Tyler Pittman held a rubber ball in his right hand. He stared at it for a while, then flipped it into the air and caught it with his left hand. He rolled the sphere around his fingers, held it up to the light, then tossed it back to the other hand.
"Would you stop that?" Willow snapped.
"Wow," he said. "Somebody sure pooped in your oatmeal."
Willow glared at him. "It's not enough that you ignore every attempt to help you get your GPA up. You have to be disgusting, too."
"Someone's touchy. Time of the month thing?"
Willow's eyes bugged in fury. "You realize that I do know spells that can make your hair fall out?"
Tyler shrugged. "That's why I keep it short." He bounced the ball on the table. "Seriously, what's bugging you?"
Willow shook her head. "Nothing. I'm letting things get blown out of proportion."
"Okay." He squeezed the ball and looked at her. "When are we gonna do it?"
"Okay, that's it!" Willow slammed her book shut and pointed at him. "I have to sit here while you make no effort, I have to put up with your portrayal of jaded boredom, but I do not have to tolerate crass, se... You weren't talking about that, were you?"
"If you're talking about sex, no I wasn't." Tyler rolled his eyes up. "When are you gonna let me show you how to cross over?"
Willow waved a hand and shook her head. "No. Don't even. I'm not even sure astral projection even works. I've been reading up on it and--"
"I'm not talking about astral projection. That's kiddie shit." Tyler leaned forward on his elbows. "I'm talking about crossing... dimensions, if you want to call it that. Not, you lying on a bed and sending your spirit out to float above you and see your body. Real hard core stuff, stepping into the world that underpins this world, seeing the gears and levers."
Willow shook her head and looked at her book. "No. Crazy talk."
Tyler ducked his head, trying to look into her eyes. "Yeah. But I know it's possible. And if you can do it, well, that's something nobody else can do."
Willow's head came up.
***
Stefan Warner picked up the coffeepot in the teacher's lounge. It was empty. He breathed a very bad word, put the pot back, and began rummaging in the cabinet for filters. He had just pulled a box of them out when the pager on his belt vibrated. He grabbed the pager with his free hand and looked at it. He grimaced, tossed the filters back in to the cabinet, and went to find a secure phone.
***
Faith walked into the Summers kitchen drying her hair with a towel and wearing an old robe of Joyce's. "Thanks a lot," she said. "Nice to shower in a place with some water pressure besides gravity."
Joyce smiled. "I can't believe you're actually living there."
Faith flipped the towel over one shoulder. "Hey, it's paid for and it's not like the manager's gonna give me a refund."
"What about school?"
Faith shrugged, a so-what expression on her face. "What about it? Hey, if I was there I wouldn't be doin' so hot, so why not just eliminate the stress?"
Joyce sat down at the table. "But what kind of life will you be prepared for?"
Faith winked. "The slayin' life. It's what I do." She hesitated and for a brief instant her bravado dropped away. "Besides, what kind of life can I have without Lindsay?"
"Oh, Faith." Joyce extended her hand toward the girl. "Honey, don't say that. You're not alone."
"Yeah, see, that's the thing. I am. Everybody keeps telling me I'm not alone, and that they understand, but here's where you're wrong." Faith's eyes snapped. "You don't understand because you're not alone."
"Faith, I'm sure Mr. Giles--"
"Giles is Buffy's Watcher. That's the way it works. One Watcher per one Slayer."
Joyce shook her head. "The world isn't like that. I'm not really sure about all of the details, but he's a good man. He would--"
"Never have the connection with me. He has it with Buffy." Faith laughed, but the sound was mirthless and her eyes glittered like frost on an asphalt highway. "He has it with Buffy, you have it with Buffy, Buffy has it with Willow and Xander and they have it with each other... So many connections." She looked at Joyce with eyes like a hunted animal. "The only connection I ever had was with Lindsay, and she's gone." Joyce pressed a hand to her mouth, hot tears trickling from the corner of her eye, wending down her cheek. Faith blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. S. It was nice of you to do this. I'll get out."
"You can't." Joyce fought to keep her voice under control. "Your laundry isn't finished."
"Oh." Faith looked down. "I think I'll wait in the other room."
***
Giles jumped when the library door thumped open. A menacing figure stalked into the room. Giles blanched; it was worse than he'd imagined.
