"Girl, you're the bomb."

"So happy, so you."

"Gonna get you some prom bling!"

Jen Richmond nodded and accepted the congratulations as her due. No one got to be a prom queen candidate by accident: it was the culmination of a campaign, one that started well before senior year, probably in sixth grade when she got her braces. She kept smiling, because it was important to acknowledge them, at least until the vote. No way was she going to get this far and then alienate some pizza-faced loser who'd get his friends to vote against her, nor would she be bitchy to any shes who might be able to whisper a word in the right ears and swing a few votes against her. After all, in a four-way race at a school the size of Sunnydale High, every vote mattered. Jen Warner had a plan and she was sticking to it.

Unlike that skeeze Cordelia Chase. Jen saw her pass by just outside the screen of well-wishers and suck-ups lining the sidewalk, and the candidate for queen's face puckered for a heartbeat. Could you make a more deadly series of mistakes if you tried?

First, dating Xander Harris? Please. That should have torpedoed the USS Prom Queen by itself, but Cordelia had enough built-up social capital to ride out the embarrassment. Some utter toads actually contended that Cordelia's decision showed independence! Please. You showed independence by doing something like wearing white lipstick, not by hooking up with the hero of the halitosis crowd. Still, there was enough momentum to carry her to Homecoming Queen, supported by sympathy for her 'kidnapping' (if you believed that story, which Jen did not, even for, like, a minute). But then it turned out that Harris was playing hide-the-weenie with that weird girl who'd been in school for, like, a semester (Jen had had one encounter with that walking entry in the DSM-IV, and let's just say that some people had their nerve ). That blew a hole at the waterline, and then her parents died, and not in some tragic, romantic way, but (according to the goss) in some sort of weird sex accident. On top of that, it turned out that her mom was a drunk and her dad was a major swordster and a fraudster, which meant that Cordelia didn't even have any money. You could say that her popularity dropped like a rock, but Cordelia Chase's fall from grace made a boulder look like a hot air balloon. This image caused a pinball-like carom of synapses in Jen's brain, and she almost laughed out loud: the Hindenburg, that's what it was! Cordelia's second semester was like the Hindenburg, going up in flames and oh, the humanity. That was probably why she was wearing that same sweater for the third time in six weeks. Jen almost felt a pang of compassion that someone could fall so low, but… Hindenburg.

Jen basked in the glow of well-wishers (suck-ups) until American History II started. Mr. Warner was definitely toothsome, especially for a teacher (Jen wondered if there might be a little gender-flipped My Tutor/Lifetime Movie energy there), but, God, he really liked history.

The bell rang and Jen bolted for the door. More people congratulated her on the nomination, and she smiled and nodded at every one of them, but the burden of potential royalty was getting heavy. She remembered her daddy's advice, about how when he ran for city council he had to shake every hand and kiss every baby. She exhaled as she went up the stairs to the second-story walkway. There were fewer people up here, and lots of them had already blown their air kisses, so Jen felt safe in dropping the screen and getting a minute for herself. She headed to the far end, where the janitor's closet was located in a small alcove (why was that; was the architect embarrassed that the school would need a place to store toilet paper and mops). She ducked into the alcove and let the smile drop. Her cheeks hurt and her mouth felt stiff, but one had to suffer for success. She took a deep breath and puffed out her cheeks.

She heard something, a sound above a whisper, but not much. It wasn't random. It sounded like speech, but pitched low enough that she couldn't make out the words. Jen looked around, trying to locate the noise, then realized it was coming from inside the closet behind her. She frowned and touched the doorknob; it turned easily. She stuck her head into the dim interior. The dark bulk of shelves lined the walls while mop buckets and buffers occupied the floor space. Jen looked around the darkness. "Hello?" she whispered.

The face came out of the blackness, long hair flying. Jen yipped and threw herself backward; she fetched up against the wrought-iron railing and felt her shoulders pitch out into space as her feet slipped on the concrete. She started to bring her upper body back to vertical, then felt the hand on her collarbone.

"Why?" she gasped before the push sent her over the edge.


Buffy rushed into the courtyard, accompanied by dozens of students who had responded to the bloodcurdling scream that split the air. There was already a crowd gathered around something in the far corner of the courtyard. The Slayer pushed through the throng until she could see a girl lying on the grass, one of her legs bent at a grotesque and unnatural angle. Ms. Peterson knelt beside her as Mr. Warner and Mr. Barnes kept students back. The girl coughed, then emitted a strangled scream that was cut short as she gasped, her skin pale, tears running down her face.

"Whoa." Xander appeared at Buffy's shoulder.

"Who is it?" Buffy whispered. "I don't know her."

"It's Jen Richmond," Xander muttered sotto voce. "Her dad used to be on the city council."

