Chapter 3

The Witch

Buffy Summers saved your life.

With her arrival at Sunnydale High you where officially no longer the new girl. The merciless rumor mill therefore turned its attention to Buffy. It was a relief, to say the least. Supernaturally good hearing and gossip are a painful combination, especially when the rumors guessed correctly. Memory lane was lined with broken glass bottles and syringes.

Thanks to Buffy, you were yesterday's news, and that was just peachy.

You listen to the gossip around you. Her father was a stock broker with a wandering eye. Her mother was an art dealer, who won Buffy in the bloody divorce settlement. Sunny D was the start of their new life.

It didn't take you long to figure out she was exactly as she looked: just another vacuous rich valley girl. Little wonder that she was snapped up by Cordelia Chase for her clique. The queen bitch now had a new barbie doll and you had some peace and quiet.

Looking back to yesterday's English Literature class, you realize that your first instinct when the screaming began was to leap up from your desk and run towards it. Who does that?

Well, Kennedy, obviously, as you both skidded into the gym within moments of each other. It was Kennedy that grabbed the fire extinguisher and saved the cheerleader's life. Not her hands though, which where too badly burnt to save.

Buffy Summers saw the girl spontaneously combust, and she won't stop screaming. You pull her away, down the hall, and hold her still where she collapses, whispering to her that everything will be okay. Stroking her hair. Everything will be okay. By the time the paramedics arrive, she is silent, staring blankly back down towards the gym. They took her away and treated her for shock.

You wonder how a girl that that could ever survive Sunnydale.'

You remember a moment, shortly after you were called, where you were looking back at the little girl you where, that scarred, flea ridden, street fighting dumpster diver and thinking "look at us now, Faithy. Look at us now.".

Right now that streetwise kid is smirking at you from somewhere in the back of your mind.

You give the pom-poms a cautious, test shake.

Yeah, Faithy, look at us now.

Kennedy chuckles and you blush and turn to glare at her. She is hovering at your bedroom door, a smirk on her lips.

"Huh. I was wrong Faith, seems like I do have a thing for cheerleaders. Who knew? Go on. Shake your pom poms for me, baby."

"Bite me Kennedy."

"Seriously, you looking like that? I am sorely tempted." she says. She ducks the pom pom launched at her head before slinking off down the hall.

You look back into the mirror and try to disconnect the image from yourself. Who is this girl? Hair shining, straightened smooth. Eyes bright. Skin clear and clean and tanned. A lip glossed, all American cheerleader.

"Look at us now." the strange girl says.

"Lehane? You're up."

Your stomach is somersaulting as you approach the panel. The girls stare at you like something on their over priced shoe. It is all too sickeningly familiar. Every part of you is screaming to run.

Despite all your playing it cool, Giles seemed to pick up on your nerves. After your morning training, he sent Kennedy for the first shower and he sat you down.

"I know this is difficult for you. But, just remember Amber. She will never use her hands again. Cordelia is blind. No matter how scared you are, remember you are doing this to save those girls." Now, staring at the cheerleader's judgmental faces, you find it hard to muster any sympathy. Rich. Cruel. Gossiping. Spoiled. Let them burn, that voice said.

You notice Buffy Summers is sitting against the wall across the room. She looks tired, her brow beaded with sweat. She meets your gaze, smiles, waves her fingers in a sweet little hello.

Catherine Madison was the first human Kennedy had ever killed. To say that Kennedy did not take it well was an understatement.

You spent the fight unconscious, thrown against a wall like a dog hitting a windscreen, and all it took was a mere flick of Catherine's fingers.

It was probably for the best. Witnessing a girl drowning a witch in her own boiling cauldron is the kind of thing that stays with you. You can't imagine what that would have been like for Kennedy.

You find her drunken ass at four in the morning. She is bleeding from a fight she started after dancing too close to a girl at a kegger. The brat laid out six frat boys before you found her. She let you drag her home and put her in the shower. You snapped her nose back into place and put the sobbing girl to bed. You find out later that she had put one of the guys into a coma.

You never tell her.

Amy Madison showed up at Gile's door with a tray of cookies a few days later. Giles was out running errands, but you knew Kennedy was home. You heard her faint strangled sob as you answered the door. She wasn't coming down stairs anytime soon. How do you even begin to talk to the girl whose mother you... well, you probably would hide too.

So, that is how you find yourself chatting to an awkward, mousy girl on the back porch, watching the sun set, sipping stolen scotch and eating the best chocolate chip cookies you have ever had. Amy Madison is genuinely grateful for her mother's death.

You understand all too well.

Now that she was free from her mother's grasp, Amy happily retired from cheerleading to persue her own interests.

Officially, she was working as Gile's library assistant for extra credit. In a way, it was true, because Amy had quite the flair for translating occult texts. She grew up around them, after all.

Once Kennedy realised the girl held no grudge against her, Amy soon became a fixture of Slayer meetings.

Despite Giles' warnings and her protests of innocence, you know Amy sneakily practices witchcraft behind his back. You say nothing, of course.

No, Amy had no love for cheer leading, but to your surprise it turns out that you do.

You.

"Faith! You made the squad too!" Buffy squeals as she runs up to you in the corridor, waving a piece of paper around.

"You for real Summers?" snatching it from her hand.

You read your name over and over, and once again just to be sure. You feel a complex swell of emotions. Hard to pin down. Sick. Disjointed. Elated?

"Is that… not of the good?" the blonde frowns.

"Uh, I'm… processing. Not used to this."

"Used to what?"

"Being wanted." you shrug.

Buffy's smile is electric. Out of nowhere she pulls you into a hug.