Disclaimer: I obviously don't own any part of Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Glee. That honor goes to Joss Whedon and Ryan Murphy, respectively.
Buffy Summers jerked her head back from a foam-covered microphone being shoved into her face.
"Jacob Ben Israel. You must be Buffy Summers." A scrawny boy with jam-jar glasses and brown, curly hair held the mic up to her face while a kid in suspenders held a camcorder behind him.
"Uh, yeah -" said Buffy, pulling at her cream-colored sweater and anxiously eyeing the entrance to the local high school.
"There's a forum on my blog dedicated solely to your arrival," said Jacob, looking her up and down through his glasses, pausing on her ruffled pink skirt, "We had no idea the new kid would be so... delectable."
Buffy felt her skin crawl. "Well, thanks, but I have to get to class. My first day, wouldn't want to be late!" she chirped cheerily, and pushed past Jacob and his silent cameraman.
Other kids her age were parking their parents cars in the expansive parking lot and greeting each other, slinging backpacks over their shoulders and dawdling for as long as they could. It was Buffy's first day at William McKinley High School and Ohio was a big and not necessarily welcome change from what she was used to. Still, she had no other choice than to remain optimistic. Her heels click-clacked against the linoleum floors. It was more or less like her old high school back in Los Angeles and she finally found the library at the southernmost part of the building.
She waggled her fingers at the ancient, sour-faced librarian and weaved through rows of tall bookcases, her shoes thudding on the soft carpet. Principal Figgins told her that her rented textbooks for the whole year should be at the back with the rest of the official school coursework. She walked briskly to the back wall and tripped over someone who'd been crouched on the ground, sifting through music sheets. She balanced herself before she could fall and looked down apologetically.
"Sorry!" she whispered, grinning at the guy.
He had a square jaw and a head of chestnut-colored curls. He was kind of cute, and young, but too old to be a student, Buffy noted with disappointment. He stood up, staring at her with an open mouth, making her uncomfortable.
"Um, uh, you must be Buffy," he said.
Buffy nodded, surprised. "I guess I'm the only new kid," she chuckled awkwardly.
"Yeah, I... I'm Mr. Schuester," he said, extending his hand.
Buffy gently shook his, trying not to underestimate her own strength.
"Let me help you find what you're looking for!" he exclaimed and dropped his music sheets, moving to a dusty corner of the library.
"Uh, actually..." Buffy stammered, following him.
He rummaged through a pile of dusty books and held one up to her with a proud, dorky grin on his face. The book had a thick leather cover and dust gathered into the crevices of the the carved etchings of ancient runes and Wiccan symbols. 'Vampyr' was carved in bulky letters across the top.
Buffy blanched. "That's not what I'm looking for," she said gravely, her eyes darting around the near-empty library.
"Oh," said Mr. Schuester, disappointed, looking down at the leather-bound book.
He turned around to look at the other books in the darkened corner, but Buffy had already sprinted out of the library. She escaped into the hallway and pushed past a few students who were still bumbling around. Didn't small town equal normal? she asked herself, Apparently not for me.
She knocked into a bespectacled boy in a wheelchair and almost stumbled to the floor again before she balanced herself. Her backpack was thrown over her shoulder, pencils and loose-leaf paper spilling onto the floor.
"Sorry!" she exclaimed, "I'm such a klutz today."
"It's fine," the boy smiled, leaning down and gathering pencils in his hands.
"Thanks," she said, shoving her stuff back into her blue JanSport backpack, "I'm Buffy."
"Artie," he replied, hitching his glasses up the bridge of his nose and smiling shyly.
Buffy smiled, grateful, and walked off briskly to get her class schedule from the receptionist.
"Wait, you forgot your..." Artie stopped and picked up a sharp wooden spike that had rolled under his wheels, "Stake?"
xxx
Quinn Fabray smoothed her glossed lips together and scribbled History notes into her refill pad as Mr. Perry droned on about the Spanish war. She paid enough attention in class and took enough notes to manage getting all As, but she also knew that high school was a place for looking good and climbing the social ladder. She was an all-or-nothing girl.
As she drew a timeline in her notebook, her boyfriend slipped her a note. She didn't bother looking up at Finn as she took the piece of paper and unfolded it. 'Check out the nu girl bside Puck', it read, in Santana's scratchy handwriting. Quinn folded the note in between her fingers and turned discretely to Santana and Brittany, who were sitting beside each other, behind her and Finn, in their matching red and white cheerleading uniforms.