Buffy shook her head. "She looks… kinda familiar."

"Yeah, you may have seen her recently." Xander nodded toward a poster on the wall.

"Ah." Buffy nodded. The school nurse arrived and took over for Ms. Peterson. Students murmured as everyone waited for what came next. Jen lay on her back, sobbing but trying not to sob, because it obviously hurt like hell. As she shook in shock and pain, her leg shifted at mid-thigh. A collective groan went up from the students. Buffy winced and looked away...

...and locked eyes with Cordelia standing on the far side of the crowd. They held the look for a supercharged heartbeat, then the brunette turned and stalked away across the sidewalk, into the building. Buffy frowned, then turned her attention back to the scene as EMTs arrived with a stretcher. Ms. Peterson abandoned her post as the two paramedics knelt beside the nurse. Quick words were exchanged as Jen gasped between them. The EMTs nodded and one reached into their orange nylon bag. The other one rolled up the left side of Jen's shirt as the nurse held her hand and talked to her. Buffy noticed that Jen was taking on a pronounced blue tint.

"That's not good, is it?" Xander said.

"Not ever," she replied.

The first EMT produced what looked like a large red Sharpie. He twisted it apart, tapped along Jen's ribs, placed whatever he had in his hand against her torso, and pushed. Jen arched her back, but the second EMT and the nurse were already holding her down. The first EMT twisted and pulled back. Buffy could see a gleaming needle in his hand as she simultaneously heard a whistling sound. Jen relaxed, the blue in her face subsiding.

"Okay, let's get back to class." Mr. Warner passed in front of Buffy and Xander. "The paramedics have everything under control."

"Hey, what was that?" Xander asked.

Mr. Warner stopped. "Tension pneumothorax."

"What?" Buffy frowned.

"Collapsed lung, probably punctured in the fall."

"What did they do?" Xander said.

Mr. Warner glanced over his shoulder as the EMTs carefully moved Jen onto the stretcher. "Emergency needle decompression. Let the air out of the chest cavity, allow the lung to re-inflate." He glanced between them. "Just get back to class."

As the EMTs carried Jen away, the crowd began to disperse. Buffy and Xander drifted toward the building.

"What happened?" Xander said.

"I don't know," Buffy replied, looking up at the walkway, "but I think I might look around." She looked down at Xander. "Hey, how did Mr. Warner know so much about…whatever that was?"

Xander shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe he was in the Army or something. Maybe exotic first aid is his hobby."

"Maybe," Buffy said. "You wanna help me poke around after school?"

"Sure," Xander said. "My calendar's open."


Buffy leaned over the rail and peered down, then crouched and inspected the rail itself.

"What are you looking for?" Xander asked.

"No idea." The Slayer stood up and brushed at her knees. "But that seemed like the thing to do."

"Has someone been watching Law & Order?" Xander's tone was mocking.

"Hey, I'll watch anything with Benjamin Bratt. I still haven't forgiven Kevin Bacon for killing him in The River Wild." Buffy looked around at the concrete surface. "I don't see anything, do you?"

"No," Xander said. "I'm guessing we're trying to find evidence she was pushed."

Buffy shot him a look. "Duh. I mean, who jumps over a second-story railing? Don't. Don't tell me about something you did on a dare in the fourth grade." She shook her head. "And something didn't look right about the way she was lying there… she would have landed differently if she jumped."

"Wow, I was being snide about Law & Order."

"Mention Quincy and I'll punch you in the arm." The Slayer's gaze fell on the door set in the alcove. "What do you say?" she asked. "Feeling breaky and entery?"

"Well, since I won't actually be doing either of those things, sure. If we get busted, I'll just claim I wandered by."

"Coward." She tested the handle. "Hey, unlocked. We're bulletproof on the breaking part. Come on."

They slipped inside; Buffy groped for a light switch and the room was suddenly bathed in blue-tinted fluorescent light. "See anything?"

"Just a stark and frightening glimpse of my possible future," Xander said as he surveyed the cleaning supplies.

"Please." The Slayer went to the four corners of the room, moved brooms, tilted boxes, and arrived right where she began. "Nothing. Well, let's go, Sancho. Hey…" She looked down. Inside the door was a broad smear of dirt. She pulled the door open, then closed it. "Huh. Look." She worked the door again.

"Dirt found in janitor's closet. Follow our special Action News report at eleven."

"No, look." She crouched down. "This isn't dust, it's dirt, like, from outside… and it looks like it was piled up in front of the door, so that opening it spread the dirt around. Here's my footprints…" She looked at Xander's shoes. "And here are yours… Oops, there's a third set we kinda walked over."

"Yeah, but there are a couple of clear prints." Xander pointed. "Are those Jen's?"

