"STRIKE THREE!"

I SUCK at softball.

If you went into a pet store and found the cutest, smallest kitten they had and then gave it a baseball bat, it would probably be a better hitter than I am.

"That was a good swing, Buffy! You almost had a hit!"

Yep. I ALMOST had a hit. But instead I publicly humiliated myself! Isn't it great how things work out like that?

Willow is so sweet, though. And she understands my pain because she's just as bad at it as I am. "Thanks, Wills."

The two of us trudge over to the far-side dugout to pick up our disgusting, sweaty gloves. Which is another part of softball that one can't help loving! There's just no feeling like sticking your hand inside something that thousands and thousands of other people have perspired in.

We make our way to our designated position, which happens to be about 200 feet into the outfield and far, far away from anywhere a ball might be hit. This part really isn't so bad... you can pretty much just ignore everything that's going on and talk.

"So-- Angel! He's nice!" Willow starts. I know she's been dying to do this since after Chemistry.

"Mmm. I guess he's nice," I reply coyly, even though it's painfully obvious I'm absolutely crazy about the boy. "He has a certain... Angel-ish quality to him."

"I guess his eyes are okay," Willow plays along. "If you don't mind the whole 'soulful and gorgeous' thing. That gets really old."

"And his perfect, muscular arms? Well... I guess I could make due," I add regretfully. "A girl has to make sacrifices."

"And I suppose his lips are more or less adequate."

"Oh boy," I sigh, totally giving up the game. "Don't even get me started on his lips."

I'd like to dedicate a monument to his lips. I'll call it 'Sexy Man-Lips: Property of Buffy'.

"So I guess this is why you were suddenly so happy about the exchange program in chemistry?"

"Oh yeah. I'm really embracing the whole 'I'll show you my culture if you show me yours' deal now. How could I have been so close-minded and self-involved? For shame."

"Are you going to ask him to the dance tomorrow night?"

Wow, I totally spaced about the dance. That's the first time THAT's ever happened. "I completely forgot about the dance. I'll have to find some way to trick him into going with me."

"Um, like maybe asking him?"

"Sure, if you want to do it the EASY way. I was thinking about putting a Roman toga at the bottom of the stairs and hoping he'll trip and fall into it."

"That sounds kind of violent."

True. He won't be a very good dancer if his arms and legs are broken. I guess I'll have to revise my plan. "You're right. So what should I do, then?"

"Ask him?"

"Besides asking him."

"... ask him nicely?"

Boy, she's just a regular spring eternal of ideas, isn't she?

"Willow! I can't just ask him."

"Why not?"

"Probably for the same reason that you haven't asked XANDER."

"Oh. THAT reason," she mumbled, looking sheepish. "But you're-- you're 'seize the day' girl! Who... who seizes things!"

"BELIEVE me, Wills. There's a LOT of parts on that boy that I would love to be seizing. Repeatedly. With POLAROIDS. But sometimes a more subtle approach is needed..."

"Okay. So... what are you going to dress him up as?"

"I haven't decided yet. But I've definitely narrowed down the field to only include cultures that embrace the loincloth."

"So 'Russian Czar' is probably out of the question? Because my grandma has this old fur hat--"

"Was there a 'Czar Nicholas the Thong'?"

"Um, not that I'm aware of."

"Then no."

"BLONDIE! RED! GET YOUR BUTTS BACK TO THE DUGOUT!"

I see that charm school course that Coach Foster has been taking is really working out well for her.

Willow and I jog back to the infield and stop at the drinking fountain. Once everyone in front of us has taken a drink, I hold my hair back, tilt my head to the side, and lean down to take a sip.

It was at this very moment that I see Angel walking towards me. In little maroon shorts.

Shorts.

Little maroon ones.

LITTLE MAROON SHORTS.

I twist the handle in surprise, and a giant jet of water sprays my face and drips down onto my T-shirt. I jump back in shock and a big, wet, limp clump of my hair flops down over my mouth. I'm fairly sure I look remarkably like a drowned rat.

Angel stops right in front of me, looking concerned. We stare at each other for a few seconds before he gestures vaguely to my dripping face and says, "Uh, you've got a little bit of water..."

Okay, now what can I say that would make me seem the LEAST like a complete spaz?

Think, self, think!

"Um, I have a slight drooling problem."

Oh, GOOD ONE! You really saved yourself from embarrassment with THAT witty gem!

God, I LOATHE myself.

The corner of Angel's mouth tics up but he doesn't seem to be running away in disgust for some reason. Instead, I stare at him in flushed shock as he reaches forward and carefully plucks the wet hair from my lips and slowly tucks it back behind my ear.