Santana nodded her dark brown ponytail at Noah Puckerman, who was sitting next to the new girl. Quinn pursed her lips and gave the girl a once-over. She was thin and petite, with athletic, toned legs under her flowery skirt. Her hair was the same sandy blond color as Quinn's, in cheerful beach curls that brushed her shoulders. Quinn narrowed her eyes as Puck bit his bottom lip and ran a hand over his dark faux-hawk, eyeing the new hottie up and down. She looked back at Santana and Brittany, who were awaiting her response. She frowned, and nodded, and her minions nodded back.
She turned back in her seat and convinced herself that she had the situation under control. Quinn was top dog at McKinley and no cute little blonde was going to come in and change that. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, Quinn always thought.
After class, Buffy hitched her backpack over her shoulder and walked into the hallway. The whole blending in thing didn't seem to be working very well with her classmates staring at her like she had a second head. Then again, the citizens of Lima probably didn't get a lot of action. When Buffy's mom had announced they were moving to Ohio, Buffy imagined a bunch of local yokels at the corn festival in denim overalls and straw hats, making out with their cousins. But she promised she'd give their new home a chance.
Her thoughts were swatted away like flies by two cheerleaders who quickly flanked her either side. Buffy held her breath a moment, stunned. Shoulder to shoulder, they easily steered her around the hall. A tall, poised blonde with a serene smile was on her left and a Latina with amusement dancing in her brown eyes appeared on her right, a swing to her hips.
"You must be Buffy," said the blonde, her voice smooth and sultry.
"Uh, yeah, that's me. Seems like everyone knows who I am," Buffy laughed nervously.
The blonde smiled. "I'm Quinn Fabray. Head cheerleader, president of the celibacy club, and this is Santana."
Santana gave a quick smile.
"So I hear you're from California. Someone said the new kid was fresh from Los Angeles," said Quinn, as the cheerleaders steered Buffy aimlessly through the school.
"Yeah. Me and my mom... needed a change of scenery," said Buffy, fudging the truth.
"Why Ohio?" asked Quinn.
"My mom thought a small town sounded like a new change of pace. She found a space here to open up her gallery-"
"Your Mom's an artist? That's... unique."
"No, not an artist. She just owns the gallery. Likes to exhibit a lot of old Afro-European stuff."
"Opening a tribal art gallery in this economy? Brave woman."
Buffy half-smiled. "Yeah..."
"So, I saw you hanging out with Jew-Fro this morning," said Santana, eyeing Buffy out of her peripheral, the corners of her mouth edging down in a judgemental frown.
"Oh, we weren't really hanging out. He just sort of came up to me with his camera guy and started asking me stuff-"
"Good," said Quinn, stopping at a slushie machine outside the cafeteria doors, "You don't want to end up slumming it with theatre geeks and A/V club losers. You just stick with me and mine and you'll be good to go."
Buffy shuffled uncertainly. Quinn and Santana were a little overbearing and seemed to have suspicious intentions, but Buffy would be glad to have any sort of clique to fit in to. She didn't want to stick out in a place so small.
Quinn filled a large plastic cup to the brim with cherry-flavored slush and sipped a little off the top. She started walking again, leading them down the hall, not bothering to fit a lid over her cup.
"Of course, there's still the mandatory test of character," said Quinn. Santana smirked.
"Test?" Buffy frowned, "But it's my first day."
Quinn laughed. "Don't worry, Buffy, I'm sure you'll pass. Let's see... fishnet stockings?"
"Um, over?"
"So over. Armie Hammer?"
"Needs to call me," Buffy giggled.
Quinn smiled, gripping her large slushie, but not drinking it. "Pinkberry."
"Trendy, yet tasty."
"Kanye West."
"The devil."
Quinn smiled brightly. "Well, that was kind of a gimme, but you passed!"
"Yay," Buffy smirked as they walked past a row of lockers.
"Hey, Rachel, heads up!" called Quinn.
A dark-haired girl in a preppy argyle sweater whirled around and Quinn, gripping her slushie cup, threw the icy drink in the smaller girl's face. Buffy stared in shock as slush dripped down the girl's top as she grimaced in pain. Quinn and Santana cackled and high-fived, and stood tight on either side of Buffy as they walked on.