"Well, they look awfully small for a janitor, and none of our janitors wear sneakers anyway." Buffy stood up and brushed off her hands. "Come on." Outside on the walkway, she rested her hands on the rail. "So, Jen was in the supply closet, but apparently by herself, because there weren't any other footprints." She pushed away from the rail. "And all the footprints go in, there aren't any going out."

"So, have you cracked the case?" Xander asked.

Buffy looked at him, disgusted. "Are you kidding? I don't think we can even call that a clue."


"We can go D, E minor seven, E. See?" Trey demonstrated quickly, his hands seeming to barely touch the strings of his Stratocaster.

"I see it." Oz's eyes narrowed. "But it's not quite there."

Trey held up a hand. "Yeah, it's the root, but, if–" Trey waved a hand at Doug "-you play F sharp, G, G sharp, it'll work."

"The third in the bass." Oz nodded.

"Yeah, we're basically playing D, D sus, E, but if we put the third in the bass, it's chromatic movement and sounds kinda exotic."

"Let's try it," Oz said.

"Okay," Trey said. "From the back half of the chorus?" They ran through the part twice, then stopped.

"I think it works, but, I mean, I don't want to run over anybody."

"It sounds a little weird," Geoff said.

"Because it's the third, not the root or fifth," Oz said. "How does it feel?"

Doug shrugged. "It sounds a little strange, but I think that's because I have to concentrate on playing it right. Let me practice it for a week and get it under my hands, I think it'll work."

"Yeah," Trey said. "I mean, I think it'll make the song better. It's a really good groove, really strong, but I think this move's gonna catch ears without pulling everybody out of the song."

"Sounds good." Oz flipped off his amp and yanked the cable out of his Telecaster's jack. "Lyrics by next week?"

Devon looked up from his notebook and nodded. "I think so. That last thing gave me an idea for a bridge. Could we use it as a modulation?"

Trey and Oz exchanged looks. "I think so," Trey shrugged. "I mean, what do you think? D, D minor seven, E, E minor 7, F sharp?"

Oz nodded. "That'll work. You could go E minor 7, F sharp minor 7, F sharp."

Devon chewed the end of his pen. "Which one's best?" The notebook rested on his thigh. Xander sat in the opposite corner, chair tilted back on two legs.

Oz shrugged. "I can hear them both. Let's run it with lyrics next week and see which is better."

It was agreed that this was the best way to reach a solution, and Dingoes Ate My Baby continued breaking down their equipment. Xander tipped his chair down and helped Geoff carry his drums out to an old Jeep Grand Wagoneer, then grabbed Oz's amp.

As they pulled away from Devon's garage, Oz said, "You know, you don't have to come to every practice."

"I have no social life, and you've been to my house."

Oz nodded. "Game point." He drove a while, then said, "I talked to Willow."

Xander coughed. "Well, social interaction is important."

Oz stared through the windshield. "Talked talked."

"Oh, uh, so… do you want to talk about that… I mean, I'm not sure we can pull off a Buffy-Willow heart-to-heart."

Oz gave him a slow sidelong look. "No. But I need to ask about something."

Xander looked out the passenger window. "Uh, sure."

"What are your plans after we graduate?"

Xander shrugged. "Well, your question assumes that I'm even sure of graduating, but let's just stipulate that it'll happen." He sighed. "I don't know. I'm not going to college… I don't have any particular talent that I'm aware of… wow, now that you've depressed me, why are you asking?"

Oz tilted his head to the side. "I need someone to go on tour with me."

"Huh?" Xander looked at Oz with the expression of a dog asked to turn a doorknob.

Oz took a deep breath. "We'll probably be on the road for more than a month."

"Well, yeah, I'd hope so. You're not…" Realization dawned. "Oh."

"Yeah." Oz made a right turn. "I don't trust myself alone in a strange place, and I'm not crazy about telling everyone else I'm a werewolf."

"Uh, yeah, I can kinda see how awkward that would be… but how would that work?"

"I've thought about it. The band's already decided that we'll haul the gear in the van and Devon will drive his car. I'll say I need you to ride with me to keep me awake."

"Couldn't one of the other guys just ride with you? That leaves more room in the car."

"Whose side are you on?" Oz shot him a quick glance.

"Hey, I'd definitely rather go on the road and see… whatever slice of Americana is on the menu than stay in Sunnydale, but… why? I mean, why would they let me go along?"

Oz sniffed. "The T-shirts."

"The T-shirts?"

"The T-shirts. The ones you sold."

"Uh, yeah… so, you want me to be your personal wrangler under the guise of T-shirt guy?"

"Help move equipment, work the merch table…" Oz paused, then sank the hook. "I think Devon would be okay if you designed more shirts."