"Mr. Giles, this school has a little thing called a budget. I realize it might not be important to you, but some of us are forced to live within its constraints." Principal Snyder tossed a thin booklet onto the counter. The covers were maroon cardboard; it was held together with brass brads and "Budget: Sunnydale Public Schools 1998-99" was lettered on the front cover in gold. "Take a look on page thirty-seven." Giles looked at the little bald man, shook his head, and turned to the page in question. "See that," Snyder said, jabbing his forefinger at the item in question. "That is the total amount budgeted for the library this year. And this--" His finger traveled across the page and indicated another number-"this is the amount we have actually spent on the library this year. As you can see, the second number is almost as large as the first, and we still have four months of school to go. Also, and this was of some concern to the members of the school board, the collection on the shelves does not seem to be growing any larger." Snyder sight and pulled himself close to the counter. "Which begs the question, Mr. Giles, what are we spending our library funds for?"
Giles rubbed his forehead and counted to ten. "Principle Snyder, I distinctly remember telling you that the library was severely under-budgeted. It's true that we haven't added many new volumes, but that's because we had to replace so many old ones in the reference section." He leaned toward the stubby administrator. "Or do you really believe it's beneficial for the students in Current Events to research their assignments in books that still refer to the USSR and the Belgian Congo?"
***
Joyce put the Cherokee in park and cleared her throat. Faith sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
"Faith," Joyce began, "I just want you to know--"
"Yeah, that I'm always welcome and I'm not really alone. Yadda yadda yadda." Faith opened the door and grabbed the bag of clean laundry. She looked at Joyce. "I wish it was true. Thanks again, Mrs. Summers. This was really nice of you." She slammed the door and loped into unit #6 of the ValleyView.
Joyce stared at the closed door and drawn curtains, then put the Jeep in reverse and backed out of the lot.
***
The sun was down when Giles locked the library and left the school. He kept his keys in his hand as he crossed the driveway and entered the parking lot. It seemed like a lot of trouble to put them in his pocket only to take them out again a few seconds later.
He stopped. Had something moved in his peripheral vision? And what if it had? Why was he suddenly holding his breath and willfully staring straight ahead, trying to replicate whatever had happened? The seconds dragged before he exhaled. The corner of the eye was an untrustworthy place; even if he had detected motion, it was probably just a squirrel. Probably, but he still made a point of making a visual sweep of the area as he unlocked his door.
He checked his mirrors constantly on the way home. He thought he saw the same car a couple of times, and once he thought he made out the dark shape of a vehicle with its lights out. The absurdity of his behavior struck him and caused him to laugh. Why was he worried about cars? Anyone who wished could probably follow the Citroen on foot. He was just rattled; Gerard's call had put him on edge, that was all. He told himself that and yet when he walked up the sidewalk to his apartment he listened for the sound of footsteps echoing his own, and thought he heard them at least once. His keys shook just a bit as he unlocked the door and he swung it shut just a bit too fast behind him. Giles stood there for a moment, back to the door, breathing heavily. When his pulse slowed he went and put on water for tea, and while he was waiting for it to boil he poured a large, a very large, whiskey.
***
Willow slit the top of the envelope and took a deep breath. She willed her fluttering hands to be steady and her heart to beat in normal rhythm. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took out the contents of the envelope. It was a sheet of paper, heavy, good quality paper, probably closer to cloth, but that was what she expected. She carefully put the envelope aside, then licked her dry lips as she looked at the folded letter. She unfolded it and began to read. The wording was remarkably similar to the dozens of other letters she had received, but as she made her way through the stock phrases and boilerplate a huge smile plastered itself on her face. She finished the letter, laid it on the desk, then reached under her bed and took out the shoebox. It was stuffed with letters, on white paper, on cream-colored stationery and light blue. Colorful seals and mottoes in Latin adorned them, but this last one was the Holy Grail. She exercised great care in placing it atop the others, making sure to display the three vital letters: MIT.
***
Oz wound the cord around his forearm and tucked it in the back of his amp. The other members of Dingoes were packing their equipment, except Devon. His microphone was already in its box. He sat in a corner, a strange, disturbing grin on his face.
"Hey, man," Doug said, "you just gonna sit there looking like Jack Nicholson in The Shining or are you going to share?"