"Some people just need to know their place," said Quinn, "Rachel Berry is a total loser. Glee club freak, theatre geek, always bragging about her 4.0 grade point average."
"Did you see those cable-knit tights?" Santana sneered, "My grandma is sexier than that tranny."
"You'll learn to tell the difference between the losers and the cool crowd real quick," sauid Quinn, "And don't worry, we're tell the Titans and the Cheerios not to slushie you."
Buffy looked over her shoulder as Rachel Berry hobbled stiffly to the girls' bathrooms.
"Um, I have to go, uh, get my stuff for next period. I'll see you later, though," said Buffy, stopping in her tracks and backing away from the cheerleaders.
"Bye," said Quinn, waggling her fingers. Once Buffy was out of sight, she dropped her hand and her friendly smile. "She's nauseating."
"We'll keep her in line," Santana smirked.
Quinn nodded and held her chin up as she dumped the empty slushie cup in the nearest trash can.
xxx
Rachel Berry grabbed a pile of scratchy brown tissue paper from their holder mounted on the wall of the girls' bathroom and started to wipe slushie off of her face. She grimaced at her reflection in the mirror, red dye seeping into her navy sweater.
"Quinn Fabray must have some serious self-esteem issues if she feels the need to publically humiliate people for the sake of impressing the new girl," she said, cleaning off the ice that was dripping down her collar.
Kurt Hummel sat up on the edge of one of the sinks, his denim-clad legs crossed. "Don't you think I know that? I've been hiding in here all day trying to avoid a slushie facial. I spent all of my babysitting money on a trip to a dermatologist out of town this weekend and I'm not going to waste it on the amusement of Little Miss Peroxide and her pretend friends."
Rachel slid a retractable hairbrush out of her sleeve and attempted to brush the flavored slush out of her hair when the bathroom door swung open and the new girl, a blonde with beach waves and designer clothes came in with a nervous grin.
"Hi, I'm Buffy," she smiled awkwardly at them. Rachel and Kurt looked at her, expectant, and Buffy shuffled on the spot. "Um, I'm so sorry about what Quinn did... to you..." she said, staring sheepishly at the red stains all over Rachel's front.
"It's not your fault," said Rachel, whipping back around to the mirror and wiping her face.
Buffy squirmed. Rachel didn't sound particularly forgiving, and Buffy didn't bother to question why there was a boy hanging out in the girls' room.
"I, uh, I'm sort of behind on homework because I'm new and all, and... well, someone mentioned that you're a straight A student. I just wanted to ask if maybe you could help me-"
"You want me to help you study?" Rachel asked, holding a paper towel in front of face and staring at Buffy in the mirror.
"Only if your not busy."
Rachel frowned. "Aren't you friends with Quinn Fabray?" she asked softly, looking into the sink.
Buffy smirked. "Can't I be friends with both of you?"
"Not legally," the boy said sarcastically, "I'm Kurt."
"Hi," Buffy smiled gratefully, "Look, don't worry about Quinn."
Rachel dumped her red crumpled tissues into the trash can. "Okay," she said enthusiastically, "We should find somewhere quiet to study. The library?"
"No!" Buffy exclaimed, "I mean, we don't have to start studying right this second. We could just... hang. You guys could show me around, maybe, first. Where's the cafeteria?"
"We don't like to hang out in the cafeteria," said Kurt, hopping off of the sink, "Too big a risk of a slushie facial."
"We can spend lunch in the auditorium," said Rachel, "We have to be there next period, anyways, to audition for glee club."
"Glee club? Cool," said Buffy.
"Liar," Kurt smirked, "Glee club is not cool. Now L.A., that's cool! That close to that many shoes? Heaven!"
Buffy chuckled as the boy slung his leather satchel over his shoulder, he and Rachel leading her out of the restroom, not as predatorily as Quinn and Santana. Buffy didn't dwell on the fact that it was now easier for her to fit in with the glee clubbers than with the cheerleaders. She just let them steer her into the auditorium.
It was a lot smaller than the one at her old school, with imitation red velvet, tiered seats and a bulky wooden stage. She took a seat with her new friends in the front row.
"So explain to me why in Marc Jacobs' name you would move to this Hell hole," asked Kurt.