Buffy hopped up onto the ostentatious headstone. It was almost big enough for her to use as a sofa; she was easily able to kick her feet back and forth like a toddler. "Thanks for coming with," she said. "I kinda needed someone to talk to tonight."

"No problem." Willow clambered up to sit beside her friend. "I kinda need to talk too."

Buffy swung her feet and thought. "You know, some of our best talks have been when we're on patrol. Is that scary?"

Willow screwed up her face. "Maybe a little?"

Buffy nodded. "Maybe it's easier to spill your guts when you think you might actually spill your guts." She looked at Willow. "So, who goes first?"

"I will." Willow sighed. "Oz and I talked after school."

"Yeah, how did that go?"

"Okay, I guess. I mean, I don't know how it's supposed to go."

Buffy made resignation face. "I'm not much help there. Let's see… Owen got danger-horny, Ford betrayed me to Spike, Trey thinks we make great buds… and we will not even speak of Angel." She blew out a breath. "So… you're probably gold, Ponyboy. Give me a plot synopsis and then we'll Siskel and Ebert it."

"Well, he apologized for not telling me up front about deciding to skip school, but he said that he kind of made the decision on the spur of the moment. I asked if he had been thinking about it, and he said, yeah, a little, so I asked him why he didn't tell me about it."

"And?" The Slayer.

"Oh, he owned it. He said he should have, and I agreed with him."

Buffy frowned. "Why did he decide to go on tour instead of school?"

Willow nodded a couple of times. "I asked that, too. I guess when we were at the funeral, it made him think about life and death, and he said that realized that we're all going to die, you know–"

"Trust me when I say I know."

"-and he had a kind of epiphany."

"A whatafee?"

"Oh, that's a sudden intuitive revelation of knowledge."

Buffy tilted her head toward her friend. "You just used more words to further confuse me."

"A light bulb went on over his head."

"There you go."

"Anyway, he didn't want to someday look back and wonder if they could've made it. He said he'd rather try and fail, because then he'll know."

"And what was the Willowriffic response?"

Willow scrunched her face and sighed. "I mean, I thought it was cool when he had to repeat senior year. I'll admit it, I loved the serious bad boy vibe."

"That is so sweet, you think that makes him a bad boy."

"But, he didn't fail… he just didn't finish. He could've aced those courses, but he didn't really care." Willow's brow furrowed in concentration. "And… I think that's connected. I… I liked it when he was a rebel, but I didn't like it when the same attitude affected me, like he didn't care enough to tell me."

Buffy nodded. "Okay, ignoring your adorable definition of rebel, where do things stand?"

Willow leaned back and looked up at the night sky. "Well, we didn't break up."

"Is the 'but' supposed to be unspoken?"

"It's not like he cheated on me, but it still feels like…"

"Betrayal?"

Willow twisted her head to look at the Slayer. "Do you get it?"

Buffy offered a sardonic smile. "Uh to the huh." She jumped down from the tombstone. "Oz seemed perfect. Now, he's not, and you know it. It happens to everybody, but you two kids are just so gosh-darn cute it seemed like it wouldn't. But it did."

"Yeah," Willow said, joining the Slayer on the ground. "I guess."

"My turn," Buffy said. "I ran into Ms. Hollis yesterday."

"I bet that hurt."

"Ha ha. Although a physical collision wouldn't be any more painful than what actually happened."

"Really?" Willow's eyes grew large. "Color me intrigued."

"She asked me to talk to Cordelia."

"Boy, she didn't ask for much."

"Yeah, but… it's kinda been on my mind since spring break, and then I saw Cordy today, when that girl fell off the second story, and she just looked… weird."

"Weird how?"

Buffy shook her head. "I can't really describe it, it's just how… apart she was from everybody else."

"So, what are you gonna do?"

"Try to find a way to talk to her, I guess. Hey, Xander knew that girl who fell, what's her name… Jen?"

Willow nodded. "Jen Richmond."

Buffy stuffed her hands in the pockets of her jacket. "I know she's a candidate for prom queen, but that's all. Who is she?"

"Okay." Willow held her right hand above her head. "If, in the social pecking order that is Sunnydale High, Cordelia was up here–" she held her left hand beside her thigh and wiggled it, palm down "-and the great mass of us are here, then Jen would be…" Willow lowered her right hand until it was just below eye level "..here. Not the top level, but close enough to see it and hoping to get in."

"What else can you tell me about her?"

Willow shrugged. "She took dance classes… liked riding horses… her dad was on the city council for a while…"

"Any idea why anyone might want to push her over the railing?"

"Did they?" Willow gasped.

"I don't know, am I Nancy Drew? You and Xander." The Slayer shook her head. "It just feels wrong… nobody could just fall over the rail, and I can't see any reason someone would just jump… don't tell me about something Xander did when you were kids." She scowled. "It just… bothers me."