"Actually, I do have an announcement to make." Devon stood up. "This is officially the first month where we've made money." A vast and reverent silence filled the garage.
"What?" Doug asked.
Devon dug in his pocket and pulled out a faded five and two ones. "Gentlemen, after deducting all our expenses from the money we made playing gigs, this is what's left. A profit. Not a big one, but a profit."
"Don't blow it all on a Happy Meal," Oz said.
"Hey, this is big," Devon insisted. "Sure it's seven bucks, sure, it's a joke, but think about it. All we've done is play pick-up gigs with no promotion, and we made money. What could we do if we really worked at it."
"What's your point?" Trey said.
Devon's hands waved as though he were searching for something. "Dude, there's a million high school bands going through the motions. When school's over they will be, too. I don't think we should be one of them. We can make it."
Oz blinked slowly. "All that from seven dollars?"
***
Cordelia slid the letter into the clear plastic sleeve and slipped the sleeve into the three-ring binder. Thirteen previous letters, all encased in plastic, rested there. This letter made fourteen. So far every school she'd applied to had accepted her. She turned the pages, looking at each missive, calculating the balance she kept in her head. Fourteen down, six to go. Cordelia closed the binder and put it in her bookcase.
***
The Bronze was already loud and hot. Xander worked his way through the crowd, waving at familiar faces. Cordelia wasn't due for another hour, so he decided to enjoy the band, a six-piece funk-rock unit by the name of Placebo. The bass player was a little too possessed by the spirit of Flea, but the band as a whole wasn't bad and the crowd was dancing. Xander reached the bar and ordered an iced coffee.
"Harris, surprised to see you by yourself." Xander turned and saw Todd Gilpin, a lanky senior with a miserable attempt at a soul patch and acne that looked like pebbles beneath his skin. Over his shoulder Xander could see Mitchell Freed. In middle school and early high school the three of them had engaged in mammoth Dungeons & Dragons marathons.
"Todd, what's up?" Xander said.
"Hey, you're talking to me?" Todd made a big show of looking surprised. "Mitch, Harris is talking to us." Mitchell let his eyes get big as he nodded his head, floppy hair flying.
Xander frowned. "Y'know, this is starting to sound a lot like sarcasm which, if I recall, you suck at."
"Yeah, you're the undisputed king now that you've got your hand on the Ice Queen's ass."
"Excuse me?" Xander's eyebrows came together in puzzlement.
"It's called pretension, Harris. Hang with Cordelia Chase all you want, you're still one of us." Todd looked contemptuous.
Mitchell chimed in. "Yeah. One of us, one of us, one of us."
"Sorry, I don't get where this is coming from, unless it's all about the jealousy." Xander turned back to the bar.
"Yeah, that's what you've done, Harris. Turn your back on the people who were your friends back in the day. Before she started leading you around by the nose, or whatever she leads you by." Todd's laugh was particularly nasty.
Xander pushed away from the bar and shoved through the crowd. He was so angry he slammed into a girl, almost knocking her down. "Hey," he said, "I'm sorry, it's... Faith?"
"Hey," the dark Slayer said. A big guy who looked like his last time spent in high school might have been the Reagan years loomed over her shoulder.
"This guy bothering you?" he asked in a voice as rough as his unshaven jaw. Xander gulped. If his anger was going to result in punches thrown, he should have stayed with Todd.
"Down, boy," Faith said. The big guy looked down at her.
"Hey, nobody messes with my chick," he said, his hot eyes flickering to Xander. Faith's eyes widened and she turned around.
"Hey, nobody calls me their chick, not without written permission, got it?" She stepped up the guy, invading his space.
"I'm just trying to stand up for you," he said, confused.
"I don't think I need you to stand up for me," she said. "Why don't you go score some steroids. I'm suddenly bored." She turned back to Xander. The guy put a hand on her shoulder. Big mistake. Faith spun out from under the hand, reaching up and grabbing his thumb as she did. She twisted and there was a pop, barely audible over the band. She yanked him forward, bringing her knee up into his groin. His eyes bugged. Faith released his hand, placed her hand on his chest and pushed. He toppled over, disappearing into the crowd.
"I see you're still a people person," Xander said. She looked at him for a long minute.