Buffy squirmed. "Mainly, my mom wanted a fresh start. She found a space to open her art gallery-"
"Art gallery?" Kurt raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed, "How chic are you?! You're too fabulous for Lima. Is that a real Ralph Lauren?"
Buffy looked down at her sweater. It was, indeed, a cashmere Ralph Lauren sweater that her dad had given her as a parting gift before she moved hundreds of miles away. She promised she'd wear it on her first day of school and she was surprised that someone recognized it.
"How'd you know?" she asked.
"I know the Fall catalogue like the back of my hand!" he gushed.
Buffy smiled and looked at Kurt's brown wool Alexander McQueen sweater that stopped mid-thigh.
"You know, I have a cotton Ralph Lauren jacket you might be able to fit into."
Kurt's eyes lit up and he leaned forward to look at Rachel, who was gargling from a water bottle on Buffy's other side. "I love the new girl!"
Rachel swallowed her mouthful of water and smiled. "Have you signed up for any extracurricular activities yet?" she asked, flicking a lock of brown hair behind her shoulder.
"No, this is just my first day. I was more concerned about fitting in," said Buffy, shrinking in her seat.
Rachel's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "High school's no time for fitting in, Buffy. It's the time to make something of yourself. Why don't you try out for glee club with us?"
"I'm not much of a singer."
"That's okay! Every show choir needs people to sway in the background."
Buffy smirked. "Maybe later in the year. I'm already so behind on school work..." she trailed off.
Rachel nodded slowly, disappointed. "So, do you have any hobbies?"
It was an innocent enough question, but Buffy started to feel like she was under interrogation.
"Well, I was a cheerleader in my old school."
Rachel and Kurt's faces fell.
"Figures," Kurt shook his head.
"No wonder Quinn and Santana like you. They probably sensed the coolness wafting out of your perfect hair," said Rachel.
"Huh?"
"Are you going to join the Cheerios?" asked Kurt, "They were trying to recruit you, right?"
"Of course they were. And once you become a Cheerio, you're never going to talk to us again. I wouldn't blame you. Reputation is everything," Rachel said, folding her arms in front of her chest.
"Guys, they were not trying to recruit me, and even if they did, I like you guys. I wouldn't stop talking to you. I want us to be friends."
Rachel side-eyed Buffy suspiciously before a smile appeared on her face. "I'd like that, too."
Kurt nodded on her other side as the bell sounded for classes to begin.
"It's free period, right? I'll watch you guys audition," said Buffy, smiling eagerly, anxious to make - and keep - friends.
"Great!" said Rachel, pleased to have an audience, "I'm singing On My Own from the critically acclaimed Broadway play, Les Miserables!"
Buffy nodded, trying to match Rachel's enthusiasm. She couldn't quite get there.
"Who runs glee club, anyways?" she asked.
"Mr. Schuester," said Rachel, "He took on glee club after Sandy Ryerson got fired for..."
Rachel continued to talk but the sound of her voice was muffled in Buffy's ears as the cogs in her mind starting to turn. Mr. Schuester? she thought, Can I never escape this? She turned around to see Mr. Schuester was walking into the auditorium, the dim lighting making his brown curls dark. Buffy shrank in her seat.
"...and despite what you may have heard, I wasn't the one to turn him in. And even if I did, it's not because I'm homophobic. I have two gay dads," Rachel said smugly, as the sound of her voice came back to Buffy.
"Uh huh," said Buffy, barely listening as she grabbed her backpack from the floor and leapt up, "You know, I'm such a ditz! I completely forgot, I can't stay and watch you audition. I, uh, have to meet Principal Figgins to discuss my permanent record. I was quite the troublemaker back in California!" Buffy rambled on as she backed away from the seats.
Kurt and Rachel watched, perplexed, as she stormed right past Mr. Schuester and out of the auditorium. She strode away briskly in her heels until she heard the squeak of sneakers behind her. If she wanted to, she could break out into a run and be rid of him, but she knew that some things had to be confronted. She whirled around in the hallway, her golden hair swishing over her shoulder, and Mr. Schuester skidded to a stop.
"Why can't you just leave me alone?!" she demanded.
He blinked in surprise and looked left and right, though there wasn't another soul in the hallway. "You're a slayer," he said in a hushed tone.