My heart sounds like the percussion line from 'Stomp!' and I'm suddenly extremely afraid he can hear it. I try to calm down but I catch a glimpse of Willow off to the side grinning like a maniac and I feel my mouth open against my will. I take a deep breath and I know I'm about to say something I'll end up regretting, but I just can't seem to stop myself from--

"HELLO, salty goodness!"

My mouth clamps shut and I whirl around to see Cordelia and her posse staring at Angel like... like... well, like I tend to do. She breaks away from her group and glides effortlessly over to us.

Have I mentioned that I really, REALLY hate her at this moment?

Because I do.

"I don't think we've been introduced," she says brightly, reaching out her hand. "I'm Cordelia Chase."

Angel looks at her strangely before shaking her hand. "Angel Cormac. Nice to meet you."

Cordelia flashes a perfect, white smile. "That's quite an English accent you have, Angel."

"Actually, I'm Irish."

"That's what I said. That's quite an Irish accent you have."

I roll my eyes in disgust. "Obviously all those years of painting your nails in geography class are paying off," I mutter under my breath.

"I'm sorry, did you say something?" she replies, glaring at me. "I didn't hear you."

Well, maybe you would have if weren't too busy performing in your SLUTSTRAVAGANZA. "Nothing."

"That's a nice look for you, by the way. Have you decided to take up marinating your face?"

Blah. Why do these things always happen to me?

"CHASE! What the heck are you standing around for?" Coach Foster shouted from behind home plate. "You're up to bat!"

Cordelia spun around on her designer sneakers and planted a glare on her. "EXCUSE me! I'm TRYING to have a conversation!"

"If you're not standing at this plate in TEN seconds, you're going to be having your conversation while running laps, Chase!"

"Ugh. RUDE, much?" Cordelia rolled her eyes while I looked on in glee. She turned back towards Angel and gave him an apologetic smile. "We'll continue this later."

"Bye! We'll miss you," I say snarkily as she stomped off towards the field. But then I remember what just happened and look back up at Angel, feeling hideous and inadequate. I was trying to think of something amazing and witty to say, but luckily he interrupted me.

"Don't listen to her," he offered. "You look fine."

If 'fine' means looking like a wet troll, then yes. I DO look fine. But it's sweet of him to lie. "Thank you."

Willow thankfully stepped up and saved us from some quality 'awkward silence time'. "So, um... I see you survived Rodney."

"He didn't bite you, did he?" I ask quickly, visually checking him over for any suspicious marks.

"No," Angel answered. "There was an odd moment when he started to clean his ears with his car keys, though."

Gee. He sounds like a real dreamboat.

"That's it? He didn't do anything else?" Willow asked, looking genuinely surprised.

"Other than that, no. The way you guys were describing him, I was little worried he might try to hump my leg."

"I wouldn't put it beyond him," Xander cut in, walking up behind us with one of the softball bases in his arms. "Class is over. You ladies better get back and change."

Aw! But I didn't get to see Angel run around the bases and get all sweaty!

Hmph.

"Are you going to sit with us at lunch, Angel?" Willow asked politely.

Xander interrupted before Angel could answer. "Will! We shouldn't monopolize Angel's time here in America. He needs to get out and make new friends! See the world!" He turned towards Angel. "You really should sit somewhere else. Don't let us hold you back!"

"Xander! Stop acting like a freak," I order before looking back up at Angel. "Of course you're going to sit with us! Meet me at the picnic tables we were sitting on this morning. We'll go through the lunch line together so I can tell you which jello molds are poisonous."

Xander frowns for some reason, but then stops and peers at me intently. "Did someone spit on you?"

...

Where's one of those baseball bats when you need one?



"Where IS he?"

Lunch started at 12:30, and it is now almost 12:43! What if he's lost? Or what if he was ambushed by Principal Snyder and is now being forced against his will to clean the gum off the bottom of the tables in the teacher's lounge? Or what if he's lying in a ditch somewhere, BLEEDING, and no one is around to--

"Maybe he's searching for his lucky charms," Xander muttered. I glare at him from my seat on top of the picnic table, but Willow interrupted me before I could say anything.

"Isn't that him?" she asked, pointing towards the west doors.

"Where?" I crane my neck around to see, and sure enough, there's Angel. A smile instantly appears on my face, but it withers pretty quickly when I realize that Cordelia is with him. I'm suddenly sure this is karma for all those years at Hemery when I was a world-class bitch.

