Chapter 4
Teacher's Pet
Kennedy likes girls. It was never explicitly said, but she never hid the fact, nor it seems, was it a source of angst or confusion for her.
When Kennedy was interested in someone, she was blatant, persistent and confident. Kennedy was used to getting what she wanted, and what she wanted, apparently, was a little ginger nerd called Willow Rosenberg.
Willow was every teacher's pet (with the exception of Ms Litto, who taught Phys Ed). Frail, pale, bookish and clad in utterly hideous clothing, you honestly have no idea what Kennedy sees in her.
Sunnydale cafeteria was bustling. You and Kennedy watching over it from your usual corner table. You carved your reservation into the table in explicit language. The students had learned to heed it well.
"Making eyes at Red again?" you smirk, forking minced something-or-other into your mouth.
"Think she's into chicks?" she says without looking away from Willow. She bites through an apple and munches casually. It seems lost on her that this is the first time you have acknowledged her sexuality outright. You glance at the object of her affection across the room.
"Wondering if she will eat you out after bible study?"
"She's Jewish. Dumb-ass."
"I dunno Ken, she's always mooning over that Harris douchebag. I think she drives stick."
"Maybe she drives both." she says and looks at you with a smirk. You shovel the last of the mince into your mouth.
When you look back, Buffy Summers is happily talking with Willow about something- most likely conning her into doing her homework. That would be the only reason a Cordette would talk to someone like her other than to cruelly remind them of their lowly status.
Buffy notices you and Ken watching. She smiles and whispers something to Willow.
"I think Summers sprung you Ken."
Both girls turn back to look, and Kennedy flicks them a calm salute and finishes her apple. You can't see, but you suspect there is a wink too, because Willow looks rather shell shocked. Buffy shakes her head and glances at you. You both chuckle.
Kennedy knows no fear.
Tonight, the Bronze is pounding music into your skull, hard and heavy. You love it.
All around you the mass of teenage flesh writhes and roars, flesh glistening in the lurid light. The scent and sounds overload your senses and it is like the world drops away and you just rise.
Up and up and up.
No need to think. No need to feel. No need to remember. It's just your body, searingly alive in the music.
Your fingers create patterns in the laser light overhead and you marvel at it. Is this what magic is like for Amy?
Kennedy's face fills your vision. She looks angry. Or scared. Or both. She is screaming something at you but you cannot make it out above the din.
She seizes your hand and drags you to where the magic is gone and the air is cold on your sweat coated skin. The alley smells of garbage and fried food.
"What the hell is your damage Ken?" you say, spitting your gum out.
"Willow! It's Willow! She took off with some guy!"
"Awwwww. I'm sorry babe, plenty more nerds in the sea." You pat her shoulder in consolation, only missing the first couple of times and make back for the firedoor.
"I think he was a vamp" she says. The ice of your sweat seems to draw into your veins. You shudder. That sick feeling rolls in your gut.
"Where?"
"I didn't see where she went.' she cries. 'You take the right, up towards the graveyard, I will sweep left to the alleys."
You can't run. Somewhere below your fluttering heart are your feet, you know from the rubbery thudding sensation that carries you forward, but they may as well be someone elses. You keep needing to look down to plant them properly. One after the other. Into the night. Into the fog.
As the graves start to blur, you steady yourself on The Von Hauptman Mausoleum, willing your mind to clear. It doesn't. Your tongue traces across your chewed cheeks, tasting blood.
Focus Lehane. Find Red. Save Red.
It's weird. You must have seen the stone grotesque crouching over the doorway a hundred times, but now it seemed to be taking on vibrant, living qualities. The mossy stone crackling with verdant hues.
Hello. There is a girl with you now. She isn't Red. You are pretty sure.
No. No, this girl is blonde. Hair held back by a black ribbon, a private schoolgirl's outfit Her eyes glitter in the moonlight, and she squints when she smiles. She is beautiful beyond words. So much like Buffy.
You smile.
Of course there are fangs a moment later.
Of course there are.
Something smashes light into your skull. The colors swim like magic, before everything sputters and dies.
But you don't need to think, and you don't need to feel, and you don't need to remember.
Perhaps it is better this way.