"Maybe I don't want to be a slayer! Maybe I just want to be a cheerleader or a prom queen or, or... a glee club loser! I don't want to hunt monsters in my spare time. I'm sixteen!" Buffy exclaimed, expelling her frustration.
Mr. Schuester swallowed. "Buffy, you were chosen by a higher power and the Watchers' Council sent you to me."
"No, they didn't. My parent's divorce sent me here. My mom decided to move. It has nothing to do with being a slayer."
"Of course it does. It has everything to do with it. Who do you think offered your mom an opportunity like this? Buffy, you have a sacred birthright. In every generation, a slayer is born..." Will gulped and took a sneaky peek at the sweaty ink on the palm of his hand, "One girl in all the world with the strength and skill to fight the-"
"-vampires. To stop the swell of their numbers and the spread of their evil. I've heard this spiel from my old watcher, and he didn't need cheat tactics to do it," Buffy rolled her eyes at his inky hand.
He sheepishly shoved his hand into the pocket of his slacks. "Then you know. There's nothing you can do."
"Yes there is. I quit. I came to Ohio for a fresh start, not to prey on the living dead."
"Buffy, there's a reason you're here. This town is on a Hellmouth. Mystical energy is pulsing right under us. That means vampires and God knows what else are going to be attracted to it. Someone has to stop them!"
"So why don't you do it?" asked Buffy, raising an eyebrow.
"Me? I-I'm not a slayer. I'm a watcher. I-"
"Watch?"
Mr. Schuester pursed his lips. His training never covered this.
"Just... leave me alone," Buffy sighed and strode away, her heels clacking with every step as she walked right out of the school.
She knew some things couldn't be escaped and it nagged her at the back of her mind constantly, the thought appearing when she woke up in cold sweats from prophetic dreams of sharp-fanged vampires. Her heels thudded against the parking lot pavement.
"Hey, Busty!"
Buffy looked to her left and saw a Jeep full of boys in bulky letterman jackets. The mohawked boy from her History class leaned out of the driver's seat and narrowed his brown eyes at her, a smarmy smile on his face.
"It's Buffy," she corrected him as he drove nearer, his friends chuckling in the back seat. Buffy noticed Santana sneering on the passenger's side.
"Skipping school?" he asked.
"Uh, n-no. My old school let us leave campus during free period. I-It's not like that here?"
The boy smiled wider, knowingly. "I'm Puck, and I am skipping school. Me and my bros are gonna take a bottle of Jack to Edgar's Field, get smashed and go cow-tipping when it gets dark. You in?"
Buffy gave him a fake smile. "No, thanks," she said, eyeing Santana, who was leaning territorially against Puck. She whispered something in the boy's ear, making him snicker.
"Have it your way, Bucky!" he hollered and sped off.
"It's Buffy," she grumbled. Not that anyone could hear her.
xxx
"Everyone was really… friendly. And the learning part was so… learny!"
Joyce Summers raised a sandy blond eyebrow at her daughter. "They have English classes at McKinley, don't they?" she asked sarcastically, as she struggled to grip a wooden packing crate.
Buffy picked up a crate with ease and followed her mom upstairs. Their new house on Rovello Drive was barely furnished and full of cardboard boxes, but the biggest feature were the wooden packing crates that flooded the house and blocked their entrance. They were full of eclectic pieces for Mrs. Summers' gallery downtown.
"How different is it from L.A?" asked Joyce, briefly laying a concerned palm on her daughter's dainty shoulder.
"Not that different, actually. I mean, the weather's worse and people dress differently… but a school's a school, right? Same gross cafeteria food, same weird mouth-breathing chess club kids-"
"And we're not going to have any problems like your old school, right?"
Buffy grimaced as she followed her mom back downstairs to pick up more packing crates. Problems at her old school were a sore subject.
"No. Of course not," Buffy said. But she wasn't so sure.
Joyce struggled to balance a crate on her forearms and heave it up the stairs again, as the doorbell rang.
"I'll get it," Buffy murmured as her mother disappeared up the staircase.
Buffy opened the door and looked out at her porch into the early night and sure enough, under a plaid golf hat was Mr. Schuester's head of bronze curls. Buffy almost shut the door again, but he wedged his foot in and stopped her.
"What do you want?" she hissed, keeping the door almost closed so her mother wouldn't hear.
