I'm not quite sure how to start this Author's Note, so I guess I'll just give some details. Taylor never went to Harbor, instead her mother sent her to boarding school. After graduation, she goes to Berkeley for college, and takes up a teaching assistant position with a certain law professor…

And for those of you who care: my musical inspiration for this are the albums 'Nevermind' and 'In Utero' by Nirvana. It's a surprisingly upbeat fic for such angsty music… the title of this story is the title of one of their songs ('In Bloom', off 'Nevermind').

Taylor Townsend was bored.

"There has to be something," she begged. "Please, Mrs. Johansson."

The woman sighed, leafing through some papers. "I'm sorry, Taylor, but there just aren't any teaching assistant positions in the psychology or language departments."

"Well, can't I go to another one then?" she asked hopelessly. "I mean, I know I probably won't have taken the class, but you know how good of a student I am."

The woman sighed again. "I do have an opening for a TA for one of the law professors."

"Great!" Taylor clapped her hands excitedly. "I love law! Well, that sounds weird, but I'm totally willing to learn about legal stuff. That way, if anything like the whole Henri-Michel debacle happens again…" she trailed off, noticing the strange look she got from her counselor. "Alright. Well. I'll take it."

"He has to choose you, you know. You don't just automatically get the job. I'm sure there are law students who want to work with him. His classes are quite popular."

"Who is it?" Taylor asked, curious.

"You know I'm not allowed to tell you until he has signed off on the papers and agreed to hire you."

"Right. Well, thank you again, Mrs. Johansson!" She stood up, grabbed her purse and made her way out of the counselor's office.

She sighed when she got outside, looking around at the Berkeley campus. She still felt like she was in high school sometimes: no friends, trying to fill that void with work, work, work.

Sandy looked over the files of the students who had put in to be his TA. Mathew Samuels… grades too low. Martha Bernheim… too emotional. Spencer Troost… good Lord, that kid was awful. Taylor Townsend… he paused at the name. Sandy Cohen remembered every student that had taken his classes these two years at Berkeley, and he was sure that Taylor Townsend was not one of them. Maybe her file got mixed in…

He opened it, curious. Psychology major with minors in French and Korean. That was an interesting combination. He glanced at the comment section on the request form. Where most students listed all of their achievements, and told him how much they loved law, all she had written was 'I'm so bored.'

Sandy smiled, and that alone made him pause. He had chosen his last TA based on pure academics, but the boy had been so dull. Seriously, the guy had the sense of humor of a moldy sponge.

Taylor Townsend's file went into his 'maybe' pile – which so far included no one else. He would look into her academics later.

Taylor jumped up and down, squealing and clapping her hands excitedly. She paused only to press the delete button on her answering machine, before resuming the celebration. She had gotten the position. She'd heard about Professor Cohen, even though he wasn't in her line of schooling. Other students thought he was hilarious, as well as brilliant.

Sandy looked up from his paperwork, "come in!" He stood up as the door opened, and walked over to the nervous girl, shaking her hand. He was glad to note that, despite her hesitation, her hand was strong and firm. Good. She'd need to be tough if she wanted to work with him. He had an overwhelming amount of classes, filled to capacity. That was a lot of students, and a lot of papers to grade.

They sat down, and he began filling in what her job entailed: grading papers, doing research, helping during class when she could. She listened intently, absorbing everything.

When she was gone, later, he smiled. It seemed he had made a good choice. The girl was bright, cheery, and she kind of reminded him of Seth.

"You got a TA position with Professor Cohen?" her roommate asked incredulously. Taylor nodded happily. "Wow. The guy's a little old for me, but he's still a fox. I can't believe you're working with the Sandy Cohen."

"Hi," she poked her head tentatively around the door. Professor Cohen lifted his head and smiled at her.

"Come in, Taylor." She sat down on the chair opposite him, folding her legs demurely at the ankles – 'like a proper lady', her mother's voice rang in her head. "I'm glad you decided to continue on," he grinned at her. She smiled back, ducking her head.

"I'm just glad you decided to keep me, Professor Cohen."

"Please, call me Sandy. Professor Cohen makes me sound too…"

"Old?" she supplied helpfully, and giggled at the jokingly angry look he gave her.

"I was going to say it reminds me too much that I work for 'the man' now."

"Sandy, I really think you need to screen some students before you let them take your class," Taylor groaned, head resting in her left hand, a red pen in her right. "I mean, this is horrible!" she gestured emphatically at the stack of papers in front of her.

Sandy laughed, looking up from a legal book. "Unfortunately I can't do that. Something about discrimination…"

"Ok, but on question 5, the one where you ask them to define habeas corpus? This guy wrote 'it's when people get in trouble for keeping dead bodies in their basement'." Sandy gave a loud laugh.

"Who was that? Marcel again?" He laughed harder when Taylor nodded in affirmation. The boy was a train wreck.

"But shouldn't there be some sort of screening process for psychopaths?" she questioned. "I mean, this guy talks an awful lot about dead bodies…"

A knock came at the door. "Come in," Sandy called, suppressing his laughter. It wouldn't be good if the head of his department came in to find them laughing over tests.

A blonde boy stuck his head in. "Hey Sandy, I just wanted to know if you were free for lunch, cause I don't go back to class till one." He seemed to notice the girl in the room. "Oh, sorry. I forgot your students had a test yesterday." Sandy nodded sadly.

"It's ok," Taylor said, looking at Sandy, her back to the door. "You can go. If you want, I'll stay here and finish these."

"I can't ask you to do that," he said sincerely, but she waved her hands at him.

"Go." When he hesitated she sighed in exasperation. "What am I going to do? Set the place on fire? Sandy, you've given me the answer key to the test, I can't really go wrong. And I'll answer your phone, and say you're in a very serious meeting – it'll make you sound important. If I have any questions about the test, I'll leave them on your desk with a post-it." She paused, raising one eyebrow at him.

