I look down at the cute dress I'm still wearing from the previous night. I try to pull it down, savouring the bit of dignity I have left after sleeping on my porch, but it's no use. The dress exposes too much leg to go to school in. I want to feel sad about this, but I just can't hide the grin on my face. No school equals happy Buffy.

I glance at my watch.

It's eight in the morning. Fifteen more minutes and I can retrieve the spare key from the O'Connors. I want to go now, but I know Liam will still be there. I don't think I can handle his amused smirks and lame comments if he hears I slept on my porch. His mum would try to fuss over me, which would only make me feel more like a loser. Liam's mother is a nice lady. I occasionally have to suppress the urge to ask her what it had felt like carrying the spawn of Satan.

I hear a door slam. I look up to find Liam jogging down his porch steps, swinging his car keys around his index finger. I roll my eyes. I should have spent the night defacing his car whilst I had the chance. The shitty thing is his pride and joy. I say 'shitty' but, as much as it kills me to say, I really mean flashy and expensive. I don't know what kind it is – cars are just tins with four wheels to my eyes – but I know that it has probably earned him a lot of hot, steamy sex. Not in the car though. God forbid if someone's naked ass touched his leather seats.

Without taking my eyes off him, I crawl backwards out of his line of eyesight. I can hear him singing softly under his breath, something that sounds like a High School Musical song. I make a mental note of this fact to share with my friends later. Liam strikes me as the kind of guy who has a room full of Zac Efron posters and figurines.

Just as Liam opens his car door, I hear another door open and close.

"Sleep on your porch last night, love?" shouts William.

I grit my teeth and count to ten. Out of my peripheral vision, I see Liam pause.

"Does it look like I'm the kinda girl to sleep on my porch?" I hiss as William crosses my garden.

He pauses on the path. "Well, yeah? You're in the same clothes."

"It's called a washing machine, William. Try fucking buying one."

I hear Liam laugh. He leans against his car, watching with amused eyes. It annoys me even more now that I didn't vandalise his car.

With as much dignity as I can muster, which isn't a lot smelling like stale alcohol and Cheetos, I strut down the garden path, pass by William with a hiss, and continue walking down the street.


"You stink of shit, B."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks, Faith. Best compliment I've had in years."

I push past her into the small flat. It smells of pizza and cigarettes. I push the empty pizza box and chocolate wrappers off the sofa, before lying across it and pulling the throw over me. It's a relief to find that the throw doesn't smell of cigarettes. Faith scoffs from the doorway and slams the door. I moan when she pulls the throw off me.

"You're not sleeping here."

"Listen, I slept on my porch last night-"

Faith snorts. "You did? Wow."

"How about a little bit of sympathy?" I ask, snatching the throw out of her hands.

As I drag the throw over my head, I see Faith roll her eyes. Sympathy isn't Faith's style. She prefers to say the truth or nothing at all, no matter what the situation is. I try to admire her for it, but it can be quite irritating when I just want someone to pamper me. Willow is usually the one I turn to for sympathy. But Willow's parents will still be home at this time, and ruining Will's 'immaculate daughter' image would be something I'd deeply regret later. I owe Willow more than that.

"Where's your mom?" Faith questions.

I shrug. "Out of town."

"Where?"

"Let me just check the report from her tracking device," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

A few seconds pass in silence. Then the throw disappears and Faith is standing above me, looking unimpressed. I notice the deep bags under her eyes, the way her t-shirt sags around her stomach, and my warning bells start to ring. The last time she looked like this…

"What's the problem?" she snaps.

I raise my eyebrow. "Global warming. School. The extinction of the Dodo-"

"Don't go there. You're sulking like a child. What's your problem?"

She looks exhausted and borderline crazy. Faith is prone to snapping at me, so this whole thing isn't worrying. Not until she grabs me by the arm and hurls me off the sofa.

"Hey!" I shout, staggering slightly. "What the fuck?"

"I'm not letting you wallow in self-pity," she says, pointing to the door. "Go home."

"No."

"Yes. You slept on your porch? So what? I've slept on the streets before and –"

"Well, don't tell everyone – you'll make them jealous!" I interrupt. "The whole of the USA will be sleeping on the goddamn streets soon."

A hiss slips through her teeth. She grabs my arm, tighter than I thought she was capable of, and drags me to the door. As soon as she opens it, she pushes me out. I stumble slightly, though quickly regain my balance.

"Come back tomorrow. I'm not in the mood to babysit today," she says.

With that, she slams the door in my face.


I cannot explain my relief when I see the O'Connor's driveway empty. Liam isn't home. I can finally get my keys.

I quickly run my fingers through my hair, untangling some of the thicker knots, before walking over my lawn and up the O'Connor's porch steps. Unlike my porch, theirs is full of flowers of every colour imaginable. Even though I will never admit it out loud, the beauty of the flowers dazzle me. I'm staring at a pink rose when I hear a small chuckle.

"Like what you see?"

I jump.

Mrs O'Connor smiles at me from the other end of the porch, where she is resting on the porch swing. A book sits open on her lap and she cradles a mug in her hand. She pats the seat next to her with her free hand, smiling. Her smile warms me to the core. I know better than to refuse, so I shuffle over and take a seat beside her.

"How can I help you, Buffy?" she asks.

"I've lost my key. Can I have the spare that my mom gave to you?"

I try not to look directly at her, mainly because all I can see is Liam when I do. They share the same warm, brown eyes and thick lashes, the same sharp cheekbones, the same wide smile. It is difficult sometimes to remind myself that she isn't her son; she is sensitive and admirable. She is the kind of woman my mother wants me to become. I can see why. Her smile is as warm as a hug.

She rises from her seat. "I'll go get them now."

When she disappears, she leaves behind the scent of mint. It overwhelms my nostrils.

I look up at the O'Connor's house and repress a sigh. I try to imagine living in a house like this one, but I can't. A broken home is all I know now.

Once the spare key is in my hand, I mumble a quick thanks and hurry down the steps. I want to stay. I want to bathe in Mrs O'Connor's warmth. But I know her smile will be my undoing if I stay, so I keep walking.


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