"There's been an attack," said Mr. Schuester, his dull hazel eyes grave with concern.
Buffy bit the inside of her lip. Schuester didn't know what he was doing; not at all. He looked like he needed her more than she needed him. Buffy grimaced and stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind her.
"Who's been attacked?" she asked, folding her arms as a breeze blew by.
"Some football players. Most of them ran home, but a few are in the hospital. And Santana Lopez was with them, but they said she ran off. She probably went home, too," said Mr. Schuester, wringing his hands together.
Buffy thought back to the SUV of jocks that pulled up to her earlier at school that day, Santana Lopez resting territorially in the passengers' seat.
"How'd you find out?" asked Buffy.
"A farmer found some of them wounded near his cattle. He recognized the letterman jackets and called the school after he called the ambulance," said Mr. Schuester.
Buffy bit her bottom lip. "Look, you seem to be able to handle this yourself-"
"Buffy, you're the slayer! It's your obligation to protect the town from this kind of thing!"
Buffy glared at the teacher. "It is not my obligation! My obligation is to go to school and get acne and have bad self-esteem! I'm-"
"Sixteen, I know," sighed Mr. Schuester, looking a little sympathetic for once, "But people are getting hurt. And you're the only one who can help them."
Guilt trip. Great, thought Buffy.
"Fine," she said, "But I'm not promising any miracles, OK? You can take me to the crime scene. I'll check it out."
"Great," smiled Mr. Schue, overly enthusiastic.
"Just wait here. I have to get dressed," she said.
"Dressed?"
Buffy looked down at her cashmere sweater and prissy ruffled mini skirt.
"You think I'm going on duty in this?"
Buffy closed the door on him and sprinted upstairs.
"Mom, I'm going out," she called as she swung into her room, still full of cardboard boxes and rummaged through her packed clothes.
"Going where?" asked Joyce, sticking her bob of frizzy blond hair in the doorway.
"Uh, my new friends. They're having a… hoedown," said Buffy, pulling out a pair of worn-out Old Navy jeans.
"A hoedown?" Joyce asked skeptically, a hand on her hip.
"Yeah. All the kids in Ohio love hoedown throwdown. Why? Can't I go?" asked Buffy, holding the leg of her pants out to see if they still fit.
"I guess-"
"Thanks, Mom," said Buffy, giving her mom a peck on the cheek and slamming her bedroom door closed.
xxx
Buffy squirmed in Mr. Schuester's tiny blue Honda.
"So, I get you're on a teacher's salary and everything, but doesn't the Watcher's Council give you enough to afford a bigger car?" asked Buffy, checking herself out in the mirror.
She'd tied her honey blond hair up in a ponytail that barely grazed the shoulder of her black leather Burberry jacket.
Who says slaying can't be trendy? she asked herself.
"I don't get paid to be a watcher," Mr. Schue chuckled.
Buffy furrowed her brow in confusion. "Wait, so… you do this for free? Risk your life and waste your time on slayer after slayer for… what?"
"Well… my father was a watcher. And his father. It's almost as much a birth rite as yours. We help make the world a safer place."
Buffy sighed, and stared out of the car door window, off into the dark pastures.
"You're pretty selfless."
His smile grew until a dorky grin was plastered on his face. "Yeah. I guess I am."
Mr. Schuester pulled over on a dirt road, beside a cobblestone wall. Buffy got out, balancing the short heels of her black leather boots on the wet gravel, grimacing as a cow leered at her from behind the wall.
"Over here," said Mr. Schuester.
In the middle of the field not too far out of town, Mr. Schuester shone his flashlight over a patch of grass.
"Is that blood?" Buffy asked over the incessant mooing, eyeing dark, wet splotches over the grass.
Mr. Schuester shone his flashlight over the torn, bloody remains of a letterman jacket. Buffy watched him grimace hopelessly.
"You say some of them are in the hospital," said Buffy.
Mr. Schuester nodded. "You think we should visit them?"
"They're the only witnesses we've got."
xxx
Somewhere in the dark that night, a willowy woman opened the back door to let one of her cats in, her slightly faded blond hair blowing in the night breeze. This woman was Phoebe Pierce, and she only stopped for a moment because she heard a rustling noise in her gardenias. Phoebe strained her eyes and held her breath, but the night stayed still.
