Chapter Second: An Occurrence at Wilkins High

After her initial strangeness, the teacher seemed to collect herself, rubbing the back of her head sheepishly. She cleared her throat. "Hello, class. My name is Ms. Maclay. Mrs. Sanchez is sick today, but should return soon."

That may be what she said, but in reality Tara was leaping for joy that this Sanchez woman had taken ill. There was Willow Rosenberg, not six feet from her, looking at her with green eyes shining bright with youth and genius and excitement about learning and many other positive attributes that weren't actually there, Tara realized. Willow had adopted essentially the same measured, attentive look that students generally gave the substitute teacher, eyeing her for weaknesses that could be exploited, and whether she could be convinced to allow them out early. To her credit, Willow simply seemed bored and not conniving.

Pinching her own cheek, Tara straightened her back. "And as per her notes, we will be discussing 'An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge' and tying it to past Realist readings…"

Thus began the lesson. Tara enjoyed teaching, usually; it gave her a forum for her to discuss books that she loved. Reading was the greatest, but sometimes it was nice to be the star of your own story, too. And in the back of her mind, Tara constantly thought about how she would approach Willow. Of course, she would definitely have to get her autograph. The idea of tracing the lines of her signature gave Tara a shiver of anticipation. She would value that book with her life. In fact, Willow's latest book, On Witches and Vampires, was nestled in Tara's bag, awaiting christening.

Could Tara possibly ask for more? Would it be okay if she asked her to have lunch with her? The thought drove Tara mad. They could discuss literature and Willow's next projects and their favorite books and favorite bookmark designs and…

Tara realized that she had stopped speaking and the class was looking at her expectantly. The two-thirds of the class that remained awake, of course, Willow amongst them. Tara cleared her throat. "And enough of me talking, what do you think?" she covered.

Thus the class went until, in too short a time, the bell rang. Tara panicked. She had to talk to her now! What would she say? As Willow gathered her things, slung them on her back and drew near, Tara felt the heat rising to her face already. Her throat was blocked; she couldn't speak!

Somehow, a peep came out. It was enough to draw Willow's attention. Now the redhead, the writer of such amazing fiction, was looking straight at Tara.

"I love your writing!"

Willow stood stock still and stared at the substitute teacher in front of her. She wasn't used to people gushing enthusiastically about her work to her face; even in a small town like Sunnydale, the California mentality meant that people generally kept their cool and pretended she wasn't there. But this woman had accosted her and Willow gave her a considered look.

The woman's hair was sort of dirty blonde, and was parted in zigzags towards one side of her head. Her glasses didn't conceal the nervous expressiveness of her large blue eyes, or the hopeful blush on her cheeks. After a moment, when Willow didn't respond immediately, the woman seemed to hide behind her hair, and crossed her arms over her vested chest.

"Thanks," Willow said finally, and warmly. The woman looked up at her quickly and smiled a brilliant smile. Willow blinked at its brightness, and found herself answering it without conscious thought.

The substitute took the initiative. "I-I have been a fan s-since your first book," she said earnestly. There was a pause, as Willow wondered whether she should thank her again or something. "Could I get… get your autograph?"

Willow nodded, her breath coming out quickly in relief. She didn't know she was holding it. Tara shuffled over to the desk and pulled out On Witches and Vampires from her bag, and cast about for a marker. Finding one amongst the many colored pens of Mrs. Sanchez's desk, she triumphantly returned to Willow, displaying the two items shyly.

Willow took the book, and for a moment, she traced the cover with its raised letters and glossy finish. This one had obviously been read; when she opened it there was no telltale creak of a binding bending for the first time, and the pages smelled less like the pungent tang of a new book and more like… applesauce?

The student smiled at herself and looked up at the substitute. Ms. Maclay was watching her avidly, a small smile on her lips, and Willow blushed. "Uh, sorry," Willow began. "I'm not used to people coming up to me."

Tara eyes widened and her face adopted a look of mortification. "Oh, my, I'm so sorry to bother you!" she exclaimed. "I didn't think of how rude it would be of…"

She was interrupted by Willow lifting the pen out of her hands. "No need to apologize at all, Ms. Maclay," she said with a heartfelt smile. "I love the attention. I'm just not used to it because, with writing, people normally don't know what you look like. I mean, I'm a terrible public speaker and can't control my babble at all whenever I'm in a nervous situation but with writing you can hide behind the pages and I'm sorry for babbling as I do and…" At this point Willow's smile had faltered and she had to take a deep breath.

The teacher, for her part, had watched Willow with a bemused look but as soon as Willow broke, she jumped in. "No, your babble's fine! Cute, even!" She blushed at her forwardness, and Willow blushed at the compliment.

The older woman cleared her throat. "And, what you said about hiding… I think that, really, you can't hide yourself when you write. I mean, writing like you do." Her blue eyes gazed at Willow and then seemed to reach further, into her. "You created these words and through hundreds of pages you begin to understand who the author is and what they are trying to tell you…" She flushed again and ducked her head. Willow let out the breath she had been holding ever since they had locked eyes.

Uncapping the pen, Willow returned the conversation to a place she was familiar with. "So, what should I write for your autograph?"

Ms. Maclay looked up, her eyes widening. "Oh, um, I don't… I'm not sure…" she finished lamely.

Willow contemplated the blank first page. A light bulb flashed in her mind. "What's your name?" she asked.

"Tara," the substitute teacher readily replied.

"Tara," Willow repeated with a smile, crinkling her eyes happily when a more confident smile came from the blonde in front of her. Quickly, she scribbled a message, and with an air of solemnity, she closed the book firmly and with two hands, returned it to Tara. The blonde held the book in her hands with reverence, and then cradled it to her bosom. Her face held a look of utter amazement.

"Thank you so much," she whispered, their eyes locking.

Willow broke the gaze, not quite able to handle the pure admiration in the blonde's blue eyes. "No problem," she mumbled. "Anytime you'd like, I'll sign…"

"How about today?" Tara interjected. Willow blinked. Tara leaned in closer, still clutching the book to her bosom. "I'm free this afternoon, and if you could sign my copy of I've Always Known You, I would… I could just…" Words seemed to fail her. "It's my favorite," she finished feebly.

Willow had always thought that she was shy. Part of the reason she became a writer was because she was scared of going out into the real world, with vampires for bosses and soul-sucking realities that couldn't be escaped. And rude baristas. Those were the worst.

But in Ms. Maclay she had found someone even more burdened by shyness than she. Or maybe someone who understood it.

"I have a thing to do right after school, but maybe we could meet at the Coffee Bean at 4?" she asked.

It was a vision of intense sublime beauty when Tara looked up at her and beamed. Willow thought she might have been smiling back, but she was dazzled and so was only slightly aware of how she started to leave the classroom and wave good-bye. Ms. Maclay waved back, and then Willow was back in the hallway, joining the bustling stream of students.

Tara watched her go, her face beginning to hurt from smiling. Students began walking in for the next class, waking Tara from her daze. She moved over to the teacher's desk, and remembered she was still holding the book in her arms. Placing the book on the desk, Tara couldn't fight the temptation and opened it to the first page.

'To Tara,

I'm sure I'll see you again!

-Willow Rosenberg'

Author's Notes:

Wow, I might have lost a huge portion of my frontal lobe this last week due to Spring Break hijinks. Two words: Worth It.