"You wanna go outside?" she said. "I could use some air."
"Would you stop that?" Willow snapped.
"Wow," he said. "Somebody sure pooped in your oatmeal."
Willow glared at him. "It's not enough that you ignore every attempt to help you get your GPA up. You have to be disgusting, too."
"Someone's touchy. Time of the month thing?"
Willow's eyes bugged in fury. "You realize that I do know spells that can make your hair fall out?"
Tyler shrugged. "That's why I keep it short." He bounced the ball on the table. "Seriously, what's bugging you?"
Willow shook her head. "Nothing. I'm letting things get blown out of proportion."
"Okay." He squeezed the ball and looked at her. "When are we gonna do it?"
"Okay, that's it!" Willow slammed her book shut and pointed at him. "I have to sit here while you make no effort, I have to put up with your portrayal of jaded boredom, but I do not have to tolerate crass, se... You weren't talking about that, were you?"
"If you're talking about sex, no I wasn't." Tyler rolled his eyes up. "When are you gonna let me show you how to cross over?"
Willow waved a hand and shook her head. "No. Don't even. I'm not even sure astral projection even works. I've been reading up on it and--"
"I'm not talking about astral projection. That's kiddie shit." Tyler leaned forward on his elbows. "I'm talking about crossing... dimensions, if you want to call it that. Not, you lying on a bed and sending your spirit out to float above you and see your body. Real hard core stuff, stepping into the world that underpins this world, seeing the gears and levers."
Willow shook her head and looked at her book. "No. Crazy talk."
Tyler ducked his head, trying to look into her eyes. "Yeah. But I know it's possible. And if you can do it, well, that's something nobody else can do."
Willow's head came up.
***
Stefan Warner picked up the coffeepot in the teacher's lounge. It was empty. He breathed a very bad word, put the pot back, and began rummaging in the cabinet for filters. He had just pulled a box of them out when the pager on his belt vibrated. He grabbed the pager with his free hand and looked at it. He grimaced, tossed the filters back in to the cabinet, and went to find a secure phone.
***
Faith walked into the Summers kitchen drying her hair with a towel and wearing an old robe of Joyce's. "Thanks a lot," she said. "Nice to shower in a place with some water pressure besides gravity."
Joyce smiled. "I can't believe you're actually living there."
Faith flipped the towel over one shoulder. "Hey, it's paid for and it's not like the manager's gonna give me a refund."
"What about school?"
Faith shrugged, a so-what expression on her face. "What about it? Hey, if I was there I wouldn't be doin' so hot, so why not just eliminate the stress?"
Joyce sat down at the table. "But what kind of life will you be prepared for?"
Faith winked. "The slayin' life. It's what I do." She hesitated and for a brief instant her bravado dropped away. "Besides, what kind of life can I have without Lindsay?"
"Oh, Faith." Joyce extended her hand toward the girl. "Honey, don't say that. You're not alone."
"Yeah, see, that's the thing. I am. Everybody keeps telling me I'm not alone, and that they understand, but here's where you're wrong." Faith's eyes snapped. "You don't understand because you're not alone."
"Faith, I'm sure Mr. Giles--"
"Giles is Buffy's Watcher. That's the way it works. One Watcher per one Slayer."
Joyce shook her head. "The world isn't like that. I'm not really sure about all of the details, but he's a good man. He would--"
"Never have the connection with me. He has it with Buffy." Faith laughed, but the sound was mirthless and her eyes glittered like frost on an asphalt highway. "He has it with Buffy, you have it with Buffy, Buffy has it with Willow and Xander and they have it with each other... So many connections." She looked at Joyce with eyes like a hunted animal. "The only connection I ever had was with Lindsay, and she's gone." Joyce pressed a hand to her mouth, hot tears trickling from the corner of her eye, wending down her cheek. Faith blinked and shook her head. "I'm sorry, Mrs. S. It was nice of you to do this. I'll get out."
"You can't." Joyce fought to keep her voice under control. "Your laundry isn't finished."
"Oh." Faith looked down. "I think I'll wait in the other room."
***
Giles jumped when the library door thumped open. A menacing figure stalked into the room. Giles blanched; it was worse than he'd imagined.