"Note to Phoebe; Cut down on the pot brownies," she whispered into the darkness, pulling her silk robe around herself and closing the slide door.
Lurking in the shadows of Phoebe Pierce's gardenias, Santana Lopez emerged, the cool breeze tickling the beads of sweat that tread down her forehead. She felt ill and weak, her senses strained and giving her a massive headache. When Mrs. Pierce's hair had blown in the window, she felt the most tempting urge to drain the essence from her. Santana couldn't explain the feeling; it was as if Mrs. Pierce was full to the brim of this energy, and Santana needed to sink her teeth into it.
Santana gave herself a slap on the cheek. You're not here for that, Santana, she reminded herself, Just get to Brittany. Now that Santana really thought about it, she had no idea how Brittany would be able to help. Brittany was just the person Santana went to about everything; it was a force of habit. But what would her best friend be able to do about this? Where else are you going to go, San? she asked herself, The hospital? Your parents? No, not about this.
Santana struggled to swallow. She already made up her mind. More quickly than she ever did before, Santana sprinted across the Pierces' backyard and leaped onto a drain. She felt the sweat dripping down her neck and a burning sensation in her throat.
"I'm comin' Britt," she whispered, bracing herself for the climb up to Brittany's window.
xxx
A light knock came on the door of the hospital room, and Quinn sharply turned her head to see that vapid Buffy girl, and for some reason, Mr. Schuester, closely behind. Quinn squinted at her with her mouth open in confusion, giving the girl her best 'What are you doing here?' stare.
"Hi," said Buffy, giving a half-hearted wave.
"Hello," said Finn's mother, who was sitting on his other side.
Finn looked up and squinted his pale green eyes at Buffy, trying to remember where he's seen her before as the two women coddled him.
"Uh, I'm Buffy. I just- I heard about what happened and I wanted to… pay my respects," said Buffy, grimacing awkwardly at her choice of words.
"Oh, well, thank you," said Mrs. Hudson, smiling warmly.
"Uh, yeah, I just came to say that, Finn, I'm sure you've been through a lot tonight. Don't worry about homework until your arm heals," said Mr. Schuester, shifting uncomfortably as he and Buffy slowly entered the room.
"Thanks, Mr. Schue," Finn smiled sleepily.
"Are you gonna be OK?" asked Buffy.
"He's gonna be fine," Quinn said with a flat tone, eyeing Buffy up and down suspiciously.
Quinn's mouth only tightened into a stern grimace as Buffy ignored her. No one ignored Quinn Fabray.
"What happened?" asked Buffy, edging closer to Finn's hospital bed.
"I don't even know. It- it came out of nowhere," said Finn.
"What did?" asked Buffy, listening intently.
"I- I don't know. It was some kind of animal. I heard the guys freakin' out, and then when I turned
around… it attacked. It was like, lightning fast. I thought I was gonna die out there," Finn breathed out, looking pleased to talk about it, "Slashed up my chest. Thank God my arm's only sprained. If it were broken I wouldn't be able to play football this season."
"Can I see the scar?"
Quinn blinked and closed her lips in a stiff frown. "Finn is resting now-" she started to say, but Finn was already lifted the hospital gown, eager to show his impressive scars. And boy, were they impressive.
Quinn lost her train of thought and gave a small gasp. The doctors had stitched it up, of course, but that didn't make it any less disgusting. Claw marks like knives were carved all down the boy's chest, making grotesque, swollen gashes. Buffy took a step back, a little short of breath.
"Whoa," she said, barely audible to everyone else in the room, "Uh. Okay. Well…"
"It's not as bad as it looks," said Finn, making Buffy a little surprised by the hint of disappointment in his voice, "The cuts are really shallow, and my right arm is still intact, so I can still go to school."
Finn's mother smiled knowingly at his unenthusiastic tone.
"Okay, well, that's great! Um, I just came by to say hi, so… hi! And, uh, bye."
Buffy strode out of the room with Mr. Schuester, both about to die from the embarrassment of their own awkwardness.
"So, was it a vampire?" asked Mr. Schue.
Buffy stopped in her tracks and glared at her watcher. "Haven't you ever seen the movies? Vampire bites are two teeny clean holes on the neck. Did you see that kid? No, this isn't a vampire."
"Then what is it?" he asked.
"I don't know!" Buffy cried, "Some kind of animal? You figure it out. I have homework."