Sandy held up his hands in defeat, smiling broadly. "Fine, fine, I see when I'm not wanted. Alright, kiddo," he spoke to the boy at the door. "Let's go. What do you want? Cafeteria food, or that nice little Italian man with the cart?"

The boy laughed. "Cart, definitely."

"You're right. The guy might not have the best personal hygiene, but he makes some damn good Panini." They were almost out the door when Sandy stopped. "Oh! I almost forgot to introduce you two. How rude," he dragged the boy back inside. "Ryan, this is Taylor Townsend, she's my new Teaching Assistant. Taylor, this is my son, Ryan."

The girl turned and smiled at the blonde boy standing in the doorway. "Hi," she stood up, extending her hand, "nice to meet you." He shook it, nodding, suddenly stiff.

"You too." At least he was polite.

"Well, let's go," the Sandy cut in brightly. "Oh, Taylor, you want me to pick you up a sandwich?" he asked over his shoulder.

"From the dirty Italian guy with a cart? No thanks."

"So how's the new TA?" Ryan asked, unwrapping his sandwich. "Better than Jerry?"

Sandy groaned, "I think anyone would be better than Jerry." He took a huge bite, and began speaking through the mouthful, "but she's great so far. Very organized," he swallowed, gulping down some coffee. "And she's funny. It's nice to have some humor around here."

"Hey," Ryan held out a finger in mock warning. "I'm funny."

"You're getting better," Sandy amended, holding up his hands. "You've definitely changed these past two years," Sandy looked at him, smiling. "I mean, you barely brood anymore. And I don't think you've gotten into a fist fight in… days at least."

Taylor took a sip of water, looking around Sandy's office. She was taking a break from grading tests, and this was the first time she was really able to study the place. There were loads of law books on the shelves that were covering most of the walls. She liked it in here, lots of dark wood and deep green upholstery. Very library-like. She noticed a picture frame on his desk, and picked it up.

His wife was gorgeous, and she was holding a baby girl in her arms. Taylor smiled at his daughter, then shifted her glance to the two boys off to the side. The one was dark; tall with curly hair. The other was blonde and shorter, stockier. He was the one she had met today. Studying the photograph, she noticed that the blonde one – Ryan – didn't look like either one of his parents. The darker boy took after his father - that resemblance was uncanny. But even though Sandy's wife was blonde, the other son didn't look like her either.

"We adopted him," Sandy explained. She had asked how his lunch was, and he had launched into a rant about his son.

"I was wondering," she mused, not looking up from the test, "he doesn't look a thing like you or your wife." There was silence, and she looked up sheepishly. "I saw the picture," she pointed at the frame on his desk. He shook his head.

"Not even a week working for me and you're snooping already. Ah, well, at least all the important things are locked away."

"That's until I find the key," she grinned at him, feeling completely comfortable. He grinned back.

There was a knock at the door, and Sandy called out an invitation. Taylor was standing at the corner bookcase, looking up some weird legal precedent in one of the huge law books.

"I brought food." There was a rustle of bags as Taylor looked up to see Sandy's son drop a pack of food on the desk, placing a crate of drinks down too. "I knew you had papers due, so I figured you'd need some nourishment."

"You're a life saver," Sandy groaned, tearing into the bag furiously. "Are there bagels?" He grinned when his son nodded. "Taylor," Sandy called, "come eat."

She dropped the book gratefully, coming over to fall wearily into the unoccupied chair. Sandy sat behind his desk while the two students sat on the other side. Sandy tossed her a hoagie, and she unwrapped it carefully. Italian. She was thankful. Sandy ate some weird sandwiches, but this one seemed normal. "So, Ryan," she looked over at the boy, "what's your major?"

"Architecture," he swallowed politely before answering.

"Kid's an architectural genius," Sandy declared, not bothering to clear the food from his mouth.

"Sandy," Ryan protested, ducking his head with a smile. He called his father Sandy, Taylor noted, filing it away for further use. That's what she was doing now, building this boy's file in her head. That's how she figured people out: she noted small things about them that helped her categorize them. Her psych teachers loved her.

"Too much math for me," she shook her head, biting into the sandwich. "I mean, it's not that I'm bad at math, per-se, but it's just too many numbers. I seem to mix them up a lot."

"Yeah, that could be bad," Ryan joked, "you could hurt people if your calculations are wrong."

"Well, that's what I need," she declared, "another way to get people injured. I seem to be accident prone," she explained. The two men stared at her before bursting into laughter.

"He's nice," Taylor smiled, getting back to work. Ryan had gone to his next class.

"He's a good kid," Sandy's tone was affectionate.

"You say that like you expect me to think otherwise," she noted, flipping to the index of the law book. Sandy sighed dramatically.

"Don't Psych 101 me, little lady," he pointed a finger at her, and she giggled. "But yes, most people tend to think the worst of him. He's from Chino, originally." He gave her a knowing look when she glanced up, raising an eyebrow. "See? Everyone expects the worst. And yes, his father and brother were in jail, and his mom abandoned him for alcohol…" the man paused, realizing he was speaking too much. "You're too easy to talk to, you know that?" he accused, laughing a little.

"Don't worry," Taylor smiled reassuringly at him. "I won't tell. And I won't hold it against him. If there's anything I've learned, it's that your birth parents don't define you." He shot her a curious look, but she didn't say anything else.

Ok, I'm not exactly sure what a TA actually does, so I hope I got it kind of right. If I didn't… oh well!

Review, it's like crack to me.

p.s. – I'm having some trouble writing the next chapter of 'Newport Living', so it might be a while…