Angel looks up and catches my eye before striding across the courtyard at a strangely brisk pace. He stops in front of me and glances back towards Cordelia who was nearly jogging to keep up.

"Sorry I'm late."

"No problem. I didn't even notice." Willow shoots me a look, and I smile weakly. I turn my head towards Cordelia who was staring at me with thinly-veiled disdain. "Hi Cordelia."

Cow.

"Hi," she mutters darkly, before giving Angel a thousand mega-watt smile. "So, Angel, why don't you come sit with us? We're over there by the stairs."

So, Cordelia, why don't you go UP those stairs and then trip and fall down them?

"Actually, Buffy was going to show me around the cafeteria," he replied, before looking at me to confirm. "That is, if the offer still stands?"

I grin at him and jump down from the table. "Of course. We should probably get going before all the pizza is gone."

I grab Angel's hand, not because I have to, but because I know Cordelia is watching and I want to mark my territory. Hand-holding, touching knees while sitting unnecessarily close to someone, and wearing a guy's jacket are all girl versions of urinating on fire hydrants.

We stroll across the quad through the cafeteria doors, and we're immediately hit with that rank smell of congealing meat with the added spice of industrial strength disinfectant. I wrinkle my nose and glance over at Angel, who seems pretty non-affected. I guess school cafeterias are gross no matter WHAT country you're in.

"It's $3.00 for one entree, three side dishes, and a drink," I tell him, before pulling two lunch trays out of the stack. "I'll buy yours, okay?"

Angel looks mildly offended. "It's alright. I can buy my own lunch."

I smile at him indulgently, but at the same time give him a look that says 'you're not changing my mind'. "Let me buy you lunch. If it hurts your manly pride, you can buy mine tomorrow."

He looks at me oddly for a moment, but then shakes his head in resignation. "Fine."

"Good," I say and then hand him one of the trays. "See, one of the first things you need to learn here in America is that the girl always gets her way."

"The girl always gets her way in Ireland, too."

"Well, great! Then I won't have to go through all the trouble of training you." I grin at him to let him know I'm teasing and he answers with another one of his lopsided smiles.

I want to lick him. But that would be wrong. And also bad.

Bad, bad, bad.

"ANGEL! I've been looking all over for you!"

BAD!

Harmony Kendall butts her way in front of us in the line and turns back towards Angel, who looks completely bewildered. She steps forward and hugs him like a psycho-FREAK, and I reach back and bitch slap her across the cafeteria.

Oh wait, that last part was just a daydream. Sorry.

She clings to him like a monkey before Angel gently grabs her by the shoulders and peels her away from him. He looks down at her like she's an escaped lunatic, which really isn't that far off the mark. "Do I know you?"

"Of course not, silly," Harmony answers in a sing-song voice. I really, really want to take that vat of creamed corn and fling some at her. But again... that would be wrong. "But Cordelia told me all about you, and any friend of Cordy is a friend of mine!"

Angel looks blankly at her before turning towards me and pointing at a dish of peas sitting underneath a heat lamp. "Are those safe to eat?"

"I'm Harmony!"

"Yes, they're edible," I answer, trying to hide my cheeky grin. I'm so proud of him! One day in America and he already knows that the best way to avoid people like Harmony is to ignore them until they go away. "But they taste kind of like Lee Press-On Nails."

"Like a harmony in a song!"

"I'm not sure I know what a Lee Press-On Nail is. What about that?" he asks, indicating some thick red goop with little pieces of vegetables floating in it.

"My parents named me that because they liked music!"

"That's salsa. For the nachos."

"Cordelia said you were from Ireland. That's, like, a whole other country!"

"Salsa? It looks like shark chum."

"I think we have fifth period together!"

"It does, but it's surprisingly decent," I reply. "And the nachos have a delicious cheese sauce that doesn't actually contain any cheese whatsoever. It's a miracle of science."

"I have to go eat with my friends now!" Harmony says, apparently not having grasped that we weren't listening to her. "I'll see you later! Bye!"

Angel and I watch her skip away, and I try desperately to hold in my laughter. It's a challenge, though.

After a few seconds, we notice that we're holding up the line. Angel moves forward and we both take a plate of nachos and some of the salsa. When we get to the side dish area, he and I stop to stare at a white, malformed vat of goo.

Angel nods at it. "What's that?"

"That's called a 'disgusting pile of better-not-to-know'."

He's silent for a beat, but then he mumbles. "Oh. Yum."

This time I can't stop myself, and I burst out laughing.

And you know what? Those disgusting nachos have never tasted better.