"Mr. Giles, this school has a little thing called a budget. I realize it might not be important to you, but some of us are forced to live within its constraints." Principal Snyder tossed a thin booklet onto the counter. The covers were maroon cardboard; it was held together with brass brads and "Budget: Sunnydale Public Schools 1998-99" was lettered on the front cover in gold. "Take a look on page thirty-seven." Giles looked at the little bald man, shook his head, and turned to the page in question. "See that," Snyder said, jabbing his forefinger at the item in question. "That is the total amount budgeted for the library this year. And this--" His finger traveled across the page and indicated another number-"this is the amount we have actually spent on the library this year. As you can see, the second number is almost as large as the first, and we still have four months of school to go. Also, and this was of some concern to the members of the school board, the collection on the shelves does not seem to be growing any larger." Snyder sight and pulled himself close to the counter. "Which begs the question, Mr. Giles, what are we spending our library funds for?"
Giles rubbed his forehead and counted to ten. "Principle Snyder, I distinctly remember telling you that the library was severely under-budgeted. It's true that we haven't added many new volumes, but that's because we had to replace so many old ones in the reference section." He leaned toward the stubby administrator. "Or do you really believe it's beneficial for the students in Current Events to research their assignments in books that still refer to the USSR and the Belgian Congo?"
***
Joyce put the Cherokee in park and cleared her throat. Faith sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
"Faith," Joyce began, "I just want you to know--"
"Yeah, that I'm always welcome and I'm not really alone. Yadda yadda yadda." Faith opened the door and grabbed the bag of clean laundry. She looked at Joyce. "I wish it was true. Thanks again, Mrs. Summers. This was really nice of you." She slammed the door and loped into unit #6 of the ValleyView.
Joyce stared at the closed door and drawn curtains, then put the Jeep in reverse and backed out of the lot.
***
The sun was down when Giles locked the library and left the school. He kept his keys in his hand as he crossed the driveway and entered the parking lot. It seemed like a lot of trouble to put them in his pocket only to take them out again a few seconds later.
He stopped. Had something moved in his peripheral vision? And what if it had? Why was he suddenly holding his breath and willfully staring straight ahead, trying to replicate whatever had happened? The seconds dragged before he exhaled. The corner of the eye was an untrustworthy place; even if he had detected motion, it was probably just a squirrel. Probably, but he still made a point of making a visual sweep of the area as he unlocked his door.
He checked his mirrors constantly on the way home. He thought he saw the same car a couple of times, and once he thought he made out the dark shape of a vehicle with its lights out. The absurdity of his behavior struck him and caused him to laugh. Why was he worried about cars? Anyone who wished could probably follow the Citroen on foot. He was just rattled; Gerard's call had put him on edge, that was all. He told himself that and yet when he walked up the sidewalk to his apartment he listened for the sound of footsteps echoing his own, and thought he heard them at least once. His keys shook just a bit as he unlocked the door and he swung it shut just a bit too fast behind him. Giles stood there for a moment, back to the door, breathing heavily. When his pulse slowed he went and put on water for tea, and while he was waiting for it to boil he poured a large, a very large, whiskey.
***
Willow slit the top of the envelope and took a deep breath. She willed her fluttering hands to be steady and her heart to beat in normal rhythm. She swallowed the lump in her throat and took out the contents of the envelope. It was a sheet of paper, heavy, good quality paper, probably closer to cloth, but that was what she expected. She carefully put the envelope aside, then licked her dry lips as she looked at the folded letter. She unfolded it and began to read. The wording was remarkably similar to the dozens of other letters she had received, but as she made her way through the stock phrases and boilerplate a huge smile plastered itself on her face. She finished the letter, laid it on the desk, then reached under her bed and took out the shoebox. It was stuffed with letters, on white paper, on cream-colored stationery and light blue. Colorful seals and mottoes in Latin adorned them, but this last one was the Holy Grail. She exercised great care in placing it atop the others, making sure to display the three vital letters: MIT.
***
Oz wound the cord around his forearm and tucked it in the back of his amp. The other members of Dingoes were packing their equipment, except Devon. His microphone was already in its box. He sat in a corner, a strange, disturbing grin on his face.
"Hey, man," Doug said, "you just gonna sit there looking like Jack Nicholson in The Shining or are you going to share?"
