says lips."

"What!" I shriek, my eyes shooting back to the page where, sure enough, I accidentally wrote "supplies lips" not "supplies list." How does that even happen?

There's no coming back from this either. I'm screwed. I've trapped myself into a cage of embarrassment. Curse Grayson and his mind-consuming lips. The same lips that are full on smiling at me right now. I vigorously erase the word from the page and replace it.

"What's got you thinking about lips?" 

This is a game to him. A sick game to get me to admit I've been replaying that enchanting kiss over and over and over again in my mind like the love-sick person I am. And now I'm paying the price.

My cheeks burn a thousand degrees hotter as I stare him in the eyes. "Nothing...nothing. J-just forget it."

God, I'm completely flustered. What has gotten into me?

"Talia, I was just teasing," Grayson says very sincerely, his voice softening. He gives me a half smile, possibly wondering if his actions caused me to be upset. They didn't. He just makes me insanely nervous.

I panically smile back at him. "I know."

Shifting my body, I position my arm to brainstorm supplies and art ideas. For the next thirty minute of class, Grayson and I jot down ways to capture our trip to the museum. A lot of it is me explaining different art mediums to the most clueless art person ever to exist, but by the end, we have a rough idea of what we want to achieve. Grayson isn't as nearly as excited as I am to construct out piece. I think he would rather go to different locations instead of doing the actual work. It's not him being lazy, he just has no faith in his artistic skills. Thankfully, I have enough hope for the two of us.

The bell rings and the class hurriedly packs their belongings into their backpacks. I'm halfway through zippering my bag when a voice shouts from the doorway. I look beside me and realize Grayson is still beside me, so the sound didn't come from him.

"Graysie-boy!"

We turn a find Jake racing towards our table at an alarming speed. Graysie-boy gives an aggravated glare in his direction when he sidles next to us. "What did I say abou—"

Jake shoves a hand in his face, cutting off any other words. "Shush, Graysie-boy. Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" I ask for him. The steam emitting from Grayson's ears tells me I should speak before he says something threatening. For some reason, I find his whole