"Actually, I do have an announcement to make." Devon stood up. "This is officially the first month where we've made money." A vast and reverent silence filled the garage.
"What?" Doug asked.
Devon dug in his pocket and pulled out a faded five and two ones. "Gentlemen, after deducting all our expenses from the money we made playing gigs, this is what's left. A profit. Not a big one, but a profit."
"Don't blow it all on a Happy Meal," Oz said.
"Hey, this is big," Devon insisted. "Sure it's seven bucks, sure, it's a joke, but think about it. All we've done is play pick-up gigs with no promotion, and we made money. What could we do if we really worked at it."
"What's your point?" Trey said.
Devon's hands waved as though he were searching for something. "Dude, there's a million high school bands going through the motions. When school's over they will be, too. I don't think we should be one of them. We can make it."
Oz blinked slowly. "All that from seven dollars?"
***
Cordelia slid the letter into the clear plastic sleeve and slipped the sleeve into the three-ring binder. Thirteen previous letters, all encased in plastic, rested there. This letter made fourteen. So far every school she'd applied to had accepted her. She turned the pages, looking at each missive, calculating the balance she kept in her head. Fourteen down, six to go. Cordelia closed the binder and put it in her bookcase.
***
The Bronze was already loud and hot. Xander worked his way through the crowd, waving at familiar faces. Cordelia wasn't due for another hour, so he decided to enjoy the band, a six-piece funk-rock unit by the name of Placebo. The bass player was a little too possessed by the spirit of Flea, but the band as a whole wasn't bad and the crowd was dancing. Xander reached the bar and ordered an iced coffee.
"Harris, surprised to see you by yourself." Xander turned and saw Todd Gilpin, a lanky senior with a miserable attempt at a soul patch and acne that looked like pebbles beneath his skin. Over his shoulder Xander could see Mitchell Freed. In middle school and early high school the three of them had engaged in mammoth Dungeons & Dragons marathons.
"Todd, what's up?" Xander said.
"Hey, you're talking to me?" Todd made a big show of looking surprised. "Mitch, Harris is talking to us." Mitchell let his eyes get big as he nodded his head, floppy hair flying.
Xander frowned. "Y'know, this is starting to sound a lot like sarcasm which, if I recall, you suck at."
"Yeah, you're the undisputed king now that you've got your hand on the Ice Queen's ass."
"Excuse me?" Xander's eyebrows came together in puzzlement.
"It's called pretension, Harris. Hang with Cordelia Chase all you want, you're still one of us." Todd looked contemptuous.
Mitchell chimed in. "Yeah. One of us, one of us, one of us."
"Sorry, I don't get where this is coming from, unless it's all about the jealousy." Xander turned back to the bar.
"Yeah, that's what you've done, Harris. Turn your back on the people who were your friends back in the day. Before she started leading you around by the nose, or whatever she leads you by." Todd's laugh was particularly nasty.
Xander pushed away from the bar and shoved through the crowd. He was so angry he slammed into a girl, almost knocking her down. "Hey," he said, "I'm sorry, it's... Faith?"
"Hey," the dark Slayer said. A big guy who looked like his last time spent in high school might have been the Reagan years loomed over her shoulder.
"This guy bothering you?" he asked in a voice as rough as his unshaven jaw. Xander gulped. If his anger was going to result in punches thrown, he should have stayed with Todd.
"Down, boy," Faith said. The big guy looked down at her.
"Hey, nobody messes with my chick," he said, his hot eyes flickering to Xander. Faith's eyes widened and she turned around.
"Hey, nobody calls me their chick, not without written permission, got it?" She stepped up the guy, invading his space.
"I'm just trying to stand up for you," he said, confused.
"I don't think I need you to stand up for me," she said. "Why don't you go score some steroids. I'm suddenly bored." She turned back to Xander. The guy put a hand on her shoulder. Big mistake. Faith spun out from under the hand, reaching up and grabbing his thumb as she did. She twisted and there was a pop, barely audible over the band. She yanked him forward, bringing her knee up into his groin. His eyes bugged. Faith released his hand, placed her hand on his chest and pushed. He toppled over, disappearing into the crowd.
"I see you're still a people person," Xander said. She looked at him for a long minute.
"You wanna go outside?" she said. "I could use some air."
